I sit on the bus like a frighten animal. Outside the cold air licks the windows and condenses my breath into fog against them. The butterflies in my stomach are fluttering so fast that they must be trying to kill one another. Surely I'm stupid, nothing about my plan bears any intelligence, yet I can't get myself to pull the cord and hop off the bus to go home. So the bus treks along closer to where I so desperately want to be and where I so desperately want to run from.
I know he's waiting for me, sitting in a back booth waving away the waiters. Maybe he's displeased that I am late, he must be. I shift in my seat. What if he's left? How should I apologize? I'm reminded now that what I'm doing is stupid. I'm disappearing deep into a part of the city I don't know, to meet a man I've never seen, and I know he wants to hurt me. I know he wants to hurt me bad.
The bus rolls to a stop in front of the restaurant and I hurry down the stairs without thought. My nipples perk up as the wind slides inside my coat and through the sheer shirt he asked me to wear. I shiver and my legs goose bump, a miniskirt and leather boots leave too much skin exposed. Darting into the restaurant's door I breathe slowly out of anticipation and fear. I told him I'm new to this, that I've never done this before. But that just made the hungry wolf smile wider.
I hug my coat around my revealing outfit while I ask the waitress where he's sitting. I'm so nervous I almost call him "Master" when referring to him. Everything feels exposed, every cell aware of its openness. I take a deep breath as she leads me to his table. He's dressed in a nice black suit and looks up smiling at the sight of me, an unmasked wickedness in his grin. The waitress sees it also and hurries away after handing me a menu. I guess he scares her too.
He takes my coat without a word and immediately I panic. Does he want me to quietly read the menu and wait to be spoken to? Or should I rush into an apology for being late? The only thing I'm sure of is that I can't afford to be wrong. I fiddle with the hem of my skirt, trying to formulate words in my mouth. It doesn't work in time.
"You're late," there's obvious displeasure in his voice.
"I'm very sorry, I got out of the house late and the bus was-" he cuts off my excuses.
"Master," he says, "It's 'Master' to you. And I don't want any excuses. I realize you are untrained, but the in no ways voids punishment."
I gulp, "Yes Master."
"Since you wasted my valuable time took it per say- I'm going to have to take something of yours," he looks me in the eyes and finishes in a stern voice, "take off your panties and give them to me."
"What!?" I exclaim without thinking, then realize my mistake. He stares down at me with a glower. "I mean, are you sure Master? In public?"
"Do not question me," he orders, "now."
I hesitate, the idea thrills but also terrifies me. My lips feel dry and I try in vain to wet them with my tongue. Suddenly I wonder if anyone else has overheard the conversation. My heart races and I look up, scanning every restaurant patron for a sign that they're listening in. No one looks suspicious, but that does little to calm my pounding heart. I start to slide out of the seat, neck craning to find the little girl's room. He stops me.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asks, stern command in his voice.
"The bathroom," I whisper back, all too aware that someone could overhear us.
"No you're not; you're taken them off right here."
"In front of everyone!?" I exclaim.
"Either you take them off or I'll take them off for you," he smirks. Something tells me he'd like nothing better than to do just that. I gulp and sit back down next to him. I have no clue how to do this, how to make sure no one notices. My fingers feel shaky and numb as they lift on up edge of my skirt. I can't believe I'm doing this; my heart beat drowns out all the sound. I slowly work down the side of my thong facing the wall, getting it to where it's barely still hidden under my skirt edge. I gulp as I try to think of how to do the other side without someone noticing. I take a glance up at my Master and see that he's watching me intently. I wet my lips again and begin to work the next side now. It's a slow agonizing process. My pussy feels cold and alive with sensations. I've almost got it out from under my skirt when I hear Master speak in a low voice to me.
"Keep going," he tells me, then he raises his arm and waves "Waitress!"
My breath freezes in my chest as the waitress trots over to our table and begins to take his order. Somehow my fingers keep working in the slowest of secrecy; my very breath is as quiet as possible. Maybe I can disappear into the seat. When he finishes giving our order he dismisses the waitress and looks back at me with a grin.
"What'd you do that for?" I hiss at him, watching him smile devilishly.
"Hand them to me," he tells me, reaching over to me with an open palm and ignoring my question. I hesitate, then slipped them off my ankles and handed them to him in a rush. He smiled and tucked them into his pocket. He looks very satisfied. I've decided I'm never going to be late again.
He starts a casual conversation, asking about my day and did I have trouble finding this place. He's gloating, just trying to act like everything's normal when my exposed womanhood is telling me quite the opposite. The food can't come quick enough, likely the only distraction I'll have all night. And he knows it.
I keep trying to press my thighs together and convince my pussy it's not exposed. It doesn't work. When the waitress finally comes with the food I'm careful to not draw attention to myself. I'm not even sure if I'm hungry anymore. I feel overwhelmed already by this whole scenario.
"You should eat my dear," he says to me, his voice brushing over my skin like a slithering snake, "you're going to need your strength." I don't doubt it in the least, but I'm not sure how much I can stomach. I pick up my fork and begin messing with my food, moving it around on my plate as if I can make it disappear that way. The nervous butterflies in my stomach haven't finished killing each other off yet. He looks at me with a smirk on his face, clearly enjoying the power of intimidation he has over me. Then he places his hand on my thigh, just below the edge of my skirt.
"Eat," he commands me. I'd be a fool to think I could disobey. The food tastes better than I thought it would, which I guess is a plus. He doesn't take his hand off my thigh; in fact I can swear it's inching upwards. The tingling in my nether lips doesn't lie. I wonder if anyone can see this, I feel so out in the open like a frightened animal. I know he's getting off on my obvious discomfort; he hasn't quit smirking this whole time.
He keeps talking as the meal progressing, mostly likely to keep up appearances but maybe he just likes to hear himself talk. I don't say anything and he doesn't seem to expect me too, I'm not even really trying to listen. I probably should I realize but my head has become a cacophony of half formed thoughts. What am I doing? I keep asking myself, what am I doing?
His hand feels warm and enticing, it's hard to eat with such distractions but I probably can't afford to disobey again. Scratch that, I know I can't afford to disobey again. This is going to be a long night. I'd probably be questioning my sanity right about now if I wasn't admiring the texture of his hand against my thigh. A little rough, but that's the idea isn't it? They feel strong and steady; my own hands are trying not to shake by comparison. This fear is strangely arousing, trapped in the wolf's den with no escape. Even if I wanted to.
"You're not shaking," he suddenly whispers right in my ear. I jump involuntarily and almost drop my fork; my head whips around to meet his gaze. He's grinning maliciously like the devil himself. I can feel my snatch slicken at the sight. I'm not religious, but the thought to cross myself comes to mind. My mouth dries while trying to respond to him and nothing comes out, words haven't been my forte so far this evening.
Apparently he's noticed and put my poor mouth of its misery with a kiss. He pulls me in with his free hand, forcing me to his lips. He feels hungry and primal, like he's running down the straightaway toward exactly what he wants and nothing can stop him. Excitement wells up in me along with fear. Tonight I am his prey, ready and willing though nervous and scared. Somehow I like it, the feeling of helplessness under his control. It's invigorating and arousing, like nothing I've ever felt before.
His teeth nip at my soft lips once and then release me. I drop back into my seat, feeling that same hunger he showed me. He can see that, it's clear, and he calls for the bill at the next opportunity. When the waitress walks away to run his card he smiles at me, a dangerous lust overflowing from his eyes. For the first time all night I'm able to meet his gaze and smile back.
"I wonder how long that bravery will last," he grins at me like he's daring me to challenge him. I'm not that stupid.
The waitress hurries back with his credit card and receipt. As we get up he grabs my coat but doesn't hand it to me. Fine, if he insists on parading me about exposed in this outfit then I'll have fun at it. I stalk off toward the door as if I expect him to follow, swaying my hips and letting my heels click with the full intent of attracting the eyes of every man in the restaurant. It's funny how daring one can feel after just having their panties removed.
In the corners of my eyes I can see heads turning and I grin. How's he like that, other men enjoying what he thinks is his? I give my hair a little toss for effect, maybe this is what supermodels feel like. I don't bother to look back to see if he's following me, I know he wants me so he won't disappoint.
I open up the door to go outside and the first thing I'm greeted with is icy wind slipping right through my clothes and blowing up my skirt. I would've screamed if the cold hadn't stolen my breath. I quickly grab my skirt and pull it down, feeling my face flush red as a beet. Then suddenly Master's behind me, pressing his body up against my back so no one in the restaurant can see my situation.
"A good slave should never run off without her master," I hear him murmur in my ear. He slaps my ass to coax me forward. I jump and stumble a little, then hurry after him as he heads off in long strides to the parking lot behind the restaurant. I feel thoroughly humiliated, back to running after him in hopes of being pardoned. His silhouette is rather imposing in the streetlights' glow. It's dark out already, I hadn't realized it was so late.
I reach him at the car and find that he's laying my long coat out on the hood. I'm perplexed, is something wrong with the car? I take a step closer, wondering at his bizarre behavior. He doesn't give me long to muse.
He grabs me and pushes me over the hood of the car, making my ass fly up in the air. I realize now that he put my coat down as a courtesy, the car is freezing when though the thick fabric. The cold wind blows under my skirt as I feel him lift it up.
"Hey!" I shout, "What do you think you're doing?" He gives my ass check a hard smack.
"Quiet," he orders, roughly grabbing my thighs and spreading them apart. I know my slick pussy is just waiting to greet him. I wonder how he likes it, if it pleases him. He's holding me down too firmly for me to twist around and see his expression.
I wait in agony as he inspects me. My nipples are so hard from the cold they've begun to hurt. But between my legs I'm on fire, the cold breeze feels tantalizing there. I can feel his warm breath again me too, I wonder how close he is. I ache for him; suddenly an overwhelming desire to feel him inside me overcomes me. Even if it's just his fingers, I want my exposed folds to be filled with him. They're so hungry, flush with their need for him.
Suddenly I feel his warm tongue press into my nether lips. I moan immediately, my hips instinctually pressing back into him. Oh god yes, I want him more. I don't care how cold it is, right here right now. But he suddenly pushes away from me forcefully, sending a stinging slap across my ass that's made even more painful by the cold. I cry out and whimper. No! I want him back to answer the call of my readiness.
"Get in the car," I hear him order me. He's angry, almost furious. It's his fault I made noise, if he hadn't started to but it's a very bad idea to argue. I scramble to grab my coat and get around to the other side of the car. He's so mad I'm afraid he'll leave me behind. He starts the car without looking at me, his face clearly displeased. I find myself holding on to my safety belt with both hands, as if it could actually keep me safe from his wrath.
"This is the second time you've disobeyed me tonight," he says in a harsh voice, "do not expect to get off so easily this time." I nod quickly. The fear is back, tearing through me like a mole with razorblades. Once again I find myself thinking I'm stupid, I've jumped in the car with a man I barely know who's furious at me, no clue where I'm going and no way to get home unless he allows it. I suddenly feel vulnerable and small. A meek creature easily crushed beneath his thumb. But at the same time there's a tiny part of me that's aroused by the thrill of it all, and that part is pounding between my thighs.
When we reach our destination he climbs out first and slams his door behind him. I jump in my seat, too frightened to attempt to climb out myself. He's walking around the car to come get me anyway so I don't have much choice in that matter. His steps are brisk and in no time at all he's at my door, yanking it open hard enough to shake the car. I really pissed him off and something tells me I'm not going to like the results. And by 'not like' I mean 'love'.
I flinch and turn away as he reaches into the seat toward me. He grabs a mess of my hair and pulls, wrenching me back toward him. It hurts and my seatbelt catching me hurts too as it digs into my neck. I cry out, my hands instinctually going up to my hair to try to free myself. He leans down and forces my head up against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat pounding in my ear. He whispers something to me so quietly I almost don't catch it.
"Can I keep going?"
His voice sounds protective and gentle, seemly so out of character for him. I'm confused at first, trying to figure out what he means. He holds me there against his heartbeat, waiting for my answer. It takes me a few moments to figure out that he's making sure I'm okay with all this. We never did set up a safety word or anything so he must be trying to make sure he's still inbounds. I wonder if he was purposely quiet in the car to give me time to think.
"Yes," I whisper back. I'm not too scared that I'm going to run off. On the contrary I'm probably just scared enough to want to keep going. There's something about this excitement that speaks to my own suppressed primal urges.
He doesn't respond verbally to me at all. Instead he reaches down and unbuckles me, pulling the seatbelt off in a rough fashion and dragging me from the car by my hair. I stumble out and fall to the driveway on my knees. The ground hurts. Looking around now I realize there's no one out here. The lights in all the neighboring houses are off. Even if I'd answered 'no' to him it wouldn't have mattered at all if he'd decided to keep going. I feel alone and helpless kneeling before him, but the mere thought of being at his mercy has me pulsing in rarely seen places. I look up at him, daring to meet his stare. Something in my brain is screaming 'Punish Me!' as if it thinks he can hear. Maybe he can.
"You disobeyed me," his voice is stern, "twice." He leaves his statement at that, not needing to add anymore. He jerks me to my feet and slams the car door behind me, dragging me to his front door. I have to bend over to keep from getting all my hair pulled out, nearly tripping twice on the steps. I don't know what he's going to do to me; I don't know what he has planned. Did his plot this all out before I even met him? The thought is chilling, thinking that without even meeting me he could know how I would react. But he is my master after all.
He unlocks the door without bothering to let go of me. Even here, exposed in the open air no one can see us. And once I'm inside this house no one will even know I was here. He opens the door to a dark interior and pulls me inside. The blackness envelops me as the door shuts behind us. I can't see anything, not even the size or shape of the room.
"Take off your boots," he orders me, not bothering to let go of his hold. I start to complain that I can't see, but he gives a decisive yank on my hair to tell me he's not listening to any excuses. My fingers fumble with the buckles, trying to bend over far enough to reach without tugging too hard against his grip. I work as quickly as I can; trying to make enough noise that he can tell that even if he can't see it himself. By the time I almost have the first boot off I realize he's beginning to squeeze. It's going to hurt more the longer I take; he must be impatient.
As soon as my boots are off I hear him hastily slide his own shoes off, his speed easily putting the time it had taken me to shame. Then he tugs me to my feet, full standing position. Without my boots, he feels a lot taller than me. As if I didn't feel timid enough around him already. He jerks me around and moves me in front of him, marching me off in some direction where I can't see. I wonder if he can see in this darkness or if he just knows where everything is by heart.
"Stairs," he warns me, pulling me to a stop and then slowly letting us descend beneath the earth's surface. The air seems to chill around me slightly, colder and stagnant. I almost yelp when my bare foot touches the concert floor. We must be in his basement, soundproof with one exit. My feet dance across the cold floor, maybe trying to avoid the cold floor or perhaps thinking of fleeing. I hear a heavy thud behind us then the click of a lock. They better of been dancing because of the cold, because escaping isn't an option anymore.
"Don't move," he instructions and releases my hair. I obey, wiggling my toes on the cold floor. My body is tense; I don't know what's in store for me. I can hear him move off into the darkness, there's rustling and then quiet. The whole dungeon falls silent. I guess that is what this is, a dungeon. I still can't see anything, not even vague shapes. There's not a speck of light down here. The chilly air brushes its way inside my sparse clothing, making me quite aware of its presence. I wait. It's really silent down here, secluded from the outside world.
I start to wonder where he went, is he waiting for me to do something? I peer through the darkness trying to find shapes. Maybe he's waiting for me to mess up, to disobey him again. Did my obedience not fit into his plan? Yet somehow at the thought I feel very determined to obey him perfectly. I've been earning myself punishment all night, perhaps a little reward is in order. I clasp my hands behind my back and wait as still as I can.
At first I start be counting seconds, an idle way to measure the passing of time. But soon my counting becomes slow and sloppy. I mix up, mess up, and give up in the end. My thoughts become silent like the room around me. I stare into the surrounding darkness, my body somewhat now used to the chill. Where is he? What is he waiting for? I try to imagine what he's up to. Maybe he's in another room fetching material for my punishment. Such tools are far beyond my experience, I can hardly fathom their effects. My ears prick up, trying to sense any sound. But the harder I listen for breathing or rustling the harder my heartbeat pounds and drowns out all sense of sound.
It makes me nervous, feeling like I've been left here alone. Is this my punishment? I was expecting something rougher, he seemed so angry. I run over everything he said in my head, trying to look for clues. I can't think of anything else he's asked me to do. The silence drags on. I try to be clever, think of this backwards. Maybe it wasn't what he said but what he didn't say? I'm at a loss; all I can think of is the fact he only told me to not move. Was there something else I should be doing? My throat feels dry. Maybe I should ask. He didn't tell me I couldn't speak, but the silence is imposing. Where is he? What is he doing? Time drags on. I want him, I want him right now. I want to dutifully serve my punishment. My mouth feels dry as I think of speaking; words slowly put themselves together in my mind.
"Master?" I whisper, my voice shakier than I intended it to be.
"Yes Slave?" I nearly scream. This whole time he's been standing right behind me, mere inches from my flesh. By reaction I jump away from him, but he catches me around the middle. He pulls me back up against him and crushes me to his body, letting me feel the anger still burning in him. I'm shocked to feel skin; he's stripped from the waist up.
"Yes Slave?" he repeats, this time sounding irritated. I grapple for words, "And you moved." There's a devious smirk in his voice.
"I'm ready for my punishment Master," I say nervously, "realizing that I've just been caught disobeying again." Maybe this time it was all part of the plan.
"No you're not," he scolds me and pushes me to the ground, "but I can fix that." I fall onto my hands and knees. The impact hurts. Then I hear the flick of a switch and a bright light comes on directly over a bed. It's black, the wood's been painted and every sheet matches. The black seems dark and seductive, rather fitting for a dungeon. I can faintly see the concrete walls around us, partial glimpses of nearby devices of torture really setting the tone.
"Crawl to the bed, stand, and bend over it," he commands me. I hesitate, unsure what fate might befall me if I submit. But noncooperation has a far greater cost in his world. I hear a rustling behind me as if he's moving toward me and I scramble to obey. The floor is cold and smooth beneath my hands and knees. I can hear him marching behind me, hurrying me along. I shuffle quickly, only now realizing how animal like and degrading this is. But this is punishment and if I seek to please my master I must carry it out to the fullest.
The second I'm in the ring of the spotlight it blinds me. My eyes water as I force them to stay open. The spotlight must be a high intensity bulb of some kind, just being in it makes my skin warm up. Looking around I realize I can't see outside of the light, like I'm in some kind of Hollywood interrogation. Somewhere in the outlying darkness I can hear him circling me.
"You lasted almost 5 minutes before you moved, I'll round up since you're new to this," he tells me as I lean over the bed., "so that gives you 35 instead of 40." I turn my head to see him moving in the darkness just outside of my view.
"35 what?" I ask him. His answer coming in the form of a sharp pain to my rear. I cry out, the sound echoing around the dungeon. I can see him now, just the part of him barely within the ring of light. In his hands he strokes a leather whip, a merciless smile on his shadowed face. He turns his wrist and I catch a brief glimpse of something tattooed there. In a dark bold font it reads 'A Slave Obeys'.
Another strike hits me this time on the opposite cheek. The sensation burns through my skin. I yelp and begin to push off the bed but a firm hand grabs me by the back of the neck and forces me back down. He holds me there whipping me across the ass repeatedly. I thrash at first but he just whips me harder, unmerciful. I can feel the whip marks hot and red as they throb even after the initial impact. It hurts so much I want to cry, but I grit my teeth and try to hold it in. Somehow I get the feeling that he could hurt me much more if he wanted to.
Over and over it continues, at a steady pace. I can almost swear I hear him snickering, with wickedness at the sight of my beaten ass. Instead of trying to block out the pain I concentrate on it, letting the feeling wash over me in waves. My master if punishing me, I am worthy of training. I want Master to punish me always when I am bad, I want to feel him like this. At some point the whipping stops and is replaced by the gentle caress of his hand over my stringing flesh.
"How many was that Slave?" I hear him whisper in my ear. My mind panics. I hadn't thought to keep track of how many times I was hit. I try frantically to estimate it in my head, but it would be so easy to be off by five or more. What number would he be likely to stop at? A round number or an arbitrary one? Or has he reached the end all together? I can't even come up with a guess, my mind flounders. He leans over the bed next to me, watching my silent terror with great interest. He seems to enjoy watching me in distress. To further my plight he leans over me as well, resting his arm still holding the whip directly in front of my face. His tattoo seems like a warning sign, 'A Slave Obeys'.
"I don't know Master," I whisper fearfully, "I'm sorry I wasn't keeping track. I'm ready to be punished more." I expected him to angrily get up and proceed to whip me further but instead he softly strokes my hair. I hazard a glance up at him and find him smiling at me.
"I am glad that you are honest Slave," he tells me, "you're at 30. Would you like to serve your last 5 in a different manner?"
"What manner is that?" I ask timidly, afraid to agree prematurely. I can hear him chuckle.
"I want you to undress and lay on the bed," he whispers seductively into my ear. Then he lets go of me and steps back into the shadows. I hesitate, at first debating if I should take the five more lashes or not. But then it dawns on me that I don't have a choice anymore. Regardless of whether I agreed to take the deal or not my master has made it clear what he wants. And a slave obeys.
I stand up, my ass stinging as my skirt brushes against it. I want very badly to remove the offending garment first, but I want to please my master. I know he's watching me and I want to give him a show. I start with my blouse, unbuttoning it from the bottom and slowly moving up to my breasts. I work carefully so as not to embarrass myself by getting in a fight with a button. Master shouldn't be kept waiting. As I move up I give him glimpses of my bra, black silk and lace that would match my thong if I still had it. I'm careful not to let the shirt fall too far open though, I want to tease him a bit.
As soon as all the buttons are loose I let my fingers trail up over my stomach and the curve of my breasts. Then slowly I peel off the shirt, making sure to push my breasts out and display them to the watching darkness. I consider throwing the shirt at him once I've got it off but I can't find him and let it fall to the floor.
With the bra I tease him a little bit more, slipping my fingers under the cup edges and playing with my nipples where he can't see. I hear a discontent growl from the blackness. I smile, having now located his position. I slip out of my bra and playfully toss it at the sound. He gives a satisfied chuckle after I hear him catch it.
I flash him a flirty smile and run my hands over my breasts. For a quick moment I heft their weight, letting my thumbs brush over the perked nipples. I give them a little bounce before moving on, having not gotten any verbal response. I'm sure he's enjoying the show, but I know we're both eager to move on.
I turn around, giving him a good view of my ass. Slipping my fingers into the waistband of my skirt I begin to gradually pull the fabric down. The last thing left covering myself from him. Facing away from him I take a nervous gulp, baring myself to the predator in his lair seems like a surefire way to end up in danger. But so does disobeying him, I can't lose.
I lean over gracefully, giving him a full view of my wet pussy as I bring my skirt down around my ankles. I feel nervous, unsure if I've lived up to his expectations. But a smile spreads across my face as I remember his satisfied chuckle, I'm doing well. Now I climb onto the bed, the black sheets having been warmed by the spotlight. I lay out across the bedspread like the models I've seen in lingerie magazines. The spotlight almost makes me feel like I'm on a stage, but right now only the man who matters is watching. I wait, knowing it is not my place to summon him, rather that he shall appear when it suits him.
He doesn't let me wait long, appearing from the shadows in the corner of my eye. He circles the bed as he examines me, seemingly quite satisfied. He grabs my ankle as soon as it's in reach and pulls my legs open. I'm more than willing to let him, spreading apart my other leg. He gazes upon my womanhood with a ravenous primal gaze.
"This time," he tells me, "you can make has much noise as you want." Then he begins stroking my nether lips with his fingertips. I moaned immediately, pushing my hips into his hand. He plunges his fingers in without much hesitation. It feels amazing, to finally be filled with a part of him. He moves them back and forth inside me, coating his hand in my juices.
As he continues to finger me he leans over my naked body, taking in my scent. I feel myself pant as he comes in and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, his hand moving faster and faster within me. He laps his tongue over my nipple and I groan. My back arches to press my breast against his face and he makes a satisfied growl. Then he nips at me and pushes off the bed, removing his hand from inside me.
"On your knees," he tells me, slapping my thigh with his hand and smearing my juices over my skin. I scramble to obey, now feeling empty and impatient to have him back inside me. His belt buckle clicks quickly as he hurries to undress. I feel a hand push into my back and nails dig into my skin.
"Head down Slave," he growls, not wasting time in convincing me to submit. I press my face against the sheets, feeling his nails still crawling at me. He mounts me hastily, eager to lay claim to my dripping cunt. I feel him rest his face on my back, a quick hot breath racing over my flesh before I feel his teeth bite me. I cry out in pain and feel him shove his length inside me. It's a shocking sudden sensation, but oh so welcome.
He bites me harder as he ramps it in again. It hurts but I move against him, the aching to be conquered far greater than this pain. I want to belong beneath him, my dutiful place in the world. We move together, liquids sliding between us. My hands are balled up in the bed sheets, trying to force him deeper and further inside me. I can hear him growl and take hold of my hips, releasing his teeth and concentrating on fucking me harder.
I pant and then cry out, suddenly feeling my head jerked back as he grabbed a fistful of my hair. My body is beginning to tighten as I climb toward my climax. His nails dig into the soft flesh of my hips. We're both sweating in the spotlight, both pain and pleasure coursing through my body. He growls, clearly close to cumming.
"I want to cum Master," I gasp, "I want to cum so bad."
"Not yet," he growls at me, "you will cum when I tell you too." I whimper, desperate to gain release. He speeds up, making it difficult to hold back. He groans and then pulls out. I turn around, at first confused. With a shove to my hip he flips me on my back. I wrap my legs around his waist and try to force him back inside me but he resists.
"Beg me for it Slave," he demands, grabbing my hips and forcing them back onto the bed. I'm panting, so eager to have his throbbing cock back inside me. Between the spread of my legs I can see it pulsing, slick with my liquids.
"Please Master, I want your hard cock inside me," I plead, "put it deep inside my waiting cunt. I want you so bad. Please Master!"
"Good Slave," he barely has time to say before ramming his length back between my wet folds. I gasp, moaning repeatedly as he fucks me. My breasts bounce with each thrust. His hand comes up and claws at my soft breasts. My body convulses, torn between whether to pull away from the pain or attach itself more firmly to his cock. Of course the ecstasy wins, pain now serving only to further arouse me. I reach up and dig my nails into his shoulders, drag them down across his chest. He gives a deep groan and spasms inside my cunt.
"Cum Slave," he suddenly commands in a growl. My body is immediate to respond, climaxing in obedient submission. My thighs clasp on to him and force him in deep, my muscles tightening around his spasming cock.
"Master!" I cry out, my whole body becoming tense and ridged. The climax is mind-blowing; I've never felt this feeling like every nerve is exploding with sparks of pleasure. My master feels it too and groans as he finishes. We collapse onto the bed, me shaking with exhaustion and pleasure in his arms. The warmth of the spotlight covers our bodies like a blanket. We pant, the sweat between our bodies making us stick. He flops down on the bed beside me, giving me a gentle stroke on the cheek. I catch another glimpse of his tattoo, a small smile spreading over my face. Tonight I feel I've pleased him with my obedience.
For a few moments I wonder if I'm to stay the night with him, but he doesn't seem intent on letting me leave anytime soon. I can feel him fading off into sleep, me tightly wrapped in his embrace. I wonder what the morning will bring, or even where my clothes have ended up.
"Master?" I ask him quietly, trying to catch him before he's all the way asleep, "I'm not getting my thong back, am I?"
He chuckles to himself and mumbles, "Damn right you're not."