A Dom's Best Friend

Please read Chapters 1-3 of A Dom's Best Friend before continuing. Warning: This is a story of the BDSM genre. Scenes of a strong sexual nature related to that genre are depicted here. If acts of Sadism and masochism scare and/or offend you, please seek your textual jollies elsewhere.

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Jacquelynne

After a few hours of tossing and turning, or of squirming and wiggling, in the cage, the metal framework biting into my skin, my clamps making my nipples scream for mercy that I would not beg for, a rattling of the cage door alerted me. I blinked in the complete darkness, barely able to make out the darker shape of Pres opening the door.

"Wh-what, Master?" I whispered but then remembered the other predicament keeping me awake. I had to pee. Badly.

"I remembered that, even with the clamps not on their tightest setting, they aren't safe to be worn all night. Still want your nipples to be sensitive and tender to my torment, slave," he whispered, his voice harsh and husky with sleep and...something else.

Beside the bed, he flicked on a lamp, and my eyes closed, reacting to the sudden light in the oppressive dark. Opening my eyes slowly, lashes fluttering against the onslaught of light, I peered up at him as he held me in his lap, his fingers toying with the chain on the clamps. Pres seemed to be waiting for something, some sign from me, to continue. When my eyes opened, he continued.

"This is not your first time with the clamps, slut," he warned with that dark chuckle that made my skin prickle with delight and dread. "You know what's coming."

Even with his reminder, even as I steeled myself against it, my breath released as a shrill shriek as he removed the clamps simultaneously. The blue flame of his eyes reflected a sadistic glee I had never seen in them. My own eyes winced as my nipples flared back to excruciating, blood-pumping life.

Pres's hands reached up to roughly caress the, eeking out a whine from me, tortured yet aroused. As I squirmed on his lap, he let out a full laugh, an odd mixture of his old charm laden with Scott's sadism.

"Wet, pet?" he queried, one eyebrow arched.

As much as I would have loved to have answered with the affirmative, I demurred, "Um."

Some of the laughter faded from his eyes, leaving his expression and glare arctic. "Is there something wrong, Lynne?" Remote.

I hop-grinded on his lap and noted his erection had dissipated. Confused at that, but my mouth howled of its own volition. "Master, I hafta pee!"

Recognition warmed his eyes anew, and he barked out a chuckle. A Pres chuckle. I was already able to distinguish the two.

Knowing the fragility of my bladder, he stood, scooping me up in his arms, his heartbeat strong against my ear, and walked purposefully over to an open toilet. Plopping me on the seat without ceremony, he chortled at my expression. "Pee, pet."

"With you here?" My voice raised to dog whistle levels on that final syllable. "Yes, Jacqui. There are no more secrets between us."

As he appeared to not want to allow me any measure of privacy, I felt my cheeks burn as a trickle escaped.

"Maybe I didn't make it clear, slave. Pee. It was an order." HIs tone brooked no argument. Liquid lava. In reaction, my body's hold on my bladder disintegrated, and I mindlessly peed, my eyes locked on his.

He could order me in that tone to roll, naked, on a bed of hot coals, and I would do so gladly. (Don't judge; you know you would, too.)

My readiness to merely accept this troubled me. The duration was for a week. What was to happen after that?

He considerately (even thinking of the irony of that made me snort) let me finish, but he then scooped me in his arms to return to the chair.

"Now, I'm definitely not a Daddy, and you certainly aren't a babygirl, but I think a bit of cuddle time before trying to sleep is okay, don't you?"

I nodded into his chest, nuzzling deep. Not mistaking his heavy exhausted sigh, I looked up, curious. "Is everything okay, Master?"

"It's been a rough week. Couple of weeks. Fuck. Years," he muttered, mostly to himself, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand-the one not presently squeezing my ass.

I looked wonderingly at him. "Why, Scott?"

A bitter chuckle was his only response for several seconds. "On my eighteenth birthday, my dad took me to a club. He told me to select a submissive at the club to practice on for the evening. Told me the nature of his and Mom's relationship."

At my questioning look, he nodded. "Most fathers want their sons to be like them-mine is no exception. Except, over time, I gained the reputation of being even more sadistic." He looked down at me, his expression inscrutable, as if expecting a response.

"I heard," I spoke haltingly, "this evening. The other slaves to be auctioned spoke of it, as did Jeeves."

HIs gaze sharpened at the mention of Jeeves. "What did Jeeves say?"

"Just...that before your dad introduced you to the lifestyle, you had been in love with a 'nilla girl you didn't wish to taint." Jealousy ate at me like acid, realizing now that Jeeves had been discussing Pres.

"Gossipy son of a bitch," Scott growled, but his voice held a note of fondness. "What else did he say?"

"That you were so rough on subs that all safeworded out. Adn that he thought you were doing it because you were punishing them or not being 'her.'" In my mind's eye, I fabricated "her" into one of his perfectly manicured and kept girlfriends. Blond. Delicate. Fussy.

He hummed softly, considering it. "That is possible-or it was, in the beginning. Now, though, I find I enjoy it too much to give it up." A surprising swat on my still-bruised ass made me whimper.

"So you would be as harsh with her as with the others? As you will be with me?" Why I was adding to my misery of bringing her up, I don't know.

Scott's expression revealed shock for a split second as I spoke. But, then, with barely concealed laughter, it seemed, he answered, "Of course."

Thoughts of her must have aroused him because here he was, swelling beneath me. Sadly, I felt my own body respond. "Most don't get as far as you do even, Jacqui," he mused.

"No?" I flushed with pride. At least in this, I had a superiority over all who came before-and her. "Master, why didn't you tell her? It's obvious you aren't over her."

Another maddening chuckle that taunted me with knowledge that he knew something I didn't. "Lynne, I'll never be 'over her,' as you put it. As for why I never discussed it with her? At eighteen, I knew she didn't feel the same way. Even until very recently I was afraid to reveal to her all.

"I mean, imagine, Lynne, if someone came up to you when you were eighteen, madly in love, saying he loved you desperately, but he wanted to make you cry and bleed because that was his kink, how would you have reacted?"

He threw up his hands, almost upsetting me in the process. Clinging to his shoulders, I got in his face. "If I loved him, I would have kneeled before him immediately." As I would have for you, I spoke only to myself.

As if shocked by my impassioned answer, he was silent for several moments. When he spoke, his voice was different, softer. "When did you know that you were submissive-when you started seeing Lester?" He spit out Matt's name as if it were something that tasted bad.

"No. Long before. It was our first year at college. I was home for the weekend, and my laptop had broken. I borrowed my dad's and found his porn collection. It was...eye opening." I ducked my head in shame only to feel him wrench my head back by my hair, his other hand clenched on my chin, his eyes locked on mine, searching for some absolute truth.

"That long, slave? You could have been mine that long ago?" he mused, almost to himself.

"Scott?" No answer. "Pres?" That got his attention. "What are you talking about?"

He brought my lips to within a millimeter of his, his lips brushing mine, causing fireworks of need throughout my body. "Just who do you think that 'little 'nilla girl' was? You, you silly pet. I was so set to tell you, then Dad had to take me to that club, and I...I felt there was no chance then."

His lips crashed down on mine, drinking from mine for several minutes. "And, then, there was Lester. I knew his reputation, but I had to stand by quietly while he destroyed you. Then, the video surfaced. And the second. And knowing that I'm a bigger monster than Lester. That you deserve better. Then, the ball tonight. Fuck, Lynne. Why?"

"Why did Lester dump me? Because he knew I was obsessed with you. That's what he was punishing me for in that last vid. And why did I sign up to be auctioned tonight? Because I needed to get over you. Because I'm too tainted, too dirty for you."

"Too tainted? Too dirty? Jacqui, seriously?" Incredulous, his lips gentled on mine for this kiss. He pulled back, his tone altered to Scott voice. "Then, prove it, slut. Choke on my dick."

With an eagerness I could not contain or conceal, I slipped to the cold concrete floor, my mouth already watering. His strong fingers cupped the back of my head, twining again through my hair, leaving me in no doubt who was going to control this blow job.

HIs other hand guided his cock to slap both of my cheeks smartly with his cock that leaked precum. I moaned, sliding my tongue out flat, and he growled in approval. "Such a nasty girl," he moaned as his meat slid along my tongue, a cruel tease.

He withdrew as I tried to close my lips around him. Another cockslap to each cheek, and he adonished, "Silly slave, do you really think you are in control?"

When I pouted up at him, he released his cock to lap my cheek with his palm, just sharply enough to get his point across. "Bad. Pet."

I yowled softly, more in shock and desire-and desire frustrated, than in any real pain. "I'm sorry, Master," I tried in my silkiest tone.

He grasped his cock again, and I slid my tongue out of my open mouth. Again, with the patience of someone with all the time and control in the world, he slid his cock along my tongue. Meanwhile, twin ropes of drool slid from the corners of my mouth to drip from my chin to plop on my breasts.

That was not the only moisture that escaped my holes. Juices from my pussy dripped steadily from my cunt unhindered. A slight widening of Master's eyes and a flaring of his nostrils revealed that he recognized this evidence of my need for him.

"Nasty slut," he grinned, continuing that maddening slide of his cock on my tongue. "Close your mouth on my cock, bitch, and choke on it."

I had dreamed for years, since the snowcone incident in college, of worshiping his cock with my mouth. Part of me gloated that I was finally able to enjoy this much-wished-for pleasure.

My lips closed caressingly over his shaft, about midway down his thick, veiny dick, and the taste of him almost sent me into orbit. For those of you who have smoked dick before, you know how incredibly awesome it is to find one as tasty as it is thick. He tasted like he smelled! I could drool from that alone, but I was already drooling steadily.

Keeping my mouth fairly loose around him, I felt him driving deeper and deeper in my mouth until he hit my throat. If there were one thing Matt had done well during my training, it was destroying my gag reflex.

A few moments later I realized that Scott had ceased his movements in my mouth. I looked up and realized he was foisting control briefly over to me to see what I could do. "Suck it, slave," he ordered.

I curled my flat tongue around the underside of his cock. My head bobbing, I slid up and down his thick pole, cooing softly from the taste of him. Already addicted to the rug that was the taste and aroma of his thick dick, I felt my eyes go dreamy.

Again, I felt his cock head knock at the back of my throat, and I felt it was the moment to really bring it, face-fucking-wise. My head lifted slightly like a snake poised to strike; then, I dropped decisively down, impaling my throat, completely obliterating the barrier there.

Pres's response, a cross between a growl and a groan, was a benediction. I gave into my own need and swallowed hard around the head of his cock.

His control snapped. Pulling me off of him by the hair, he made me feel-inadequate, that I had done something wrong. Dragging me along the floor by yanking on my hair to the bed, my knees scraping, his cock rampantly remained erect, throbbing.

More from the humiliation of his repudiation of my blow job than scraped knees, my eyes teared up. Unceremoniously, he flung me on his bed on my back, guiding me so my head bent backward over the edge.

Oh.

Thank.

God.

With a fish-hooking finger, he opened my mouth, wasting no time before plowing my mouth with his cock again. He straddled my face, forcing himself into the column of my neck. Lifting my head slightly, I aided him in the wanton destruction of my throat.

My throat a forgotten memory, he groaned and twisted his cock, drilling deeper than even Matt had dared. With a tight voice of nearly shredded control, he offered, "If you need to safeword, tap my thigh three times because I'm not stopping otherwise."

The answering nod from me only served to jerk his cock. His response was to plow me harder, deeper. My throat, his willing cocksleeve, answered for me: a series of glurps, gags, and wet fucking sounds.

Not to be forgotten, my cunt dripped onto the bed, staining the comforter. I felt myself sinking deeper in my surrender to him.

Seconds, minutes, hours later, he let out a harsh groan, pulling out to jerk off on my face. "Mouth open, tongue out, slave; you know what to do."

Moments later, his cum painted my tongue, lips, nose, cheeks, and chin.

Pulling back momentarily and exhaling sharply, Scott gave me a few minutes to lick my lips before sliding in with a, "Clean it, cunt."

This time, he rode my mouth, twisting his hips so that his cock punched the inside of one cheek, then the other. When his cock was cleaned of all except my saliva, he retreated.

I lay there, panting, unable to move. Drained. Funny since I was the one who drained him.

In the back of my mind, I registered water running. Scott returned a few moments later and turned on the bedside lamp, bathing him in a soft light.

With confident, gentle strokes, he washed his jizz from my face. I let out a soft mewl of protest.

"What, pet?" he interrogated me.

My voice drowsy, I mumbled, "Want to wear it, Master."

A bark of laughter, then, "Another time, slut." Mollified that there would be another time, I allowed the warm cloth and Scott to finish my ablutions before he picked me up, arranging me gently on the undisturbed half of the bed.

"But," I began, trailing off when Scott gave me a look that quailed my query.

"You sleep with me, slave. You earned it after that blow job." His words made me glow with pride. It felt natural, truly as it should be, for me to curl in his arms and sleep.

* * * * * * * *

Prescott

I exhaled loudly, naked with a naked Lynne beside me. Twenty-four hours earlier I would have doubted that it could happen. Ever. And, now, it seemed if all had worked out.

Images from the last several hours invaded my mind. Lynne in the bondage apparatus as I plowed into her. Her juices flowing out of her and down my shaft to collect on the floor. The incredible scent of her arousal. Placing her in the cage, the acceptance of her place in her eyes.

Later, when I removed her clamps, that submission in her eyes that I could become drunk on. Her sulks when I wouldn't leave her alone to pee. The light that shone in her eyes as a result of our shared confessions.

In a moment of tenderness, I picked up her hand, kissing it softly and placing it on my chest. She and I would be talking about that much more later. But...that blow job...

My brain shut down as, impossibly, my cock hardened again. Groaning, I willed it down. I had never had a slut's mouth who could swallow me like that. Even now, the image of her throat bulging with my cock in her neck even made me break out into a sweat.

I reached down to stroke her throat, and she winced. I felt awful that her throat hurt, but, at the same time, I couldn't wait to feel her mouth and throat wrapped around my cock again.

Settling down on the pillows, I slept, accompanied by a slave, for the first time ever in that bed.

* * *

Coming awake in a familiar bed with an odd weight at my side was disconcerting. For a few moments, I tried to reconcile the reality of last night with my dreams lately and realized that my wildest dreams and beyond had come to the fruition of reality last night.

Under a cloak of honeyed amber curls, the only movement that stirred her body was the evenness of her breaths. With steady (just) fingers, I smoothed several locks of amber silk back from her face, observing her repose-warmed face. Memorizing every curve and shadow.

With one last regretful glance, I slid out of the bed and padded to the makeshift galley kitchen. While lunch and dinner would be delivered this afternoon by Jeeves, I had decided to make breakfast for my slave. A goofy smile painted my lips. She was Mine. Finally.

As quietly as I could, I gathered the essential elements of French toast: eggs, cream, sugar, brioche, and Grand Marnier. Soon, the brioche slices were soaking in the custard and then draining.

Within minutes, I plated crusty yet puffy buttered French toast with bacon and poured two frosty glasses of orange juice. Adding whipped cream-the kind in the can-and maple syrup to the tray, I walked carefully across the warehouse and placed the tray on the bedside table. Jacqui rolled over, revealing the perfection of her nipples peeking out of the masses of curls.

To my shame, my growl awoke her. A sleepy smile stretched her soft pink lips that had closed around my cock. Fuck. I looked down at my robed body, tented by the pole of my cock. Her eyes slid down the black silk, and she licked her lips. As she looked up at me.

"Breakfast, slut," I ground out.

She blushed, realizing what she had been doing. My little minx. Venturing a hesitant smile, she whispered, "It looks delicious, Master."

Grinning as I espied her drowning her French toast in syrup then decorating it artistically in the spray whipped cream, my grin turned to a groan at the first moan she made upon tasting her creation.

I almost moaned as I observed the whipped cream clinging to her upper lips. Instead, I ducked my head and licked her lips.

A soft whimper was her response. Fuck it, I thought. Was breakfast really worth missing the opportunity to fuck her again? At her longing look at the plate, I steeled myself for a few more torturous minutes of watching her orgasmically consume this morning meal.

Besides, she would need her strength today for what I had planned...

With a last lick of her pink lips, Jacqui sighed, replete. A fine sheen of sweat had settled over me viewing her show of eating breakfast. "Thank you, Master," she purred.

I saw red, not in anger, but in raw passion. Pausing only to move the tray to the table, I crawled across the bed to Jacqui, growling low in my throat. She giggled, thinking it was a game. Soon, her eyes widened as I tackled her down on the bed, kissing her passionately. Jacqui tasted of syrup, cream, French toast...and her.

Lifting up only slightly, I whispered in her ear, biting down on the lobe, "Stretch your arms and legs out as far as you can, Jacqui." She moaned low in her throat, following my order with alacrity.

Reaching for the tethers I had once attached to the four posters of the bed, I secured her tightly to the bed, spread-eagle. Her eyes wide with trepidation combined with desire led me to chuckle evilly. With a visible gulp in her throat, Jacqui ventured, "Is everything okay, Master?"