I stand in the room, knowing I will meet my Master soon. I've been ordered by my handlers to keep my gaze downcast, to not talk back, and only speak when spoken to. Apparently, those are all some of my less desirable attributes, and I've been told time and time again that I'm a long way from what a slave should be. Now that I've been bought, I'm determined to prove to my Master and myself that I can be the kind of slave any Master would be proud of.
He walks in, coolly confident, and my heart skips a beat. He's tall, handsome, with a cruel glint in his eye and I can't help but wonder what torturous delights he has in store for me.
He stops, then looks me up and down: "You belong to me now. I own you, understand, slave?"
I exhale shakily and breathe out a barely perceptible "Yesss."
Lightning quick, he takes both my nipples between his fingers, and expertly squeezes them until I gasp in fear and delight. "You will address me as Sir. You will end each statement with Sir, you will start each request with Sir, or your punishment will be ...severe." He smirks then, and lifts my head up to meet his gaze, twisting my nipples until I finally understand what's asked of me, and I practically moan, "Yes, Sir."
"So she
can
learn. Good girl." He pats my face appreciatively and steps back.
He circles me like a predator, making comments about my body, my hair, my face, noting the need to get rid of my worn clothes. He sighs, "How am I supposed to inspect you properly with all those rags on? Strip." I rush to get out of my clothes, eager to please, and he stops me with a slap to my hands: "Slowly. Look at me while you do it, make it worth my while." I take my clothes off one by one, blushing furiously as he nods with appreciation.
I stand there, entirely naked, painfully aware of my nipples hardening in the cool air, and my pussy betraying me with its wetness. He touches me, both hands on my tits, rolling my nipples, pulling them, holding onto them, then letting them go, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from me that quickly turns into barely concealed moans.
"Huh, a filthy slut
and
a slave, looks like I hit the jackpot." His hands knead my tits, and my eyes start to close in pleasure, when he suddenly stops. His hands are between my tits, and I become so very aware of the fact that I've been sweating all day without any chance for a shower. "Tsk tsk, they didn't even clean you properly before sending you to me? Let's get you cleaned up, filthy slaves don't get collars, you know."
"Yes, Sir." I look at him with desperation, unwilling to admit that his rough handling of my sensitive nipples sent me halfway to a powerful orgasm, but eager to do whatever I need to do to feel more.
I turn towards the bathroom and take a few unsteady steps forward, when I feel a powerful hand grip my hair. His cool and measured voice turns into a growl: "Crawl, slave. You haven't earned the right to walk beside me." He lowers me down by my hair, and I feel two unexpected, sharp slaps to my upturned ass. It's all I can do to keep my breathing even; my pride won't let him see my weaknesses, yet.
I try and crawl towards the bathroom, but the sting in my ass blurs my thoughts. I feel the tendrils of pain turn into the most delicious warmth, traveling from my ass to my increasingly wet pussy, and just as I start gathering my thoughts, I feel a steady hand grab my swollen cunt. I gasp and involuntarily push back, desperate to feel my Master's fingers inside me. He dips a finger inside my folds: "Huh, it really doesn't take much to get you wet. I'm going to take my time enjoying your holes later."
He pats my pussy: "You like getting your pussy fucked, right, slave?" "Yes, Sir," as I rock back and forth on his hand. "What about your mouth?" "Yes, Sir." His pats get harder, bordering on spanking, and I'm starting to lose it. "What if I fuck your ass? You know, taking a cock up the ass is a true mark of a good slave." He pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it roughly, as I moan: "Yes, Sir, anything you want, Sir."
He takes his hand away abruptly, and I whimper with frustration. "Go on now, we don't have all day." I stumble, eliciting a chuckle from my Master. As I crawl towards the bath, he pries my ass cheeks open. "That tiny hole is going to need a lot of work for me to fuck it properly. Next time, I expect you to be wearing a plug. Am I clear?" I am completely helpless, entirely exposed, and while I should be embarrassed, humiliated, furious even, I can't help but feel a level of arousal I've never felt before. "Yes, Sir. When would you like me to wear the plug for you, Sir?"
He pauses, tapping my butthole absentmindedly with one finger, "Given how tight you appear, you will be required to wear a plug through dinner on any days I decide to take that fuckable ass of yours." I gasp, knowing that it will be nearly impossible for me to concentrate on dinner, but I know my place, and that place is to obey my Master. "Yes, ssssir."
Somehow, miraculously, I make it to the bath and look behind me. Master stares at me expectantly: "You do know your slave positions, don't you?" I shake my head, as I have not been owned by anyone before Him, and meekly admit, "No, Sir, I'm sorry, Sir."
"Kneel, slave. Hands on your thighs, back straight, palms up, face forward." I do my best to get into the position, he pinches and prods me into an acceptable pose, then whispers in my ear: "When I tell you to kneel or wait, you will present yourself to me in this way. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Yes, Sir, what?"