It had been four days since they'd been able to spend time together. Four days that he'd denied her permission to masturbate. Four days that he'd denied her any relief whatsoever. He smiled to himself, knowing that even if he'd given her permission to masturbate, his ownership of her body was so complete that she couldn't orgasm without him inside her. He was sure that pussy was wet, eager, and ready to receive him.
She was clad in a blouse, skirt, and sandals, when he saw her approach the public park where he'd instructed her to meet him. There were other people there this evening, and he could tell she was wondering if they were part of some sort of test that lay in store for her. He sat down on the only empty park bench, allowing her to sit beside him. It pleased him to see that, even with these strangers present, she remembered his rule: her legs were spread, shoulder-width apart, allowing him free access whenever he wished. She knew her role, and she remained obedient to him despite her lingering shyness, and knowing this made him proud. Proud of how far she'd come. Proud to own her. He concluded that he was too leery of the others in the park ... he wouldn't be pushing her limits in that regard tonight. Besides, a little prudence wouldn't hurt.
When they were finally alone in the park, she allowed herself to relax a little, turning so she could lay her head on her Master's lap. She maintained the gap between her legs as she swung a leg up onto the bench. He could feel the question burning a hole in her mind:
Why hasn't hasn't he touched me?
He smiled, continuing to "ignore" her. She was squirming impatiently, "fanning" her skirt periodically, no doubt trying to create a breeze for the rainforest between her thighs. He felt her tiny hand reach for him, stroking up his calf, his knee, his thigh. He heard her moan with pleasure at the sensation of his leg hairs against her palm and her fingertips. He knew it wouldn't be long before her impatience and insecurity got the better of her. He felt her hand slide tentatively up his shorts, reaching to stroke him. She'd be punished for not asking permission later. In the meantime, he rewarded her by responding to her touch.
He recognized that change in how her body moved, the scent in the air; it made him harder that just touching him had this effect on her. She stopped abruptly, mumbling an unintelligible apology. She slid off the bench, and knelt on the ground in front of him. He could see the lust on her face: the look in her eyes, the way she licked her lips. The greedy passion with which she sucked his dick into her mouth ... The ardor with which she thoroughly laved his balls and every millimeter of his dick ... She could almost make him lose control, here and now. But he was the Master. "I think it's time to take my slut home," he said as he pulled her off him, and to her feet, by her hair.
"Yes, Master," she replied softly, following him to his car. Her eyes were riveted to his crotch, anxious to taste her Master again, to feel her Master pounding her throat. He knew she was salivating, and he loved the feel of her mouth, so he adjusted his shorts to free his dick from its confines. With a soft groan, she leaned across to take him in her mouth, careful to maintain the "vee" of her legs. To ensure his focus on driving, rather than do it himself, he instructed her to hike up her skirt. She did as he bid her, careful to keep him hard with her mouth as she did so.
When they reached a red light, he stole a glance between her parted thighs, pleased to see that her wetness was obvious. His fingers teased up her legs with a feather-light touch, avoiding the wet, swollen, pussy that ached for him. He allowed a single digit to trace her wet slit, and she moaned with pleasure around his dick. He slipped his finger inside her warm wetness just long enough to feel her tighten around his finger, then abruptly withdrew it as he pulled into his driveway. She whimpered softly, feeling so empty. "Clean my finger, bitch," he commanded. She happily complied until he decided they should go inside.
Keeping her legs apart, she dropped to her knees in front of the couch, her hands behind her back. Placing his hand on the nape of her neck, he pushed her forward, nearly suffocating her in the couch cushions. "So. My slut needed a punishment tonight, did she?" He snapped the belt loudly for effect. "My slut needed to taste her Master's belt again ..." his voice erotically, menacingly, calm.
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," she said, her voice ragged with anticipation.
The first blows struck her through her skirt, and she couldn't help jumping at the sensation or moaning in pain. "Shut up, slut. You wanted it. Take it." He heard her shuddering exhalation as he pulled her skirt over her waist, exposing her ass. He struck her bare ass harder than he had just moments ago. He watched her shudder, trying to follow his directions to stay still and quiet. He watched her ass redden as he struck her hard a few more times before slipping a finger into the dripping pussy that was opening in anticipation of, and desire for, him. "You dirty little pain slut! You like this." He heard her whimpered affirmation as he once again left her feeling empty, and resumed whipping her with his belt. he could see his pussy dripping, so he slipped a finger in once again. Instinctively, her body pushed back towards him, needing desperately to be filled. "Did you just push back against me, slut?" he demanded, angrily leaving her, once again, gaping and empty.
