Chapter 4: To Serve My Master
Master ploughed into me, shoving me forward, but then he grabbed my hips and hauled me back onto him. My breasts flopped back and forth underneath me as he shoved and dragged. He fucked me like a rabbit, fast and hard. But he was grunting like a donkey, and loud enough that it almost masked my screams. Still, I haven't had a man come in me so fast since school—not long after that auction, I got desperate to try the real thing and let one of the basketball players undress me in the back seat of his car. He was oh-so-cool and cocky, and he seemed to know his way around the game. But, when it came time to go for the slam-dunk, he couldn't find the basket with both hands! And when he did, it was basketball all over: dribble, dribble, shoot.
Master came with one last shove and a loud "unnnghhh!," spurting into me. He collapsed, half on his elbows and half on me. He lay there panting, until with a big sigh, he slid out of me and pushed himself back onto his feet.
I didn't move, but he grabbed my left wrist and there was a sharp "click" as the cuff popped open. A few more seconds, another "click," and the other cuff fell away too. I rolled my wrists to relieve the strain but otherwise tried to hold still. I was getting used to eternal waits that were really but a few seconds. Terror makes time flow differently—who was it who said that knowing you're to be hanged focuses the mind? I knew the night was just beginning, that it was likely to be rough, and that not only could I not avoid it, but that I had to welcome it with open arms—and legs. So I waited, feeling his cum dripping down my thigh.
"Turn over," he said, the growl mostly gone from his voice. It was back to a voice I would date.
I rolled over, but I didn't know where to put my hands—certainly not to cover myself. Maybe behind my head, but would that look too blasé and in control? Instead I left them by my sides and let my legs fall apart to allow master to see "his" pussy, then said in a voice that I tried to cast low and sexy "How may I serve my Master?"
He was scanning my body, from the black hair strewn across the bed, down my long neck and shoulders, pausing momentarily on flattened breasts, before scanning down my belly to my oozing sex. He eyes locked back on mine, his face still and serious. Was he contemplating his next move or feeling buyer's remorse?
I gazed up at him, trying to look inviting and inquiring. I focused on his mouth, those plump lips, and found myself hoping that he would order me to kiss him. I'd offered "The sweetness of my lips to please his taste," and hoped it would.
I licked my lips and said "Let me pleasure you, Master?" I said, hoping to break the impasse.
"Hush," He said, "I am enjoying the first of your offerings: your beauty."
With that, he returned to scrutinizing my body. I imagined a butterfly in a display case; pinned by his gaze and being analyzed by this stranger who looked a little ridiculous with shirt-tails draping his flaccid cock and pants entangling his ankles. But, despite having come twice, I was far from fulfilled—my body needed a cock planted inside. I was glad it wasn't buyer's remorse. My hips began to roll gently.
I let my hands scale my thighs and ski down the insides, stroking as they framed my sex. With my thumbs, I played with my hair while my fingers toyed with my lips. I slid them into me and opened myself to my master's view. When a fingernail scraped my clit, almost accidentally, I gasped and shuddered. His breath caught and he swallowed hard—but his eyes stayed locked on my hands. I dragged my hands away from my sex and sent them creeping like spiders up my belly to my breasts. I cupped them and pulled them up onto my chest, squeezing up and together, lightly rubbing my nipples. My breathing got shallow and my belly heaved. I let my hands continue their journey across the flat planes below my throat up to my neck; they lingered on my collar. I stroked it softly before working my way up to my ears and through my hair, splaying it out as I slid my hands past my head. I crossed my wrists and let them lay palms up and open. I wriggled. A slight lift of the left hip, roll it down; lift my right shoulder and then float my chest up. Lift my knee and then let it fall slowly out and back. Subtle movements. We went on this way for long minutes, him still, me moving. A flush rose in my breasts; my breath deepened, and my lips parted. His face remained still, but finally his cock started filling and rising.
Without letting his eyes leave my body, he reached down and slid his shoes, socks and pants off, then fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He got about half of them undone before he just grabbed and dragged it up around his neck. He took a long gaze at my mouth and then abruptly pulled his shirt over his head before relatching his gaze on me. His shoulders had some nice ripple to them, though he had little love handles at his waist.
"Stand up and place your hands behind your head," He said.
I did as he said; with my legs spread and my arms raised, all my vulnerable spots were exposed to him. Cunt lips puffy, underarms open to his touch, breasts lifted. He gazed at me for a moment, stepped to the side and motioned me forward. Then he stepped behind me and his hands began exploring my back muscles and caressing my ass. He reached between my legs and raised me higher, almost to my toes. A quick flick of his finger drew a quiet gasp. Then his hands snaked around to stroke my belly and up to cradle my breasts. He weighed them in his hands and with his thumbs stroked my nipples into life. One hand continued to play with my left breast while the other dropped back to my sex. His lips were soft as they nuzzled the nape of my neck, occasionally tickling with the tip of his tongue. I was shaking and desperate to spin and plant my mouth on his. Long seconds while his hands played upon me, and when he left my neck to nibble on my ear I nearly came again. I was about to break when he let go and stepped away from me.
"Now go over to the wall, pick out a flogger, and stand by the stock."
I couldn't move. I was still locked in place just trying to hold my position.
"You heard me," he said.
Oh shit, I thought as I forced my brain to shift from pleasure to pain. I forced my knees to unlock, unwove my fingers, turned, and walked to the wall. I gulped as I considered the array. Fuck. For me, hurting just hurt. I didn't like to hurt. I didn't get off on it. Fuck, why had I tried so hard to entice this guy? I was going to pay for it now.
I contemplated the beautifully tooled leather in front of me and wondered how many cows had died for it. Would their lost spirits moo in delight and cheer him on for the last hamburger I'd eaten as he whipped me? I looked at the crops and paddles but then grabbed a cat-o-nine-tails. The buttery leather looked too soft to do much damage. I took it down from the wall, walked to the stock, and held it out, trying to hold steady.
"Place yourself in the stock." He said. His voice hadn't really changed, but now instead of sounding warm, it was back to sinister.
I looked at the open stock—notched bars like teeth in a hungry mouth, and it forced you to kneel, making your ass a perfect target. In a move tougher than any my Pilates instructor had pushed me through on her most evil days, I knelt on the padded blocks, placed my wrists in the side notches, took a deep breath, swallowed, leaned over, and lay my neck in the middle notch. He lowered the top bar, its leather padding locking down around my neck and wrists. The catch clicked closed. I whimpered.
Images of Marie Antoinette flashed through my mind. In my head I knew he was just going to hit me and hurt me, but in my gut I was sure I was in the Guillotine. Tears welled in my eyes and dribbled down my nose, my stomach muscles clenched, and my legs trembled. Shit, no; we're not having fun.
"Shall I whip you now?" He asked.
Sadistic bastard. But I guess that's the way it works in B&D stories. The victim has to beg for it and then say thank you. This wasn't my idea of pleasure, but still, "All that I am..."
I swallowed hard and said "If the music of my cries will give my master pleasure, then I give it freely" and I tried to stretch my ass into the air to offer it to him.
He chuckled—a low rumble in his throat—and if it had been his neck on the block right then, I would have happily pulled the lever. The leather of the cat touched my ass and I flinched. The tails flowed over my skin, caressing, and one slipped down and stroked my pussy lips. It would have had me squirming with pleasure just a few minutes ago, but with the coming pain I was no longer aroused. I was scared and angry. I tried to extend my ass to offer it to him, but it was beyond me. As he touched me again, I cringed away from the coming blow.
He laughed, but more of a short snort, and said quietly, under his breath. "You hate this, yet you offer. I really did buy all of you. Wow."
What the fuck?! Was he going to beat me or not? Was this just a test? I wanted to yell "Please stop and just start—whip me or fuck me, I don't care which." Instead I whimpered again.
