They had been “seeing” each other on-line for quite some time. It was at his insistence that she’d finally bought a digital camera (“the better to see you with, my dear”). They had thoroughly explored the sweep and limits of her desire. Finally, Masterwolf, as he was called on-line, told her that they should meet, to do the things they had been talking about for so long.
When he told her, she was kneeling, bound firmly, and tightly with the cotton rope, dyed red that he had instructed her to buy. Her hands were free so that she could type, and so that she could do his will. She did not look into the camera’s eye, as that would have been the same as meeting his, something a slave was not permitted to do. Still, she was surprised, and a warm wave of happiness that he should find her sufficiently pleasing to take possession of off-line washed over her. Her nipples, each decorated with a ferocious little clamp, pulsated painfully as her heart leapt in her chest. Apart from the rope and clamps, she wore only the headset and mic, and a small butt plug.
He knew the city in which she lived, but ordered her to give directions to her house. She obediently typed out the instructions (though a girl would never give
instructions
to Master!). Master further instructed her as to how he would enter, how she would dress, and when he would be expecting to arrive. She was stunned: He would be here in less than twenty-four hours!
“Master,” she said, “This one must work tomorrow.”
It was true. Not only was she scheduled to work, her boss was expecting her to organize a presentation for the new product line.
“Yes. You will work. For me,” In the face of his confident growl, the new product line suddenly seemed insubstantial and silly. “Furthermore, if you defy me again then our first meeting will almost certainly be more pain than pleasure.”
“Yes, Master”—what else was there to say?
The earpiece gave the electronic click that let her know the session was at an end.
The following day was an agony. She awoke much too early and sat staring at the harbour far, far down the hill. She told herself she was considering the implications of what she was about to do, but really she knew it wasn’t any such thing.
She telephoned her office at seven-thirty. Her boss picked up the line.
“Hi, Tricia,” she said, trying not to let her voice quaver from the tension of lying and from the excitement of anticipation. “I . . .”
“Oh hi, honey,” her boss responded. “Look, your father just called looking for you. I told him you hadn’t come in yet.” There was a pause. “Oh Christ, has anyone called you?”
“Uh, well,” She thought very fast, “Yeah, actually, that’s what I’m calling about. I can’t come in today.”
“Well of
course
you can’t, you poor thing. Don’t you worry. I’ll have Gerry give the presentation.”
She was nonplussed. She stared at the instrument for a minute.
“Uh, can he handle it?”
“Well if he can’t do it now, it’s time I found out.” Responded Tricia “You do what you need to. If you need a few more days for the funeral, that’ll be fine too—just e-mail me.”
She was so surprised at this that she almost said, "
funeral?
" But she reined in her tongue just in time.
Her boss said goodbye and hung up.
For a moment she thought of calling him, of asking what he’d told Tricia. But she knew he was on his way.
Now there was nothing left but to wait for Master.
For the next few hours she went about in a tingly daze. Her pussy was entirely wet the whole time. She couldn’t help but think. She’d seen his picture before, of course. But she’d never done anything like this with
anyone
. For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder whether she might be meeting some psycho.
Then she dismissed the thought. It was unworthy of her, and more importantly of Him. Tonight he would possess her, take her, and make her all she wanted to be. There would be pain. Of that, she was certain. But she revelled in it. Suffering and obedience to her Master were what she wanted. There was no room for doubt.
Before she knew it, the sky was darkening. She went to her bedroom. He had given her strict orders:
First, you will strip.
That was easy. She allowed herself to preen in the mirror a moment. Her hair, dark and wavy, fell in a soft wave over her shoulders. Her eyes glowed as though illuminated from within so that they were brighter than the feeble bedside lamp, which cut the darkness only enough to enhance the shadows.
Her shoulders were golden, as were her smallish but firm breasts. She caressed her ass with one hand and then ran the hand up over her belly. The hand cupped her right breast, weighing it. Then she pinched the nipple hard, eyes looking into the mirror. When her lip curled in pain, she released the nipple, running her hand back down over her belly—not flat, but not puppyish either. She turned and bent forward slightly, her looking over her shoulder to the mirror. Her ass was still firm, the result of hours of exercise. It pleased her that she kept herself well for her Master. Her roaming hand smacked hard at her ass. Her pussy was shaven. Master had had her do that as soon as she bought the camera. She had squatted over a bowl and recorded the whole process. Today she had merely had to trim the stubble while she showered.
Give yourself twenty hard spanks with the leather belt.
The belt was identical to one he owned. He’d sent it on their three-month day. She hated applying it, but she'd been ordered, so she would do. She took up the brown length of the belt—it smelled like him, like she thought he would smell, a faint hint of Drakkar and . . . jasmine? And beneath that a deeper, more masculine scent.
With a deceptive ease born of practice she swung the belt around herself so that it smacked into her buttocks. Tears came to her eyes after the eighth stroke, but she continued. On the ninth stroke, she accidentally swung the end of the belt so that it struck her shaved pussy, and squealed aloud. Still, she continued . . . fifteen, then eighteen . . . she gasped for breath, her ass red, along with the extra marks where an unexpected backlash had caught her thighs, body, or cunt.
Now you will empty yourself. Use warm water. Do it in the living room, where you did before.
Of course, he would require that her asshole be squeaky clean. She used the hot-water bottle with its surgical tubing, kneeling over the hassock the way He’d made her do when He’d first ordered her to give herself an enema. She slowly worked the rubber tube into her anus—she used a little lube, although sometimes Masterwolf would make her insert it without any lubrication except the juices of her pussy.
She got up, glancing at her living room, and made her way into the bathroom. Master had not instructed her to hold the liquid inside of her—sometimes he made her plug her ass for hours. But she repeated the process to be sure she would be thoroughly clean and available for His use.
