(If you are reading this before the first installment you may well be in need of discipline.)
***
miss phillips walked on hands and knees to the end of the bed. In the soft light she stopped in front of another mirror. It was as if she were gazing into a portal, watching her breasts swaying like a harlot/housewife in exquisitely shot European erotica. To her surprise her own body turned her on.
The sound system was playing - although she did know it then - Angelo Badalementi's Music from the Motion Picture "Secretary."
Master sat in a small chair beside her the height of a piano stool or milking stool. She could see his face in the mirror.
"Gravity is a wonderful thing," he said and gently set her breasts swaying again as if playing with a desk toy.
"I have what some might call a fetish for women on all fours.
"It's very primal." He ran his fingers through her hair and along her spine.
"Aren't you a hot little earth mother?" her murmured. He squeezed her buttocks
"All civilization ripped away . . ." he simultaneously tickled her anus and as his fingers reached to tease her plump hungry lips, dripping for him.
"Vulnerable, in heat - like an animal. A mare waiting for your stallion." He begun to finger fuck her violently at a gallop then stopped abruptly.
"A kitten waiting for your tom cat." His hand left her holes and he stroked the light bit of fur she allowed on her pussy.
"Sweet lil' ewe, waiting for your ram." He plunged his hand in and out again and spanked her on the ass. The sound echoed like an obscene gun shot.
"A cow waiting for your bull." He reached down and very gently but distinctly took ahold of her udders, and 'milked' her. "Good little cow," he murmured. Squeezing and teasing down from the base of her breasts, he stretched her nipples in a maddening erotic rhythm.
"A bitch in heat waiting for her top dog."
He climbed behind her and to her mortification and helpless arousal he sniffed her bottom.
He got up and walked around in front of her. She watched his bobbing cock, mesmerized.
"Of course the difference with Man is he stands above. He gets up on his hind legs not just to mate but to command. We are not animals, miss phillips, we are human beings. We're much kinkier.
"A man can walk upright and eroticize an idea in a woman's mind." In one smooth movement he pulled his black jeans down and rubbed his cock and balls over her face
"Do you like my cock, miss phillips?"
"Yesssss, Master!"
He pulled his cock away.
"And what do you think I should do with my cock, miss phillips?"
"FUCK ME, Master!"
He turns up Badalementi's "Secretary" and climbs around behind her.
He sniffs her.
He tastes her hot dripping pussy, his tongue ladling the honey down his throat and lashing at her swollen lips, coming maddeningly, insolently, dominantly close to her clit.
He replaces his tongue with his cock, holding it in his hand like a pistol, teasing it over her slit, slapping it against her clit, teasing her lips again.
"Do you like that miss phillips?"
"YessssSSSS, Master!!"
He rams the entire length of his cock into her sopping wet cunt.
He fucks her, straddling her from behind, his hands finding her breasts like nature's handles, tweaking her nipples, spanking her ass, teasing her asshole, tugging gently on her hair.
Balls deep in the secretarial pool, the scent and her cries of her ecstasy filling his room like incense and flutes.
She watches him in the mirror, remembering his quote from his profile, "neither built like Arnold nor hung like Northern Dancer." Yet somehow he feels like a tree trunk inside her.
A root growing out of the ground and pounding into her cunt.
"I am your mare, your kitten, your ewe, your cow, your bitch, Master!" she finds herself crying lasciviously.
He pounds her relentlessly until he cums like a volcano, white hot lava splashing the walls of her womb, jets of ivory pleasure; her juices honey sweet, anointing her King in hot summer rain. She mewls like a kitten.
They are awash in the wave, faces in soft focus ecstasy in the mirror.
He spanked once and slid out. She groaned.
"Clean me up, miss phillips."
She spun around and dove as if the sudden void in her vagina could only be satisfied orally and deeply.
Master ran his fingers through her hair, as she bobbed in happy-girl mode, he reached to gently tweak her nipples, greatly enjoying himself and her.
"Mmmmm. That's it, miss phillips, taste the juice your pussy celebrates with when it's been properly fucked, you hot, sweet, hungry, sexy, slut."
She licked as if she hadn't eaten in days.
He cuddled her.
He thanked her for the gift of her submission.
She asked him why some women need to be treated rough and nasty. Was it wrong?
"I'm not a psychologist, psychiatrist, or therapist but I think like everything else it's both ingrained and taught. Your cultural environment, your own personal experience, that which links you to human story.
"Something naughty happened that you had no control over but it aroused you and now you crave it but feel guilty. You need to be erotically indulged in your forbidden fantasy and erotically punished for enjoying it. (Even if need be punished for enjoying the punishment.)
"And then cuddled for your bravery and your honesty.
"You have every right to be dominated by a man who respects you and cherishes you - even though he may be disrespectful in the bed room, call you his slut, his whore, his bitch, humiliate you, own you, treat you like an animal if that pleases you both."
She thought: "Sure, go ahead. Fuck me and understand me, you bastard!"
He returned to his 'lecture' and she listened intently like a good student even if there was perhaps just a trace of mischief in that adoring smile.
He suddenly brought his open mouth down on her nipple, grasped her breast in his hand like a precious goblet and sucked as if satisfying a deep and primal hunger.
And then the other.
She held her mouth open wide in surprise and ecstasy.
He calmly resumed his 'lecture': "Your responding to the ad suggests you have these needs. There seem to be only three sane responses." He flicked a wet nipple with each response to which she moaned her encouragement.
"One, where you admit what you need and get it - and are respected, mentored and cherished.
"Two, where you wean yourself off what you need or just drop it, replacing it with loving, decent, wholesome, sharing, nourishing vanilla sex. Plus maybe macramé.
