My Name Is Whore

***All characters are 18 and above. All activities described in this story are undertaken as a matter of informed consent and choice between lawful adults. Any and all grammatical and repetition errors are the sole responsibility of the author.***

"Strip."

Damn him! How does he move around so quietly? I didn't even hear him come in!

Evangeline turned from her seat in front of the vanity mirror to see Mason's shadowy form hulking in the doorway.

Although he wasn't much taller than her own five feet eight and slightly built, an aura of unmistakable menace crackled around him, making him appear far larger and more formidable than he had any right to look. The light from the vanity caught just enough of his face to show his mouth set in a firm, neutral line which raised a chunk of ice in her stomach and liquid fire lower down, between her thighs.

She stood and pulled off the satin negligee with alacrity, knowing from his tone he would not be appreciative of snark, sarcasm or sass tonight. Thankfully, she'd had the foresight not to wear anything beneath the plum-colored satin, which left her bare and exposed to his gaze. Evangeline draped the negligee over the back of the chair and stood, resisting the urge to cover her most delicate parts. His gaze raked over her with a weighty pressure she experienced as a tangible touch against her skin, even from several yards away.

"Kneel," Mason commanded.

She complied, sinking to her knees with no wasted motion. The waiting position came with ease borne of long training and rigorous drilling until the correct sequence of motions occurred by reflex, with no need for conscious thought. Heels to buttocks, knuckles to thighs, legs spread, hands open, eyes downcast.

Although she would never admit it outside this house or a very select circle of friends, the waiting position always calmed and soothed her. No matter how hard a day she'd had, or how much of a mental or emotional tailspin she was in, she could always trust that taking to her knees meant she was temporarily free from the worries and stressors of the world outside. Once her knees touched the floor, even if the planet caught fire, it was all Mason's problem until the scene had been concluded. She had only to obey him without question or hesitation.

The light swish of his bare feet in the deep plush pile of the carpet heralded his approach. With each step, fresh wetness seeped from between her thighs. Her breathing came a little faster as her heartbeat accelerated in response to his increasing proximity.

Although she didn't dare raise her eyes, she knew he would stop just beyond her arms' reach, pacing in a slow clockwise circle around her. As he did so, he'd be drinking in the sight of her exposed body with a proprietary air which left her feeling deliciously naked, bare and vulnerable, yet safe and secure. Anyone watching would see an inspection, and to be fair it was, but to Evangeline, his perusal felt like a hug.

"Rise," he commanded.

She did so, immediately folding her hands behind her back, just above the dimple which marked the top of her ass in the prescribed manner he'd taught her the night they decided to be together. Her head came up and she focused on a tiny picture of them taken by a group of Asian tourists while they were hiking together on the coast.

In the picture, they were posed on an outcropping of rock overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The happy moment, captured near sunset on a brisk March day, was still one of her favorite memories outside the bedroom. His face bore a gentle, loving smile which spoke to the depth of love and adoration he felt for her as he held her close. She remembered the feel of his kiss, his mouth warm on hers against the chill of the offshore wind, and the protective way he cradled her in his arms as if defying even the laws of physics to try to break his hold.

He slid a velvet-lined blackout mask over her head, adjusting the strap carefully over her ears. It tugged at her hair, just a little, and she winced.

"I'm sorry," he said promptly, adjusting the strap. "Better?"

"Yes, Sir," she whispered.

"Good girl."

He wrapped his hand around her joined wrists, holding them in place, and she swallowed hard, her rapid breathing edging over into an outright pant. A soft length of doubled rope slid over her skin, and her pussy clenched as he quickly bound her wrists with a double-column tie. When he was done, he secured the trailing ends and slipped two fingers gently between the bonds and her skin.

"How does that feel?"

"Fine, Sir," she whispered.

"Good." He ran one hand down the cleft of her ass slowly, teasing at her anus before continuing down to the entrance to her vagina. "What is your name?"

She read the signals he was giving her and responded accordingly, her nipples tightening. "My name is Whore, Sir."

He teased a finger into her slick folds. "And what is this delicious slit I'm playing with, Whore?"

"Your cunt, Sir."

"Would you like me to fuck my cunt, Whore?"

"Yes, Sir." It came out as almost a whine.

"And so I will. Later."

He laced his fingers through the bonds and pulled gently, She followed his lead as he turned her and walked her across the room.

"Stand right here," he said, letting her go.

There was no need to answer. She knew when a reply wasn't required, her compliance would serve better than vocalization anyway. She listened intently as fabric rustled and whispered close by, the sounds of Mason divesting himself of his workday clothes. Unlike her, he felt no need to fold his clothes neatly after removal or pick them up off the floor. That was one of Evangeline's duties. Then she heard the creak of the mattress as he settled onto the bed.

"Come here, Whore."

She came, gauging her position and orientation by his voice until he said, "Stop," freezing her in place. "Now climb up onto the bed." One warm hand fell on her shoulder. "Follow my lead."

Evangeline complied, inching forward until the heavy goose-down duvet brushed her knees. Raising one leg, then the other, she clambered onto the bed.

"Good girl. I'm going to turn you."

His hand on her shoulder nudged her so that she was lying on her side, her cheek pressed into a pillow which he had strategically placed for her. She flushed with pleasure at his consideration.

"Now, what does a good little Whore do?"

"Whatever Sir wants," she replied, pitching her voice just a little higher than usual because she knew that turned him on.

"What if Sir wants his Whore to suck cock?"

"Then Whore sucks cock." She punctuated the reply with a long lick of her lips.

"And if Sir wants Whore to swallow his cum?"

"Then Whore swallows every tasty drop Sir can give her."

"Put out your tongue, Whore."

She complied eagerly, moaning as the underside of the head of his semi-erect cock met her tongue. He held it there for a long moment and then said, "Lick."

With diligent attention, she laved his shaft, bathing it lovingly in her saliva. He stiffened even more as she treated each millimeter of his skin like virgin territory, exploring it as if she'd never seen or felt it before, mapping him with her lips and tongue. Occasionally, for a special treat, she'd let his wet cock slide off her tongue and over her cheeks before she returned to her devotions, a maneuver which never failed to make him groan with pleasure.

"Suck, Whore."

She opened her lips and let him slide into her mouth.

Before she met Mason, she'd always hated giving head. It was something she did because blowjobs were expected, but she balked at letting her lovers come in her

mouth, never mind swallowing what they gave her.

Unlike previous lovers, Mason had taken the time to be gentle with her, not simply grabbing her by the hair and fucking her throat for all he was worth. He eased her into the art of fellatio, praising and rewarding her lavishly as she learned what he liked and the perfect speed, pressure and rhythms he preferred. He'd taught her to crave his salty taste, musky scent and silken feel in her mouth and all over her face. She exulted in the wonderfully dirty wantonness of rubbing him against her lips and cheeks before taking him all the way to the base and holding his cock captive in her throat. Swallowing would still never be her favorite thing because of the taste and texture, but she would do it for Mason because it pleased him.

The firm evidence of his pleasure met the back of her throat and he growled, "That's a sweet little cocksucking Whore," in a tone which transformed the crudity into an endearment, something only a true lover would dare utter. She moaned in turn, the seeping wetness becoming a flood from her core as she took him deeper still. She wanted to make him lose control. She wanted him to use her hard, as if she was nothing but a mindlessly pleasing toy for his cock, and began to grunt and hum urgently around his length, hoping he would understand the message she was trying so desperately to communicate.

Don't talk with your mouth full, my ass!

With the facility only long experience and careful attention could provide, he read her need correctly and twined his fingers in her long hair, holding her firmly in place. His hips pumped as he started to fuck her mouth in earnest. His cock twitched and throbbed with his onrushing orgasm, and she suckled even harder, sealing her lips tightly around him, determined to make sure when he came, she wouldn't lose any of his essence.

"I'm going to come, Whore. Are you ready?"

She nodded as best she could with a mouthful of thick, firm cockmeat, swirling her tongue over him. Every new spasm from his cock awakened an answering pang in her own body, and some far corner of her mind marveled at her own response to his assault. A year ago, such enthusiasm would have been unthinkable. Now her body vibrated like a struck tuning fork as he quaked in her mouth. She could feel his clean-shaven ball sac tightening against her chin.

The first wave of his climax hit, and he shot a torrent of cream into her waiting mouth. She gulped frantically, knowing she would enjoy taking his cum far more if she could avoid tasting it. Each fresh burst took her by surprise with their ongoing strength, and she greedily gulped down the proof of his desire and virility, thankful he was deep enough in her mouth to make her task simple.

She sucked until the last pulse of his pleasure subsided and he had nothing left in his cock to give her, then began to lick him again, pleased that she'd left no trace of his orgasm on their skin.

"That was wonderful, Whore. Now stand up."

She did, carefully placing one foot at a time on the floor and making sure of her balance. Although she knew exactly where she was in the room, being without vision disoriented her, and she had to fight off a twinge of unease fueled by vertigo. To calm herself, she pricked her ears, listening as Mason undid the rope binding her wrists and then rustled around, gathering whatever he needed for what he had planned for her next, then drew closer.

"Spread your legs."

She complied without thought, and her obedience was rewarded with the slither of rope around her thighs. Something hard pressed against the top of her slit, and she gasped in recognition as it firmed against her body. In moments, he had lashed the wand vibrator to her body securely and pushed her onto the bed.

Bending her legs at the knees, he positioned her the way he wanted her and tied her wrists to her ankles, leaving her spread open and exposed, unable to hide from his attention. He checked the tightness and tension of the ropes again.

"Are you okay?"

She knew he was asking about more than her physical comfort or mental state. Wriggling her fingers and toes experimentally, she ran down the checklist he'd given her for warning signs of nerve damage or blood flow occlusion. Everything felt fine.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl. Are you ready?"

She bit her lower lip hard, knowing what was coming next. The conclusion would be exhilarating, as it always was, but getting there would be a stone bitch, as her mother used to say. Part of her wanted to beg him to let her suck him back to full hardness and then fuck her any way he liked.

But a good Whore knew her place, and Evangeline was determined to be a better Whore for him than any ten-thousand-dollar-a-night cum catcher ever could be.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good Whore." He turned on the vibrator on its low setting. Damn him! He'd positioned the vibrator just close enough to her clit to feel the tingling pleasure, but far enough away to deny her the intimate contact which would allow her to come.

He settled on the bed next to her and began to slowly, teasingly kiss and lick his way down her body, lavishing the same care and attention on her which she had shown his cock. His stubble scratched a little, but it only added to the luscious pleasure of his mouth and hands on her. He touched everywhere he could reach, finding places even her most experienced previous lovers had either failed to locate or refused to go near. All the while, the vibrator buzzed away between her thighs, adding to the exquisite torture as he nibbled and lapped his way down her arms and up her flanks, finding her breasts and giving each one its due attention.

Every touch made her wetter. Every kiss made her hotter. The light rasp of his teeth over her sensitized skin shot thunderbolts directly to her clit, especially as he turned her entire body into one oversized lightning rod of erotic pleasure. She had no erogenous zones; she had become an erogenous zone, and he proved it with every touch on a new expanse of her skin.

She lost all track of time. Her racing heart gave her no clues. The rushing in her ears stole audial cues which might help her mark the passage of seconds and minutes. She might have been there, turned turtle on her back as he ravaged his way over her body, for five, fifteen or fifty minutes. Her only assurance she had not been there more than an hour lay in the fact she didn't need to pee and her ass hadn't yet gone numb.

Then he found her thighs, and any concern about time evaporated like wax under a blowtorch.

Every kiss and touch made her shiver. His kisses and bites came harder as he found the fleshier areas. She could picture him in her mind's eye, with his nostrils flaring at the scent of her arousal as he worked his way down her legs, ignoring only the place she most needed him to touch her.

He reached her feet and lingered there. She was very ticklish on the soles of her feet. It took every ounce of discipline she could muster not to kick in galvanic reaction to the prickling of his stubble and the brushes of lips and tongue. Even worse, he began to lick and suck her toes, which both tickled terribly and tingled deliciously. Holding still became harder with each digit he worshiped, but she somehow found the strength to do so, until at long last he started back up her body.

Now her breath panted in harsh, ragged, syncopated gasps. She couldn't remember her own name. Her consciousness fled, crushed out and subsumed by her need. This was what Mason wanted from his Whore: to reduce her to a mindless, rutting husk, incapable of any thought, need or desire except to be taken, owned and claimed shamelessly.

He tugged gently at the downy wisps of pubic hair covering her mound. "Are you ready, Whore?"

She could only whine out a thin, keening wail of need.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Everything happened quickly in a spiral of luxurious torment as one long, blunt finger found the entrance of his cunt and slipped inside while another made slow circles around the opening to her ass, stroking ever so lightly as the finger in his cunt found the rough spot just behind her pubic bone and wriggled against it in a gentle "come here" motion and her asshole opened to accept the other one lubricated with the juices dripping from her slut whore body into her up to the first knuckle as his hand pressed against the vibrator and crammed it hard against her clit, making her sob with need because it was so good and she was so close but it wasn't quite enough and his finger sought the seething depths of her backside again, this time probing deeper as he gradually sank his finger all the way inside her as another finger joined the first in his soaked cunt and her entire world spasmed and contracted into one glittering singularity of ecstatic sensation and then he flicked the rocker switch on the wand vibrator—

Evangeline shattered into a billion sparkling shards of light as the rapture swept over her in a supernova flare, bright as a thousand suns, pitiless and inexorable as noon in Death Valley in August. Somewhere, parsecs away, she could hear someone screaming, but only the rawness in her throat told her the shrill birthing cry of a universe came from her own lungs as the sparkling congealed and focused into a singular point before shattering once more until she became, not one universe or even a multiverse, but all the universes which have ever been and will ever be, all at one time and in one place. Again and again she was born and died, goddess and creation entwined, until she could no longer bear the cycle of birth and rebirth and managed to draw coherent thought and breath enough to scream,

"RHOMBUS!"

Then all became peace as she drifted through a floating star-shot etherscape of cotton-candle pinks and blues and greens, as though her entire being had become the aurora borealis, dancing across a midnight sky at the poles in the far North or the impossibly cold South. She was aware of the concept of her "selfness" the way someone is aware of a limb which has fallen asleep after prolonged, enforced motionlessness: there, but not there at the same time.

Her senses returned gradually.

The bloodshot pink-orange of sunset painting the walls in hues of flame. The pressure of her spine and buttocks against the bed. The sharp, musky scent of erotic release hanging in the air. The low whisper of a masculine voice whose words fell on her ears like jabberwocky but soothed her nonetheless. The low, steady throb of her heartbeat. The whispering rasp of air in and out of her throat. The lingering aftertaste of male delight in her mouth.

"...okay, little one. I've got you," said the voice.

She turned her head to see Mason, curled up against her, lightly stroking up and down her body with the fingers of one hand while the other cradled her securely.

"Hi," she croaked.

"Hi," he whispered back, leaning in for the gentlest of kisses. "How was that?"

"Mm," she murmured. "So good. But there's one thing missing."

"Oh?" He lifted one eyebrow.

"I want you to fuck your Whore, Sir." She realized even as she said it that although she felt sore between her legs, it was the kind of soreness which would enhance, rather than dampen, her ardor for him.

"Are you sure, little one?"

"Yes, Sir," she said, leaning into him for a kiss. "Please fuck me. Fill me. Complete me."

"How can I resist?" He chuckled as he scooted down the bed. Lifting her legs over his shoulders, he filled her with one long, smooth stroke. "Like that?"

"Yes, Sir," she whimpered. She hadn't even noticed the ropes and the wand were gone. He must have taken them off her while she floated in that beautiful faerieland known as subspace, waiting for her to come back to her senses.

He began to thrust, long and hard and deep, his body strong inside hers, smooth, veiny hardness meeting slick, yielding wetness in a delightful symphony. She took every stroke with joy, her body spiraling open to accept him, as he pounded into her, thrilling to each thrust as he pummeled her insides in the most beautiful possible way.

"I'm going to come, Sir," she wailed as the joyous pressure built in her core.