Slave M

I decided that I should begin writing down my various fantasies. They will serve multiple purposes, mainly in not having to remember them and they will afford me the opportunity to practice what writing skills I may have.

I was outside of my class, talking with my roommate when I saw M pass by. M had previously admitted that she enjoyed being tied up during sex. Seeing her helped spur my mind towards the more fetishistic of desires.

Sitting in my class, with a movie going, I began to imagine exactly how said event would happen.

The basis is again male against female with withheld sex.

She stands before me, clothed, her hands at her side, her gaze upon me. I tell her she will be mine until I choose to release her from her bondage.

"For a month, you will refrain from sex. You understand."

She nods.

"Answer me when I speak to you."

"Yes, I do."

"You will refer to me as sir or master, understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, sir. And don't forget it or I will have to punish you." I said this with a measure of enjoyment."

"Yes sir."

"As I was saying, you are forbidden from having sex. For a month.

"Now, put your hands behind you."

I unbutton her jeans, push them down over her wide hips, then the same with her lightly frilled underwear. I move to stand at her side, my right hand coming down to cup her sex. I find her moist. Fantasies must already be circulating through her mind. I pull down the front of her shirt, freeing her breasts and lifting them.

I slide a finger into her, coming into contact with her clitoris. A little movement and she elicits a soft moan. I rub more, she moans more and she gets wetter. I explore, whispering dirty nothings in her ear. She responds more and more. From her breathing and less restrained movements, I know she is getting close to orgasm.

I cradle the back of her head in my hands, and pull. She is now looking at me. Her brilliant green eyes were locked with mine; she wants release. Those eyes plead.

I pull my fingers out and command her to open her mouth. Rather than simply open, her jaw seems to disengage allowing her red lips to come into contrast with her white teeth. I slide my finger between her other lips.

"Suck. I want you to know what you taste like; but you probably already know all too well, correct slave?"

She wimpers, her legs buckling slightly, her mouth still closed around and sucking on my finger. If this was any indication, she should do well when it's my dick that's in her mouth.

But she doesn't speak. My slaves are supposed to speak when spoken to. My free arm moves down and supports her arched back, above the swell of her hips; I remove my finger from her mouth and slap first one pale breast and then another. She winces; teeth gritted, eyes closed.

"What did I tell you slave?"

"Sir, sir - please sir."

Slap. Slap. Some redness is beginning to show in her breasts. If she keeps up this know-nothing attitude they were going to be happily reddened.

"I said when I speak to a slave. . .finish that."

"A. . .a slave speaks back."

Smack. I slapped her harder, then grabbed the breast and squeezed slightly.

"Sir. Sir, sir, sir. Master, master, master," I remind her. She needs to have it imprinted in her mind or I will gladly punish her for not knowing her place.

"Sir. Yes sir. . .I know, sir," she struggles to answer, the dulling ache in her loins competes and confuses against the pain in her breasts.

"Of course. Do you like your taste?"

"Yes sir."

"Tell me how much."

"I love it sir. Please give me more, sir."

"Nah-ah-ah. I know what you're trying to do. You'll get enough release later. Or maybe not."

I guided her over to a chair, placed a strong hand on her upper back. She put her arms out to catch herself. Now bent over, I spread those delicious fat white thighs, sliding a hand up between the soft, flabby ass, grazing her anus in the process. She moans even more loudly.

"Well, well, well, it sounds like slave really likes her ass being played with."

"Yes sir."

"Well, that was not so much a question as a statement. . .of fact."

I again put my fingers to her mouth, telling her to wet them as much as possible. I begin to massage her anus with my thumb, rubbing, pressing, then rubbing again. She begins to loosen; I slide one finger into her. The soft moaning raises in volume. I slide another in and begin to probe. She is reacting more; she tries to move her ass back against my hand. I spank her ass.

"I will have to pay special attention that ass. You really liked how I was fucking you. Didn't you?"

"Yes master. Please, more, sir."

"Sorry; truth be told, I like how you're writhing. It means you are responsive and we will be having a lot of fun."

I wipe my hand off on a towel I had brought out. I look down at that full bottom, spread legs, and the beginning of the delicious cunt. All soon to be mine for the taking.

"Well, soon enough I will be fucking that ass, and that cunt. If you like your ass played with, I may take the time to stretch it and see how far it can go."

"Oh no master, I don't know if I can take that. Just your cock. Just fuck my tight ass with your cock."

"I will. Now get up," I stand behind her, grind my erection against her ass, while my hands grasp her elbows and put her upright.

Turning her around I say, "I know exactly how you feel, how tight. I will randomly test you. If I find you to be looser than you should, you will be punished. Comprendé?"

"Yes, I understand sir."

"And if you are untrustworthy, then I will be forced to fit you with a chastity device. And then, you will really have no choice. You may have been able to get away with masturbating, but the device means, you get nothing."

She is accepting. Slave understands what this all entails and she wants it, needs it, even at the same time the loss of control, putting her into someone else's hands does fill her with dread and doubt. She came to me with this request, knowing I was the one who could give it to her. We are here because of her and I am only continuing because she wants it. She can end it at any time, all she has to do is say so. Really, she is in command, and I am serving her, by making her serve me. She knows this and knows she can leave, but she chooses to stay.

I tell her she can get dressed, but not leave. She presents herself to me; I put my hand on her hip and look into her face.

"You will enjoy this, I can guarantee you that. Dismissed," I say, softer than I had been, more casual, more concerned.

A smile briefly illuminates her face; she understands I stepped out of character to "really" check with her. That is why she allows a smile, and then resumes character and leaves.