What Worser Place?

I woke again shortly before ten o'clock and lay in bed for a few minutes listening to Kristin in the kitchen diligently working on my breakfast, then I rolled off the bed and shuffled toward the bathroom to relieve my aching bladder. Kristin's purse was sitting by the side of the bed, her checkbook protruding from the top. I grabbed the checkbook, flipped to the last entry. She had spent more than a hundred dollars on my groceries the day before; her available balance was less than twenty.

I replaced her checkbook, went the bathroom, then out to the kitchen. Kristin stood at the stove, naked, scrambling eggs. Hearing me she turned, smiled, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I was going to come get you in a few minutes," she said.

"You've been up all this time?"

"Yes, Sir. I had to give the kitchen a good cleaning before I made breakfast. I'd love to work all day for you and only sleep two or three hours every night and make you cum whenever you wanted. If we had a house together I'd cut the grass and do all the yard work and all the housework, and I'd make you food and drinks and you could relax all day long and fuck me when you felt like it. I'd be exhausted doing everything for you, and I would love it."

"You've been fantasizing about this all morning, I guess."

Kristin grinned. "Yes, Sir. You hungry?"

I shrugged.

Kristin flicked the burner dial off and removed the skillet from the heat. She strolled around the kitchen bar, got down on hands and knees and crawled toward me, her eyes on my feet. She halted and turned around, proffering herself with buttocks raised and head lowered.

"Playing the dog again?" I asked.

She looked over her shoulder at me. "Woof," she said.

I dropped to one knee behind her, rubbed my cockhead against her moist slit. She moaned, hips gyrating. "Use me, Sir," she sighed. "Let me make you cum."

I slipped my cock inside. Her pussy gripped me, tight and torrid. I filled her slowly, flexing my cock as the blood engorged it, expanding deeper inside even as my pelvis jarred against her buttocks. Gripping her waist, I held her firmly against me.

"Oh, Jesus," moaned Kristin. "I love feeling it get big inside me! Do you want me to cum for you, Sir? I'll cum right now if you tell me to."

I groaned, spewing my semen into her while she writhed. Then I thrust her forward off my cock and she fell on her face, legs splayed. Without delay she turned around on all fours and began sucking my cock. After half a minute she gazed up at me, smirking.

"I love it when your cock's like this," she panted, squeezing the half-limp muscle. "The way it curves down. It feels so heavy. Tell me what it feels like when you cum, when you're pumping all that stuff into me."

"I don't know. The same way it feels when

you

cum, I guess."

"Do you think so?" She sucked my cock for several more seconds. "There's a Greek myth which says women get more pleasure than men out of sex."

"No shit? I never learned about that one in school."

"I think it's true. When you let me cum, it feels so good I can't even think straight. That's why it's so hard to keep from cumming when you tell me not to. Does it feel that good for you? I like to think that whenever I make you cum it's the most intense experience in your life, and that's why you want me to make you cum so much. Is it?"

"Yeah, it's pretty good. But right now all I can think about is eating some of that breakfast. It smells delicious."

Kristin sucked my cock for another few seconds, then smacked her lips. "I got

my

breakfast, so now it's your turn."

She hopped to her feet and went to fill a plate with food. I sat at the small wooden table in the dining nook beside the kitchen. When Kristin set the plate and a glass of orange juice in front of me I pointed to the floor beside my table.

"Put your lovely little ass right there and play with yourself while I'm eating," I said.

"Right there? You're going to make me masturbate while you eat?" She sat on the carpet, spread her legs, touched her clitoris. "Like this, Sir? Tell me how you want me touch myself."

I shoveled ham and eggs into my mouth. "Get some fingers inside you."

She squirmed, whimpering. "How many, Sir?"

"Two."

She shoved them effortlessly all the way in, and I watched the tendons of her wrist flexing as she wiggled them vigorously inside herself. "Like this, Jimmy?" she gasped.

"Yeah, that's good. Keep fucking yourself." I ate my food, glancing only occasionally at Kristin. Her eyes were closed, her forehead creased, her mouth half open. "Is your pussy liking that?" I asked, pausing to take a swig of juice.

"It's loving it, Jimmy! Just tell me when you want me to cum for you!"

"I don't think I've ever heard your pussy so loud."

"It's dripping wet. I'm staining your carpet, please don't be mad."

"Keep those fingers moving, Kristin."

"Sir? Is it okay if I fantasize about Todd right now? That he's watching me play with myself in front of you? I want to imagine that Todd is standing right here watching me shove my fingers in my pussy for you!"

"Why the fuck are you asking me? I don't control your thoughts."

"You

could

though. You can control everything I think. You tell me what you want me to think and I will. My mind belongs to you, every thought in my head. Tell me what to think and what to say, Sir. Tell me what to beg for. Tell me what to fantasize about."

"Put your fingers in your ass," I said.

"Sir?"

"Stick those fingers in your ass. That's where you want them."

"Yes, Sir!"

She withdrew the fingers from her pussy, rubbed them against her sphincter to slicken it with her juices.

"Look at me, Kristin. Look me in the eye while you shove them in your ass."

"Yes, Sir," she said, fixing her eyes on mine and biting her lip as she wriggled her fingers up into her rectum.

"You love having those fingers in there," I told her.

"

Fuck yes

, Sir!" she cried. Then, teeth clenched tight, she ardently finger-fucked her asshole. "I'm wishing it was your cock in my ass," she moaned. "I'm pretending your cock's all the way inside me making me want to cum, okay, Sir?"

"No. You'll pretend Todd is fucking you in the ass. When I do it, it'll feel like a hell of a lot more than two fingers."

Kristin laughed and gasped simultaneously. "Oh fuck, my ass wants your cock inside it, Sir."

I returned my attention to my breakfast, eating in silence for a few minutes. When I looked again at Kristin, she was eyeing me bestially. Her fingers were moving furiously in and out of her asshole, her head and shoulders bobbing to the rhythm they made. Her cunt was leaking, multiple strands, milky white with the residue from my climax, dangling to the carpet.

"You've enjoyed yourself enough for now," I told her. "Clean my dishes."

Kristin did not stop fucking herself; a muscle on the side of her jaw twitched violently and she grimaced.

"Did you hear me, Kristin?"

WIth a loud gasp Kristin yanked her hand from between her thighs, clenched both fists tightly. She took several deep breaths, her body heaving, then climbed unsteadily to her feet. She went to the sink to wash her hands.

I sat down on the sofa, picked up the remote, flicked on the TV. "Make me a drink," I said.

"Yes, Sir."

Kristin wrung her hands on the dish towel, reached for the jug of rum on the counter.

"Wash those hands again," I said sharply. "For at least sixty seconds. And use

hot

water."

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir."

I lingered over a

Gilligan's Island

rerun while Kristin washed her hands more thoroughly and made my rum and Coke. She knelt with it at my feet, offering it with both hands.

"I hope you like it, Sir."

I took the sweating glass from her, gulped once. "Since when did you start calling me Sir?" I asked.

"Last night. You told me you didn't want me to use your name, only to call you Sir. Is that right?"

I chuckled. "I don't remember that either. But I like it."

Kristin smiled. "Thank you, Sir. Sometimes I forget and use your name, but I'm getting better."

"Go clean the dishes, then come back over here."

"Yes, Sir."

I was still watching

Gilligan's Island

when Kristin crawled back to my knee five minutes later. "Do you need another drink, Sir?"

I held my glass up and shook it, rattling the ice. Kristin quickly made another drink and brought it back to me.

"What else can I do for you, Sir?" she asked.

"Jerk me off while I watch Mary Ann."

Kristin hesitated, perhaps unsure whether I was joking with her.

"Move your ass! The show's only got a few more minutes."

"Yes, Sir!"

Kristin grasped my half-erect cock and pumped it, hunching her head and shoulders to avoid blocking my view of the TV. "Is that good, Sir?" she asked.

I grunted at Kristin, imagined Mary Ann in her little blouse and cut-off shorts yanking my cock. "Beg me to cum," I said.

"Please cum for me, Sir. Cum in my mouth so I can taste you. Cum on my face so I can wear it all day.

Please

cum, Sir!"

"Yeah, I'm gonna cum."

I imagined Mary Ann's pretty face turned up to me while I spewed goo all over it. "Swallow it," I groaned.

"Yes, Sir!" Kristin leaned forward, locking her lips around my cockhead. I had only a few drops of semen left in me, but when my orgasm subsided, Kristin smacked her lips and beamed joyfully at me. "It's the best meal I've ever had!" she declared, laughing.

I saluted her with my glass and gulped the drink down.

"May I please make you another, Sir?" asked Kristin.

I handed her the glass, picked up the remote and turned my attention back to the TV. A minute later, Kristin was back with another rum and Coke.

"I hope you like it, Sir."

I took the glass from her, my eyes still on the television.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?"

"Yeah, I want to prop my feet up. I need a foot stool."

Kristin began looking around the room, evidently trying to figure out where I kept my stool.

I snapped my fingers in her face. "

You

are my stool."

"Oh! Yes, Sir." Kristin got on her hands and knees in front of me, facing the wall to my right, her body rigid as a table. "Like this, Sir?"

I propped one foot up on her lower back, one on her shoulder, sank down into the cushions of the sofa.

"Are you comfortable, Sir?"

"Furniture doesn't talk," I said, flipping the channel to ESPN. "Remind me to buy you a ball gag before you come again."

Kristin sighed happily, squirming. "Yes, Sir! I'll wear a gag, and a plug in my urethra, and I'll be just a piece of your furniture."

I grunted, flipping through channels.

"May I fantasize that Todd is watching me being used as a table, Sir?"

"As long as you don't open your fucking mouth."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

For the next little while Kristin said nothing more while doing an admirable impression of a table. I soon drained my drink and was thirsty for another. I tried to wait Kristin out, to see if she would break down and speak before I felt compelled to order a refill, but after another ten minutes without a word out of her I gave up. Removing my feet from her back, I sat up and placed my icy glass on her ass cheek.

Kristin gasped, flinching, and I had to hold the glass tightly to prevent it spilling onto the floor. Kristin gazed over her shoulder at the glass on her buttock, and with a theatrical flourish I let go of it. She grimaced comically at me, then turned her head to stare at the wall.

"That must be very cold," I said.

Kristin nodded, and a tremor shook her body so violently that the ice clattered in the glass. Without turning her face from the wall she said, "A table doesn't feel cold, Sir."

"I have to admit, you're an excellent table. I'm going to go take a shower. You're not going to move."

Kristin nodded once, while another frisson passed through her.

"Don't you cheat," I warned.

"No, Sir. Your table will never cheat on you, Sir."

I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, then crept back out to the living room; Kristin was still on all fours, the glass perched on her right butt cheek. I took a long shower, ten minutes or more, and with the water still running I hastily toweled off and checked again on Kristin. She had not moved from her spot, the glass still balanced on her buttock. I turned off the shower and dressed leisurely, strolled out to the living room and sat down on the sofa.

I grabbed the glass, found that condensation had sealed it to her flesh like a suction cup. It finally came away with a loud

pop

, leaving a livid red mark like a brand on her ass.

"Good job," I said. "Now go make me another drink."

"Yes, Sir."

Kristin got to her feet with a groan, tried to stand upright but failed. Stooping far forward, she reached for the glass I was holding.

"You look like an old woman," I said, and swatted one of her dangling breasts.

She grimaced, snatched my glass and hurried to the kitchen, still bent. When she returned with the full glass I immediately drained half of it.

Kristin knelt by my left knee. "My body doesn't want to stand up straight," she said. "It wants to be near the floor, where animals belong."

"Go fetch me a belt from my closet," I said. My voice was thick with drink, the words beginning to slur.

Kristin did not move. "Is the drink not good?" she asked softly, fearfully. "I'm sorry, I'll make it again, Sir."

"Fetch!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Kristin was in such a hurry to obey that she stumbled over her own feet and sprawled facedown on the carpet. I laughed out loud, almost spilling my drink; Kristin scrambled onto her hands and knees and crawled away with surprising alacrity. Thirty seconds later she was back with one of my cheap imitation leather belts clamped between her teeth. Her brow wrinkled with anxiety as I took the belt from her.

"Are you angry with me, Sir?"

"Buckle this around your neck," I said.

She looped the belt around her throat, drawing it tight until the buckle was snug against her flesh. She held the free end out to me, smiling tentatively. "I'm your collared bitch now, right Sir?"

"That's exactly what you are. Now play with yourself."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir!"

Two of her fingers were in her cunt before the words were out of her mouth. She bared her teeth, grimacing at me as she fucked herself fiercely, her knuckles battering her tender vulva with such noisome force that I almost cringed to hear it. Slowly her jaw fell open, her eyes lost their focus on mine. She added a third finger, gasping sharply.

"I wish it was your cock back inside me, Sir," she hissed, ejecting a strand of spittle which dangled unheeded from her chin. "Your big fucking cock filling me up. I need to shove my whole fist inside to pretend it's your cock raping me. I want to make your fucking dick shoot cum all over my face!" Her body lurched suddenly, and she groaned. "I'm ready to cum now, Sir!"

"You haven't been told to cum, Kristin."

"No, Sir. But I'll cum the second you order me to."

I watched for half a minute more, while Kristin's tits bounced convulsively and her eyes slowly rolled upward, until only a gleam of white was visible behind her half-closed eyes.

Suddenly, she whimpered piteously, "Please may I cum now, Sir?"

"Stop playing with yourself," I said. "Go make me another drink."

She did not stop, but gasped sharply, cringing. "I don't know if I can stop! I really need to cum for you, Sir!"

I yanked at the belt around her throat. "You'll stop

now

!"

With a sob Kristin jerked her hand away from her pussy, her body heaving as she gulped for breath. She balled her hand into a tiny fist and beat it against her sopping vulva.

"God

damn

it!" she shrieked, pounding her fist savagely against her cunt. Then she clutched at her labia with clenched fingers and pulled, stretching the flesh as far as she could. "

Listen

!" she hissed, addressing her distended vulva. "

We do what Jimmy tells us

!" She squeezed her labia so tightly that the ruddy flesh bulged between her trembling fingers. She lowered her head, shoulders hunched, and spat at her cunt. "We

don't

get to cum when we want to," she hissed. "Only when he tells us. You got that?

You got that

?" She shook her fist violently, stretching her labia even farther; and then, as if suddenly realizing how much pain she was inflicting on herself, she clamped her knees together and threw back her head with a long shrill howl of agony.

When at last she looked up at me, tears were streaming down her cheeks; her fist still held its implacable grip on her sex. In her eyes was a look equally frightful and affrighted, as if her outburst had alarmed her as much as me.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy. Are you mad at me? You look mad."

"No," I said.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what? I'm not mad. Just go make another drink."

"Yes, Sir. Please tell me again that you're not mad."

"Just shut up and make me a fucking drink."

"Yes, Jimmy. I can tell you're mad. I'm so sorry."

She got up and made me another drink while I stared at the television. She brought me the drink and then waited squatting on her haunches by my knee. I didn't look at her, just sipped my drink and watched whatever was on the television screen. I felt unmoored, completely adrift amid a maelstrom of emotions.

I was repelled by Kristin, even disgusted, and her growing attachment alarmed me. Nevertheless I was still attracted to her physically, and the intensity of her feelings for me, while disturbing, was terribly gratifying. So what if I did not love her? She insisted that all she desired was to be with me and serve as an object of my physical satisfaction. I would offer no guarantees, of course -- if in a month or a year I no longer desired her, I would simply send her away.

Kristin was growing restless waiting for me. She touched her fingertips tentatively to my knee. I gazed down at her, still distracted by my own thoughts.

"Sir? Please make me do something. So that I know you're not angry with me. Make me do something for you, okay?"

"I don't need you to do anything. Why don't you just play with yourself?"

"Is that what you want me to do? I like doing anything you tell me."

"Great. So play with yourself." I began to take another sip of my drink, then realized suddenly that I was already very drunk. I often drank more than was good for me, but it had never been my habit to get drunk quite so early in the day. I looked at Kristin, who was squirming in her eagerness to obey. "Stick something inside you as far as it'll go," I said.

"What do you want me to put inside me, Sir?"

"I don't know -- find something. Something big."

"Yes, Sir."

Kristin got up and hurried away to my bedroom. I tried to watch the TV while she was away, but my eyes refused to focus on the screen. After a few minutes Kristin returned with a baseball bat, which she must have dug out from the back of my closet. I had bought it before Christmas, but I'd never used it. She held it by the handle, the far end of it dragging along the carpet behind her.

"Is this big enough, Sir?" she asked, squatting in front of me.

"Depends on which end you plan to use."

"Whichever one you tell me to, Sir."

"Good. Put the fat end inside you."

Still gripping the handle, Kristin lifted the bat so that the end of it brushed her vulva. "Jesus Christ, it's cold," she said, shuddering visibly. "What's it made of -- steel?"

"It's aluminum," I said, impatient. "Get it inside you."

"Do you think it's safe?"

"Of course it's safe."

"Will it fit?"

"You tell me."

The end of the bat was more than two inches wide; Kristin could never possibly accommodate it -- but I did not doubt that she would make every effort to succeed.

With her free hand, Kristin pressed the end of the bat against her vulva, rubbing it up and down; it moved noisily along the sopping folds of her labia. She sighed heavily, craning her neck far back. "Oh, shit," she muttered, voice quavering. "Big and hard and cold. Like a machine that wants to rape me."