Vanished

Master Geoff and I discovered yet another gorgeous high desert day awaiting us as we ran: it seemed as if we were running to meet the sunrise. The ink black slopes slowly took definition from the top down. The snow capped mountains were the first to meet the morning; they accepted the softest hint of pink only to have it deepened with dapples of oranges and russets highlighted with yellows and whites and shaded with grays.

The kaleidoscope took deep dark shadows and turned them into a myriad of dark greens balanced with shades of browns and grays. You could almost see Mother Nature yawning and flexing her arms as she awoke to meet the new day. In the blink of an eye she was dressed for the day; we squinted in her sudden brightness. Everything smelled dewy fresh as if Mother had renewed herself overnight. The pine-scented air was clean and fresh, laced with natural earthy musk undertones. It energized us. We smiled at each other. Sometimes it still surprised me that I could smile.

“Sunrises were made for sharing, thanks for letting me share this one,” I said breathlessly. I laughed aloud as Master stumbled. He smiled indulgently. “Come on, race you to the big rock,” I said sprinting away. I felt young and happy.

Of course, I was properly attired for a slave slut out for a run, just expensive cross-trainers worn with fuchsia socks and matching sports bra. Master was extremely concerned about my breasts’ health, hence the bra. It really was an oxymoron because he was the first to abuse my nipples when it suited him. Oh, but he could make me wet.

Well of course, I wore the collar and leash of a sub slave, but that went without saying.

From my first day of captivity, I’d enjoyed running with Master, it became our juxtaposition to build our relationship upon. Initially it was my only chance to be virtually unrestrained despite the fact that I was always collared and leashed. It was a most humiliating experience to realize that I sported a leash just like my dog had back home. Now I understood what my old running mate felt and it saddened me. I was not proud of my past actions. I promised myself I would never collar or leash Buster again, if I was only granted the chance to see my Saint Bernard again.

It was worth being non-confrontational with my captor just to be able to run free and view these vistas. After all his route beat my asphalt course all to hell even if I had to wear virtually nothing. As I ran, I mused about the fact that this same sun was bathing my children. My runs were both exhilarating and bittersweet.

It had been while on a run that Master Geoff first displayed his tender side; it was subsequent to my first bad tumble. I remember the warmth that radiated through me when Master suddenly and gently kissed my skinned palm all better. It was as if with that simple gesture he was attempting to heal my broken heart.

To my surprise, he adjusted our running regime after I’d talked about how I used to run hard one way and then walk back smelling the proverbial roses. I appreciated his caring gesture. The quiet times as we walked back became our special juncture; he actually encouraged flirtation and kibitzing as if we were two equals out on a date. Master appeared different at those times more relaxed; though I still hated him. They always say there’s only a fine line between love and hate and soon my hate battled with my heart and I hated myself for giving into his charms.

That pretty day, I knew I was actually back to my old self, my pre-accident self. I made a conscious effort to think of it only as an accident not a kidnapping because I couldn’t yet deal with the sinister connotations of my capture. I knew the moment I opened my eyes, the old me was back. All my aches and pains were gone and my nipple wounds were healed. I noticed as I quickly ran the comb through my hair before our run that my eyes were clear and sparkling again. The bags were gone, the sooty grayness erased. It seemed strange that almost overnight I was back to feeling well again, but I guess that’s how it happens sometimes.

Master Geoff must have noticed it to because he never took his eyes off me as we ran our two and a half miles. I laughed right out loud when he dropped back so he could enjoy the view of my ass cheeks flexing as I ran. I couldn’t help but give him an extra little wiggle here and there. As he ran up beside me he gave my ass the hardest slap imaginable. But for his steadying hand, I would have tumbled over my feet. He pulled me tight to his sweaty chest and he kneaded my ass. For the first time, we shared a delightful sensuous reciprocal kiss. For a moment, I almost felt his equal. Almost. I wondered if my life was about to take another twist.

My Master was mercurial. He was the most terrifying human one moment and the most tender the next. Needless to say I walked on egg shells all the time as I attempted how to learn his moods and figure out my role. But I had discovered it wasn’t necessarily that he was moody but more he wanted to keep me off balance. He reveled in my discomfort.

Back in the cabin he perfunctorily bathed me, his movements were economical. And though I professed to hate when he washed my privates, my body loved it. Days ago, I’d given up trying to stifle my moans of ecstasy. He always brought me to at least one climax before he was satisfied and declared my bath finished. With a flourish he’d told out a big fluffy towel to wrap me in. I loved how he pampered me.

Then it was my turn to bathe him. In all my married life I had never bathed my husband, now I bathed my captor daily. I’d discovered it was a ritual that tore down walls and created bridges where none had seemed feasible. Luckily Master’s tender mood lasted while I bathed him. I’d learned every nook and cranny of his body as I bathed him each morning.

That morning I thought I played his body exceedingly well, as I went about my task, his cock was in a great state of distress. Only a month ago, he had to threaten me with the whip or the frame before I would comply and bathe him. Now I loved to do it and also to shampoo his hair. Master’s hair was soft brown and so very silky. He twisted one of my nipple rings as I poured the tepid rinse water over his head. He sputtered. At first I’d hated how my body responded to his brutal touches, now I looked forward to the sensations deep in my core.

Drying Master set my mouth to watering and my jaws to aching because I knew what came next. Since I always ended by drying Master’s feet, I was in the perfect position to put a smile on his face. I took his half-hard cock into my mouth and knowing that it was my masterful touch that awakened him. Master demanded that I never take my eyes off his as I brought him to his first orgasm of the day. That particular day he was almost instantly hard and eager. I could taste his precum immediately.

“What’s different about you today, Suzie?” he inquired. “You know I can’t put my finger on it, but its like you’ve come alive,” he continued as he massaged the back of my head holding me to his cock. His strong hips drove his oversized cock deep into my throat time and again.

“UGH!” I said as I greedily sucked hard, caving my cheeks in until they hurt. I knew he was close. His movements had taken on an urgency that only meant one thing.

I had never sucked my husband’s cock to ejaculation and when first forced to perform the act I was repulsed beyond description. My stomach rolled and rolled for hours afterward. If not, for the fact that I was tied spread eagle flat on my back I would have gleefully vomited up his semen. But my will to survive kept me from giving in to my urge, death because I aspirated didn’t seem a pleasant or viable choice. I chose to live to fight another day.

Actually I am not sure how or when it happened but I’d discovered I enjoyed taking this man’s cock deep into my mouth. I still panicked as I gagged, but I was learning. Master was gentle but unforgiving in his demands. He insisted that I learn to let his cock invade my throat. Master’s hands would hold me to his cock, but then in the most gentle, quiet voice he would coach me, “Relax, Suzie. Let yourself just go with the flow, don’t fight it and you’ll be fine. Relax, Suzie. Just relax, little one.” His one hand would rub my throat massaging my tense muscles.

I will never forget the first time I trusted him enough not to fight when I started to gag, it was my fourth week. It was just after I’d bathed him and I was sitting on my heels at his feet. He’d tasted a little soapy at first. His soft murmurings and gentle petting helped immensely. I’m not sure whether I tipped my head back a little further and then Master stepped in closer or it was the other way around. I just know that suddenly I realized Master’s very large and very hard cock was deep in my throat and I was fighting to draw a breathe, not fighting my gag reflex.

He intuitively knew that my panic was rising as my oxygen supply was cut off. Before I could fight, he started a soft mantra, “Suzie, breathe as I pull out, don’t fight as I push in. Breathe. That’s my slave.” Master kept praising me, “Suzie, you’re a natural born cock sucker, you know?” I felt a warm glow searing through me as he heaped praise on me, “Suzie you make me the happiest man alive.”

I gurgled. My eyes, I guess, sparkled or at least he said they did, I later attempted to tell him that it was just because of my tears, but he swore it wasn’t the case. I guess that was the beginning of me recognizing that when I thought of sucking his cock my mouth watered and my jaws ache.

It didn’t take me long to develop a taste for Master’s hot semen. His thick stringy come tasted like nothing I’d ever tasted before. Master’s unique musk permeated his viscous slime. It had an underlying saltiness to it while the viscosity of it seemed to coat my tongue leaving an aftertaste like a fine wine. Embarrassed by the strings of my spittle and his come that kept us united he vacated my mouth. To me it seemed my fault plus it just seemed gross. Master laughed at my awkward attempts to cut the toffee-like strings inconspicuously.

To Be Continued...