It was the smell of food that finally woke me. As usual I had only the haziest of memories of my training beyond the random word puzzles that were now etched permanently onto my mind. What came afterwards was considerably clearer, although still a bit fuzzy around the edges from pure exhaustion.
"Had Master really tucked me into bed instead of letting me suck his cock or bend me over the bed to fuck me?"
That particular thought giving me more than one nugget to chew on. As I mulled over the most important one, I came to a very comfortable conclusion. I really was his sex slave now- and he was wholly and truly my Master. I knew his given name, Benjamin, but every time I thought of him that label seemed secondary to his
real
title: my Master.
And then there was the act itself. The gentle way he had pulled the covers up and over me, pushing in the corners around my shoulders to ensure I was all snuggly and warm. It was cute. Almost endearing. It told me he cared about me as more than just his personal whore. That I was more than just a pair of tits and holes for him to use. I would have gladly let him use me, of course, fighting through the fatigue as best I could. It was the least I could do. He was my Master. I belonged to him. He could use me in any way he wanted to, even after I passed out.
Intellectually I know that admission should sound weird. As I considered it further I knew that I wouldn't say it about anyone else- the idea running squarely up against my own personal beliefs of autonomy and agency. Sure, I was willing to sell my body for sex- or usually the illusion of it. But that was still a matter of personal choice. So far I hadn't been forced to do anything I wouldn't have potentially done on my own if the circumstances had been right. And the experiences those choices afforded me provided opportunities that I might never have dreamed of and otherwise enjoyed without them. I had even played the submissive servant a time or two for the right price. Most of us in the escort business had- it was a common enough fantasy, after all. While those nights might have fed into a latent, and somewhat contradictory fetish of my own, they also proved just how unrealistic such relationships could be in the real world. But those had always been temporary. Just for a night- a few hours, really.
Somehow Master, known simply as Benjamin to the rest of the world, had already slipped past all of those walls, divisions, and personal boundaries. All the instincts that revolted against this type of submission to others didn't so much as blink at accepting them for
him
. That was just how things worked.
"Or I'm just bat-shit crazy,"
I thought. Either way- I knew it wasn't magic. Somehow his delightful, wondrous, devious, evil little machine had done this to me. Just thinking about it sent another shiver of pleasure up my spine. It was just enough of a tease that I almost gave into the temptation to finish myself off right there- fantasizing about what Master would do to his oh so willing sex slave.
And there was the real rub, of course. The problem with having Benjamin as my Master was that I had a very strong impression he didn't have much of an idea of what it actually meant to have a sex-slave. It could have been worse, of course. Part of the reason I had drawn so many hard boundaries as an escort was to avoid exactly the type of abusive asshole that would try and trap me into a relationship where I had little to no control over my own life. Sure, I had teased Master about it, trying to taunt him into giving me a good fuck. And it had obviously turned him on. Who wouldn't want to have someone like me begging to do anything they wanted.
But the Benjamin I had known in the past had always seemed so harmless and easy to please. His money had been just as good as anyone else's- even if he wasn't that great of a tipper. That's why I had always been willing to see him, even on short notice. Easy money for easy work. I almost felt bad for him at times. Hell- his first time he had almost lost the nerve just to kiss me. I had always known he wasn't the type of guy who had a lot of money to throw around. But who was I to argue with someone about how they blew their wad, so to speak.
But now, that timidness bordering on awkward shyness that I had taken so long to get around seemed less like an endearing quirk that only added to his charm- and a lot more like an anchor that was going to drag him down. And it would take my growing desire to please him and make him happy right along with him.
Of course, at the time not all of that was clear to me at a fully conscious level. But just enough to cool me off and put a frown on my face as I took in a few more of the details around me. Like the smell of Chinese take-out that tickled my nose and forced an immediate decision between the need for more sleep, and the need for food. My stomach took that moment to remind me that I hadn't had anything since a very light dinner the night before. One does not have a heavy meal before a night on the town.
In the end hunger won out over sleep, but neither could prevent a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up. It wouldn't do to walk out to greet him without straightening up a few things first. Bed-head is not appealing unless you are truly blinded by love. I had no illusions about that. Master didn't love me- not like he did Maggie. That much was painfully obvious to me after the events of the night before. But that didn't matter. He had turned me into his slave and as such I was going to do the best I could to make him happy.
Once I had scrubbed out my morning breath and was a bit more presentable I walked back into the bedroom and took a quick look around. My options were rather limited for clothing. Wearing someone's old t-shirt was always a fan favorite, but that smacked more of a relationship than a sex-slave. Plus, for all of his lack of tidiness before, my cursory inspection did not reveal any such option readily available.
"He must have cleaned up just in case he had gotten lucky with Maggie last night,
" I thought.
"Until I royally loused that up, that is.
" Further quick inspection revealed the discarded remnants of last night's outfit on the floor. I considered slipping on the panties and bra at least- but in the end I went with something classic and simple instead.
"More take out?" I asked as I stepped out of the bedroom and threw just a little extra weight on one foot to present myself. "You could ruin a girl's figure with that." I had tried to make the comments flirtatious, but something between a frown and a smirk crossed his face as he was setting the freshly warmed plates down on the counter. Not exactly what I had been shooting for, but I might have been off my game a bit.
Then his expression seemed to melt into one of surprise and growing desire as his eyes roamed over me. I couldn't be sure from the distance, but it almost looked like he swallowed reflexively. "What's the matter?" I asked, my voice sounding considerably more pleasing the second go around. "Not used to having a naked sex slave in your apartment?"
"Uhm... Sorry," He sort of stammered. There was that bashfulness again. "I suppose it'll take some getting used to."
"You could always tell me to put some clothes on," I mused as I did my best to saunter towards him, swaying my hips just so. "But I'm afraid that might ruin the esthetic. I think I rather like the way your eyes seem to enjoy looking at me." I was bold enough to reach out and place his hand on my hip as I stood next to him. "Not to mention how good it feels to have your hands on me."
The smell of the food was even more appealing this close. A part of me wanted to stop teasing him and just dig in. He had obviously warmed up more than enough for two. But a larger part was feeding off of the way he was looking at me- the hunger that was growing in his eyes. I had always enjoyed the power that being an escort had given me over the men I was "with". What was that famous phrase?
"Everything in life is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power."
The power to grant pleasure, or withhold it, had always been a turn on for me.
