Mastery (for Sephi)

He sat in the wing chair in the library, hands casually draped over the arms of the deep leather chair he loved. His ass had worn the seat to fit him perfectly over the years. The curtains were drawn against the late morning chill, a fire burned merrily in the hearth next to him. A steaming cup of coffee sat on the table next to the chair, untouched as yet. At his feet knelt a woman. A slave. His slave. He glanced down at the dark head that leaned gently against his knee, ran his hand over her sleek head of hair. Stirred the hair so that long tendrils swirled about her creamy shoulders, danced across her back. It fell nearly to her waist, and he adored playing with it. She was a treasured pet, and he enjoyed her the way his grandfather had enjoyed his hunting hound in this very room, years ago. He chuckled. Well, perhaps not the same way, after all, as he thought of the wild fucking that had transpired yesterday, her bent over this chair, her ass reddened by his palms, her brown rose bud stretched wide and rudely violated by his hard, pumping cock. He’d blown quite a load up there, he remembered, grinning. She had been quite unamused at the volume, as she had held her hand under her dripping ass as she scurried to the bathroom to clean up. He would have beaten her ass firmly if she’d let cum drip on the carpet,  and he loved watching her antics to avoid that from transpiring.

“New game today, pet,” he told her, tilting her lovely face up to meet his gaze. He adored her face, pixie-like, her pointed chin perhaps a bit too narrow for her face, her eyes, large, etherial and  as green as the moss that grew on the flagstone path in the drive. Not a classic beauty, but nonetheless, he adored each part of it, and the whole of it. To him, she was a beautiful creature.

He began the litany of questions that cemented their relationship.

“Who are you?”

“Whatever you want me to be, Master,”

“Who’s breasts are these?” he asked, reaching down and filling his hands with her.

She met his eyes, drowning in them. Breathlessly she answered,

“your breasts, Master”

“And your ass? Who’s ass is it?” he demanded, sliding his hand down to the full round curves.

“your ass, Master.”

“And your dripping cunt? Who’s cunt is it?” Roughly he fingered her oozing slit.

She was stirred to excitement, his voice, his hands, his eyes consuming her, and with a tremor in her voice, she responded,

“your cunt, Master, always yours.”

Shoving his fingers into her cunt he pushed upwards hard, forcing her to rise. He enjoyed driving her around the house this way, fingers deeply imbedded in her, sometimes probing into her asshole with his thumb and guiding her where he wanted her to be, controlling her with this one hand. She moaned in response, his fingers dancing inside her, as he pushed her across the room and out the door. He guided her down the long cool hallway, occasionally pushing her against the wall to drill her cunt hard, thumb now grazing her clit. He loved  hearing her gasp with the sudden pain, but enjoyed even more the feeling of her cunt clasping his greedy fingers. Pushed up against the wall, nearly on her toes, his eyes bored into hers, consuming her reactions . When he saw her painfully squeeze her eyes shut as he pushed deeper, and harder into her, he leaned into her .

Drawing her tight nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly, he drew yet another  moan from her at the commingled pleasure and pain. He felt her drawing to an orgasmic wave and as her cunt began to convulse around his hand, he crushed her clit with his thumb, making her scream, and bit down on her captured nipple. He tasted blood, and sucked the wounded bit, hard.

She screamed, convulsed, moaned, writhed against him, pinned to the wall like a butterfly to a board. Her dark tresses danced around them, as he kept his mouth locked firmly on her tit, biting and sucking, his thumb grinding down on her clit, shoving all four of his thick fingers into her straining cunt and her orgasm rolled into a second, gushing climax, streaming around his fingers, dripping down his wrist to splash the floor between her toes. He felt her body go limp as she fainted. Gathering her up in his arms, he carried her, smiling down at her, to the kitchen.

His cock throbbed in his pants, but his denial would soon reap great rewards.  He watched as her eyes fluttered open, saw her confusion.

“Welcome back, cunt.”

He spoke from behind her, out of her line of sight. She tried to turn her head, but he had secured her firmly. Her arms were firmly lashed to the sides of the straight-backed chair, and when she tried to move her feet, she found them bound tightly as well. Her hair had been gathered into a low ponytail, and that was secured to the center of the chair back, so that turning her head was painfully impossible.  This was a chair she’d never seen before, she knew she’d have noted one that was as short at this one was…it made her the perfect height for his cock! The dawning realization made her smile. The nervous thumping of her heart quieted. There was nothing she loved more than pleasing her Master with her talented mouth.

She heard his boots stepping around her, watched him come into view. He looked…dangerous. Erotic. If he wasn’t her own beloved Master, she might have been frightened at the expression on his face. Her smiled faded from her face at the continued look on his. His eyes were drilling into hers, and that wicked grin was not disarming, but rather, alarming. She felt her pulse pick up again.

He slowly removed his pants. He never broke eye contact with his slut, keeping her quiet with his look, although she did watch his cock when it was released from his pants, and came into view in front of her face. When he refused to move closer, she looked back up at him, and he knew he had her in his complete control once more.

“Open my second cunthole,” he demanded. And he smiled when she made a lovely () with her lips. Slowly he straddled the chair until his cockhead danced just before her. He could feel the warm, moist heat of her mouth as he paused there, heady with her compliance, anticipating the play to come. Slowly he entered her mouth, and felt her talented tongue swirl around the head of his cock, running under the underside, lapping at him like a cat with a bowl of cream. He slowly continued his forward advancement, watching her eyes widen as he broke with habit to force his cock back, back, back. Watched her struggle with the unexpected deep throat invasion. She had not had time to draw a deep breath, and when he reached down and pinched shut her nose, he saw the panic rise in those deep green orbs. He felt her struggle to free her head, the involuntary shake of her head,  the wince of pain from her secured hair, or the squeeze of his fingers on her nose, or his cock now buried fully in her throat. He felt those throat muscles convulsing, the twitch teasing and tormenting his turgid pole, making him gasp with the delight of the sensation. He looked down at her, her face turning crimson from her lack of oxygen, the pleading look turning darker as she flirted with unconsciousness.

He slid his cock out of her throat as he released her nose. Gasping, choking, spit and snot and tears running down her face, she heaved in a giant breath, unable to speak, to admonish him, to do anything but suck in the life-giving air he had deprived her of. After just a moment, his cock headed back in, his hand pinched her nose shut, and he watched her fight it again. And again. And again. He came, a great upwelling of cum and pleasure erupting from his cock, filling her mouth with his essence.

“Swallow. Don’t miss a drop.” His order was obeyed, instantly. He knew she was resentful of the breathplay, and fearful, too. They had never played this intensely before. He snaked his hand between her tied thighs. He smiled deep into her eyes when he felt her wetness.

“You’ve been betrayed by my cunt again, you know. You may sit there resentfully, but you loved it. Your mouth may not say the words, but your seat is quite wet. Tell me you aren’t hot, throbbing.” He stabbed his gaze into hers. Held it. She pouted, then dropped her gaze.

He released her from the chair. Let her hold onto the edge of the table for support as he went to get the plastic wrap from the drawer.  Enjoyed watching her eyes widen yet again as she read the intent in his.

Hooking his arm around her throat, he began to guide her out of the kitchen and up to their bedroom.

Rising to the Challenge: Flash Fiction Friday Challenge 11


The vibrator rumbled inside her. The constant torture of pleasure stimulation, and the torture of the pain  He was applying to her nipples nearly overwhelmed her. Again, the pull intensified. Her breasts coned as he pulled the rope tighter, tighter still. He looked at her, head tilted, red mouth full, open, moaning. He could see the pleasure at war with her pain. He watched her, thrusting her tits higher in an attempt to alleviate the pull of the clamps, attached to the hemp drawn through the ‘D’ ring in the ceiling above them. She could take more. And she would.