Time stands still.
She sits, hands in her lap as He has directed her. The blindfold snuffs out the daylight in the room beyond. The television across the room blares out its political drivel; it was on to drown out her cries, she knows. From before, when she first came into the room with Him, and He drove her ruthlessly over the edge and into orgasm. On loudly to drown out the moans and mewlings of pleasure, as His hand works between her slapped-apart thighs, her nose pressed to the wall.
It is loud to drown out her yelps of pain when He hits her. To drown out the sound of His hand striking the round white bottom of her, and the sounds she makes when His toys smack ruthlessly upon her exposed flesh…thighs and ass, arms and tits.
For now the only sound is the television, blaring across the room.
She measures each breath as she was taught in yoga, drawing slow, deep, purposeful inhalations to help quiet her racing heart. He’s gone. He’s been in and out several times, answering His phone where she cannot hear the conversation.
There is no time, only breath.
There is no fear; she trusts Him implicitly. There are nerves, and they well up, through her breathing, racing her heart and making her shiver. Her nipples bead into tight pearls, then relax again when her breath calms.
The sound of the key-card in the lock is loud. Or perhaps she is only attuned to it. The door opens, the sound of nearly silent feet. The pressure of air moving across her bare shoulders as the door opens, then closes.
Outside, she sits, poised and perfect as He has set her to be. Inside she is a morass of emotions. Fear rises, is suppressed. Nerves make her skin feel sensitive. As He begins to speak, she swallows hard, trying to loosen the grip of emotions tying up her throat. She daren’t move; He has bid her to sit, to remain just so, and don’t fucking move.
His voice is firm. “This is my slut. Slut, this is Sir D.”
She cannot speak. It is real. The scene has moved from fantasy to reality. He wants her to speak, she can feel it. But there is that lump in her throat that prohibits speech. And the swirling roil of thoughts suddenly jangled in her head that prevents rational comment. Yet, they are waiting. Weakly, her hand lifts from her thigh. “Hello Sir” she barely whispers.
She feels him approach. Which Him is it? The hands are gentle but firm on her head, pulling her forward. She can feel the heat of Him. But the smell of him is not that of her Master.
He directs her. “Put your hand here.”
“Reach inside and take out my cock.”
“That’s a good girl. Take out my big cock.”
“mmmm. Put in in your mouth, slut.”
She obeys. She is excited, nervous. She’s being tested here, auditioned. There is the worry that she will let down her Master in some way. And then…there is no time for anything except being in the moment, the moment that his girthy cock fills her mouth, stretches her ruby lips around the shaft, and gags her.
The hands continue to hold her head, driving his thick pole into the recesses of her mouth, her throat. She coughs around it, gags, which makes him moan. He holds her there for a minute. She doesn’t let herself pull away…or she hopes not.
The puddle grows between her legs, and she knows there will be a wet spot on the couch.
As if he could read her mind, he pulls her foward. “On your knees! Lick my balls! Suck them into your mouth. Yeah..yeah…good. Lick the shaft…good slut..”
She laps, licks, sucks. He is different in taste, size and texture from her Master. She can’t tell from her gloved hand, but her mouth knows. His voice comes from long away, even as his hand presses her hard against his groin.
“Take out your tits. I wanna see your tits.” She obeys, tugging them from her bra. She feels the rub of the heavy black lace on the underside of her breasts, the pinching grab of his hands. As she sucks, he tugs. As she gags, he pulls. Her knees ache, but she doesn’t feel it, not really. It’s just part of the now. Another layer to the sensation sandwich she is consuming.
When he bids her to rise, takes her hands and pulls her across the room, she knows there is more to come. Much, much more.