I text You from outside the door.
It takes only a moment before it’s pulled open. You tug me into the tiny hallway, and You kiss me, hard. I love Your fierce kisses. They are a force to be reckoned with and never fail to make my pussy leap to life.
I’m yearning towards you, leaning on you, almost breathless with my need for your hugs, your touches, your ownership.
Your fist moves to my hair, and you pull me across the room. I blink, surprised. A man sits there. Oh! my heart races when I see him there. He is perhaps about your age, maybe a few years younger. His hair is thick and almost shaggy. He is holding a hank of rope in his lap, and a white cane in his hand as he sits comfortably at ease in the chair.
Kneel, you tell me, pushing me to my knees in front of him.
“This is Sir M,” you say, “and you will be obedient to him, slut.”
“Yes, Master,” I say, my voice hushed, quiet with nerves. I have thoughts whirling through my head, but I don’t give voice to any of them. We’ve talked about this a dozen or more times. I’ve always been glib about it, and yet, confronted by the reality? I am a mass of nervous energy, but sit, quiescent. And then He speaks.
“Take my cock out and suck it, slut.” His voice is raspy, not the sexy husky tones of You.
“Suck, but gently,” He tells me. Obediently I open my mouth, waiting for him to rise and come to me. You smack the back of my head and gesture me to move to him.
Oh. Duh. I crawl over to where He sits. I look back at you, Master, once, whether in pleading to not do this, or admitting I am yours to do with as you will, I’m not certain. You point at him in a way that says “get on with it, slut.”
I put my hand on his knees, moving between his legs.
“No hands,” you say in unison. I slide my hands behind my back, nesting one fist inside the other palm. You slip a noose over my wrists, tightening, and wrapping the rope around my arms, several times. This makes my task much harder, and I lean my head against him, against his crotch, as I try to get the zipper tab between my teeth. It isn’t easy, yet I feel rushed to do it, to get it right, right away. His hand on my head gives me pause.
“Gently, slut. Take your time and do it right. You don’t want to bite my cock, trust me.”
I shake my head no, then realize he can’t see me. “No, Sir M,” I say, my voice shaky with nerves. He pushes my head down to his crotch again. With tongue and teeth I’m able to lower the zipper. It is a difficult task. I root around in the opening trying to find his cock. For an instant, I’m suffused with amusement…thinking of this as an idea for a sexual game show…”Find That Cock!”…but before I get too far along the giggle path, I swallow down the laughter, and try to find a way through the pants, and the tighty whitey’s under them.
This is not an easy task, and several times I raise my head and stab my Master with my “annoyed” look. He raises his brow at me, a clear sign that I’m crossing the line. At long last, I get the angle right and am able to capture his flaccid cock with my tongue, and lips, and gently…oh, so gently….suck it up into my mouth, tugging it free of the confining clothing.
He makes a ‘hmmmmm’ noise deep in his throat as I release him to catch a breath; moments later my lips wrap around the soft, warm head. He shimmies his hips a bit, shifting. For just a moment, I lose my grip on him, and feel that slippery shaft almost slide away from me. I slip my tongue under the top of his cock, cradling it in my mouth, and gently suck on it. How odd, I think, to have another man’s cock in my mouth. I close my eyes and picture You looking at me, Master. I want to make You proud of me, to be Your obedient slut. I am desperate to prove myself to You, and to him. I want him to see what a good slut You have created. I suck and he hardens in my mouth. As I slide him deeper, as my mouth takes the length of him, I gag a bit, then remember Donna’s trick.
How neat…it works, and he goes deeper into my throat. Pulling back, sucking gently, trying to not fuck up, I make pleasing this man, Sir M, my sole focus. I pull my mouth up his shaft, my lips leaving a red trail of streaks from my lipstick along the length of him. Without a word, he pops the head out of my mouth.
I look up at him, then at You, Master, with questions in my eyes. Have I done something wrong? He grabs his cock and jerks it hard a few times, until he moans and his juice jets onto my face. He sighs, leaning back and panting for a moment. Then, his hands search for me. His fingers find my face; he rubs his cum over my cheeks, my hair, my forehead.
I am grossed out. I am turned on. And I can’t help but wonder if you will kiss me later with another mans jiz on my face. You untie my hands, and bid me to rise. My stuff is on the bed and You tell me to change into my slut-gear…but just my stockings.
Wait……I have to be naked?
Yes, he’s blind but still… I say nothing, but You know me well enough by now that You know exactly what I’m thinking. You give me that “do it now, slut” look.
Slowly, I disrobe. You see my reluctance, and smile -a bit of mind torture obviously pleases you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I slide my hose up my right leg, then my left, then slip on the garters to hold them in place. You pass me the red shoes, wordlessly. They slide onto my feet as if made for me.
The moment they are on, You pull me to my feet. Pinching both nipples at the same time, leading me a few steps around the room, You’re grinning as I’m moaning. You ask me where my clamps are, “n’est pas?”
I tell you and You find them, and put them on the window sill. The window sill, Master? OMG! I know they will be so fucking cold when You put them on my tits. Sometimes I forget what a sadist you are…and this is a pretty mean trick, Master!
And yet……… I smile because…well…because I really like that about you. You want things Your way…and have the dominance to make it so. I crave that. Just as much as I crave the occasional tender kiss, I crave the raw, down and dirty meanness that You sometimes throw my way. It feeds me.
Sir M rises. You leave me, and lead him to where I stand, naked except for hose and heels. He begins to explore me, his hands touching, feeling, exploring me. Weighing my tits in his hands, slipping around behind me to cup my ass, feel my pussy. I feel as though he is measuring me…and of course he is.
“Good,” he says to himself. He places a hank of rope around my neck, and he begins to work, tugging rope here, there, around under, over. He ties my tits hard and tight. I grunt from time to time as he pulls and tugs. I lose movement, as he wraps one wrist, the other, behind me. I’m girdled in rope, tightly coiled. I can breathe, but I can’t move. He tugs me forward. My feet work. But I feel my head slipping into that “other place.”
My tits begin to swell and ache from the bondage. The rope is rough, his hands are smooth and warm, an interesting contrast. And then, he threads a rope through my pussy, a knot placed precisely over my clit. In seconds, I am moaning. He tugs me forward a step, and I feel the movement everywhere, from aching tits, to throbbing clit. His hand is on my belly, feeling the rope move as I do.
“Good,” He says again. “Almost done,” he says, and I am aware he is speaking to You, Master, and not to me. I am the canvas. I hear You move behind me. You surprise me by putting a mask over my eyes, shutting away the world, and any chance I might have, to prepare for what happens next. I feel a swat, the sensation heightened by my painfully bound tits. I feel my nipple swell and tighten.
And in a moment it hits me what is coming next. I hear the clink of the chain, feel the bite of it on one swollen nipple, then the other. I was right, Master. The chain is cold, very cold, bouncing around my belly. You’re so fucking mean, Master! I shiver, feeling my nipple pearl tighter, making the clamp bite deeper.
Oh. OUCH! You *knew* this would happen, I just know it. I am whimpering now.
I hear that satisfied laugh. It’s soft, and low, almost a growl. It is Your pleasure-laugh, Master. It warms my heart to hear it…and makes me quiver for what You are planning next.
I don’t have long to wait as you slap my tit. I am a sucker for this kind of pain, but the ropes make everything even more. There are whimpers. Tears. The sound of toys hitting titflesh, the sound of low-conversation between You and Sir M.
I feel his hands gliding over me. Feel the pinch as He tugs at the chain, and the cold slap of it as he drops it again. His fingers move between my thighs, pressing on the knot over my clit.
“You’re right,” he says.
I think to myself…”This isn’t news, Sir M….Master is always right!”
I hear the amusement in his voice. I’m not sure whether to be embarrassed or proud. The ropes begin to loosen and fall away.
“Almost time for part two, slut,” You murmur in my ear. “Your ass is mine, always…but your pussy? Well, I think Sir M has plans for that…”