She woke where she had fallen. Spent, she found herself alone in the room that had held Master and Sir. How long, she wondered, had she lain there? Cold now, she shivered. Her pussy ached, as did her anus. The fucking plug was still there, still painful, yet still exciting a reaction in her tired cunt.
From far off in the house she heard a chime. Was it for her? She hadn’t heard them mention that she should come at a bell–and how humiliating would that be–yet she pushed herself up from the floor. Oh, how her bottom ached. Every slashing welt cried out for her attention. Spanked twice in the same day, once by hand, once by cane, she wondered what else was in store for her. And where were they? Should she go looking for them? Her next task hadn’t been spoken, she was sure of that. Her “job” here was to be available. Always available. To listen for orders, to obey. Her body already sported bruises, her holes were already well used. What did a “slut for a week” do when no one was around to tell her what to do?
The door opened, and she couldn’t stop the little sigh of relief. It surprised her anew, the size of the man. He gestured her to come forward. Taking her leash, he led her out of the room.
She padded behind him as he led her down the long central hall, but drew up short when she saw that there was another man in the kitchen. The leash tightened, and he jerked her forward.
“Come along, slut,” he ordered impatiently.
A staggered step, then another, brought her back into position. How she wanted to hide behind the big man leading her! The other man looked her over, making no attempt to look away. Fucking hell! She was embarrassed, annoyed, shocked. Being on display was something that she hadn’t known would happen–and she liked to have everything spelled out, liked to know the plan. Years in business had taught her that being a step ahead helped keep her ahead.
But this wasn’t business. Breaking habits of years took more time than she would have imagined. This wasn’t going at all the way the fantasy had played out in her head. Somehow she imagined prancing around looking pretty on her leash, being fucked randomly in a houseful of other slaves and masters. So much for fantasy, she mused to herself. As embarrassing as it was to stand here, bare-assed naked with a plug sticking out her asshole, her nipples grew taut, and her pussy drooled.
The stranger pushed off the counter that he’d been leaning against, and moved towards her. Staring at him as he came closer, making eye contact, she stood up to his leering gaze. His hand flashed out, slapping her cheek roughly.
She cringed. There would be repercussions, she imagined, for forgetting her place. Master stepped closer, growled in her ear.
“You will respect my guests. You will follow orders. You will submit.”
“Yes Master,” she mumbled.
His hand grabbed her by the back of her head, yanking her head back. Startled, her eyes flew up to meet his. There was no anger, no rage in that implacable face, making his correction even more pronounced.
“You will apologize to Sir Anthony. On your knees, forehead to his boot.”
He did not drop the leash. It grew tighter as she fell to her knees; she had to pull against the collar, choking herself as she complied.
“I’m very sorry, Sir Anthony.”
Though it was tempting, oh so tempting, to add a bit of snark in there, the “but you were staring at my tits and I didn’t like that” thankfully stayed inside of her head. She had paid for this vacation experience, and though one side of her head might be feeling put out about the treatment, her slut side was reveling in it. The juicy, swollen, wanton state of her cunt proved that.