The story that follows is based on actual events; the facts are as accurate as I can recall them some 15 years later, changed only by the fondness of time and the deletion of the boring bits. The names have been changed to protect the privacy of those who I have cared about. I've been active in the lifestyle for over twenty years. While it started before the events recounted here, the time before these events was just wading in the kiddy pool. It was when these events occurred; it was when I joined a small circle of very special people that I learned to accept who I was.
I grabbed another bottle of water, opened it as I moved back to her; kneeling beside her I roughly manhandled her face, forcing her jaws open and pouring the water down her throat despite her sputtering protests. I stood and tossed the bottle across the room as I made for the door. She curled into a fetal ball beneath the now wet blanket as I turned up the volume and slammed the door behind me. In the other room I turned the heat up, just a little, and cussed myself before I flipped the timer again.
An hour later I was back in the machine shop; it was almost tolerably warm and she had drug the wet blanket to a dry spot on the cold tile under the work bench, her bare leg stretched out from beneath the blanket. I left the volume high to cover my footsteps as I approached her. I knelt, grabbed her by the ankle and drug her roughly from beneath the table. She screamed, quick, startled; I grabbed a handful of her hair at the base of her skull and jerked her to her feet. Pulling her roughly about the room I shifted my grip on her to allow me to wrangle the bounds at her wrists over the hook in the lift point again. I dropped her weight on her wrists harder than I needed to and she squealed.
My back to her I moved to the workbench, turned the volume down and turned slowly to face her. She looked like hell warmed over. I bit the inside of my mouth to keep the pain I felt for her from reaching my face. I took the second blanket from my bag and placed it where she could see it. Her attention didn't linger on it for long; she was quickly distracted by the thin wooden dowel I held in my hand as I circled her tightly stretched body.
"One name," I drug the tip of the smooth wooden rod along the inside of her thigh and up the crack of her pleasantly shaped ass.
She shuddered, but said nothing. I struck her hard with the dowel, the rod biting into her flesh at the sweet spot where her upper thigh swept out into her plump ass. She screamed and twisted in her restraints.
She sought me out with pleading eyes. I hit her again for her trouble.
"Give me one name," I moved in front of her and let my fingertips brush the tuft of hair that sheltered her clit.
Her gaze fell to the floor; she closed her eyes and breathed heavily, "I can't."
I pressed my fingers into her, violating her sex roughly with my thick digits. She shuddered again as I finger fucked her slowly. She rocked her hips slightly against my hand, her lips becoming slick beneath my gentle touch.
"The cold, the pain... they can all end," I touched the tip of the rod to her chin, lifting her gaze to mine. "It could be the way you want it to be."
Her eyes pulled me into them; she bit her lower lip as I leaned into her.
"It can be the way you wanted it to be when you asked for it to be just the two of us," I whispered into her ear and then moved to press my lips against hers.
Her mouth opened to mine, our tongues danced together, entwining. She kissed me with a passion that I'd never known before. It was as if she wanted to devour me. I continued to press my finger into her sex. She rocked and swayed and I felt her breath grow quick and stuttered.
I broke our kiss, but continued to fuck her with my fingers, "Just one name. One name and I'll let you cum."
"Allison," she forced the word past her lips, "Allison Davis."
"Good," I smiled. "That was easy, wasn't it?"
I pulled my fingers from her sex and moved away from her.
"No, please, don't stop," the words were short and quick and heavy with the labor of her need.
Her chin fell against her chest, her eyes on the floor as I walked out of the room. I came back in just a few moments with her purse in one hand and the phone in the other; the long cord trailed behind me. She watched as I dug through her purse, came out with her tiny address book.
"What are you doing?" she asked weakly.
"Let's call her," I smiled wickedly, "Once we're sure you've been honest, well... The rest will be easier on you."
She blanched.
"Is there a problem?"
She sobbed.
"Is there a problem?"
"Alison isn't one of them."
"So you lied to me?"
She nodded.
"That's... unfortunate," I let the moment hang between us until she raised her eyes to mine. "You would do well to depersonalize what's about to happen," I paraphrased Rickman.
She watched wordlessly as I drug a length of metal grate across the room. It was slightly less than six feet long and barely wide enough for someone to lie on; it was practically made to order. One end I placed on the layout table, the other on the deck. I checked it, made sure it was positioned right and then rummaged through the scrap for a length of rope that I used to tie the grate in place.
I rummaged through my tool bag and drug out several leather straps and an old rubber bungee cord; all of which I placed on the layout table near the end of the grate.
"This doesn't have to happen," I said flatly, standing before her. "Just tell me the names."
"I can't," she pleaded.
"You can," I corrected her, moving to seize her and free her from the tie point. "You can and you will."
I took her in my arms and carried her to the grate, where I sat her down and forced her to struggle for her balance as I removed the leg iron and strapped one of her ankles to the grate. The other followed in short order. The grate was biting into her ass as she struggled to stay upright, her feet higher than her waist at the high end of the grate.
I got another bottle of water, opened it and went to her. She opened her mouth quickly and for her eagerness I rewarded her by spilling almost as much water on her as she managed to swallow. Tossing the bottle aside I grabbed the bungee with one hand; with the other I pressed her slowly back until she was lying inverted on the grate. I hooked one end of the bungee cord on one side of her, ran it across her throat and made it fast on the other side. I then untied her hands and, using the last two straps, I secured them to the grate at her sides.
The dowel rod I grabbed now was shorter but thicker than the one I'd used on her ass. The ends had been turned down and sanded to smooth tapers.
"Tell me the names," I said flatly. She answered with silence, which I rewarded by striking the sole of her left foot with as much force as I thought I could dare. She screamed, her toes curling at the sudden pain.
I repeated the question, answered her silence by striking the sole of her right foot. We continued this for a dozen or so blows before I moved to trace the rounded tip of the dowel along the inside of her thigh. She strained to look at me as I pried her thighs apart, opening her sex with one hand, pressing the dry wooden dowel into her with the other. I fucked her with it slowly; her juices being soaked up by the dry wood rather than lubricating it. Each stroke pulled at her sex. She groaned and twisted against the slow assault.
"I have to pee," she almost whispered. Three bottles of water were taking a toll on her.
"Tell me the names," I pushed the dowel deeper into her, held it in place with my palm and moved my fingertips so I could press against her bladder.
"Please," she simpered. She rocked her hips uncomfortably beneath my hand.
"Tell me the names," I repeated.
"I have to pee!" She demanded.
"No one's stopping you."
"You can't be serious," her eyes went wide.
It was my turn to respond with silence. I knew what had to happen. I knew what I had to do to give her the experience she had asked for. I knew I'd have done it already if the situation were real.
I ignored her pleas and stood, leaving the wooden cock in her. I walked to the work bench and gathered up her shredded shirt; it was cotton and I'd cut it with a mind to using it now. Taking the rags in hand I walked back to her.
"Open your mouth," I barked.
She complied. I wadded the rag tightly and forced it past her teeth. "Don't choke on those!" I snapped.
She mumbled something behind me as I walked to the deep sink. I took the hose in hand and turned on the water. It was icy yet and I froze up for a minute, but not because of the water. 'There's nothing sexual about this.' There was nothing about this that belonged in the world she'd introduced me to. She had to have known that. But it was what I had to do, for her, I told myself. It was all I could say that allowed me to walk back to her and do what needed to be done.
Pain is useless when you need the truth. Hurt someone and they will tell you anything to make you stop. They will make up whatever it is they think you want to hear for just a few moments free of pain. Fear on the other hand is your best friend. Fear that you will harm them is stronger than harming them. The best way to convince them that you will inflict pain on them is to let them witness you inflicting pain on someone else. The fear that they will be the next example makes them compliant. I didn't have an example for her; that we be alone was her rule. But there were other ways to instill fear.
I leveled the hose at her face, soaking the rag in her mouth. She sputtered and struggled in her bounds. I closed my hand over her nose, pinching it closed as I soaked the rag in her mouth. I felt her panic grow with each breath; knowing that she could feel the moisture in every breath, knowing that some small part of her brain was approaching absolute panic. The water ran slowly, filling the rag and running over onto her face, into her eyes. When I felt there was too much I moved the flow across her chest, soaking her. I kept the rag saturated, holding her face still as she fought against the straps. She began to shudder and twist violently. The smell of urine as she lost control of her plaintive bladder told me she'd had enough.
I dropped the hose and pulled the rag from her mouth, "Tell me their names."
She coughed, sputtered; I left my hand over her eyes, held her head still.
"Tell me their names," I said again.
"No," she shouted when the rag touched her lips, and then recounted each name in rapid succession.
I relaxed; relieved that it was over. I released my grip on her face and gently began to undo her bounds; helping her to slip awkwardly from the grate onto the floor. I stood slowly and walked away from her. She'd used the safe word; the scene was over. I'd given her what she wanted. Yet, she stayed on the floor, naked, exposed, her head down, silent. I watched her for a long time, silent myself. When she finally looked up at me there was a look in her eyes I'd never seen before, at least on her. She was small, somehow, small and hungry. I watched her breathing, almost panting.
"Come here," I spoke softly.
She moved quickly, crawling to me on her hands and knees. She stopped beside me and placed her cheek against my knee. I touched the top of her head gently.
"Would you like to play a different scene?" I asked.
"Yes," she answered sheepishly.
"Yes... what?" I challenged.
She was silent, still beside me.
I bent slightly and knotted my hand in her hair, pulling her gaze to mine, "Yes... what?"
"Yes... master," she answered, lowering her eyes even as I held her face high. The last word slipped from her slowly and I watched her shudder as she spoke it.
"Whose are you?" I asked, brushing my fingertips against her cheek.
"Yours, master."
I used the tangled knot of her hair to pull her to her feet, dragging her toward the layout bench. She simpered and scrambled behind me. I pushed her against the bench, her flat belly pinned against it as I pressed close to her from behind.
"You word," I whispered into her ear, "Is butterscotch."
She nodded.
"It is your word," I continued, "I will never use it with another girl. It is yours alone."
"Thank you, master", she spoke softly as my free hand drifted across her belly and up to the swell of her breast.
"On your face," I barked, shoving her forward at the waist, releasing my grip on her hair.
She doubled over, pressing her bare tits against the cold metal table.
"Spread your cheeks," I ordered.
She dug her nails into the crack of her ass and pulled them wide for me. I enjoyed the view of her pouting sex and the puckered brown-black dot of her ass; deciding which to fuck was harder than I'd imagined it would be. I unbuttoned the fatigue pants and pulled my cock free. Stroking it I stepped close behind her. She'd watched me --instructed me- to ass fuck more than a few girls over the last year, part of me thought that would have been the most appropriate initiation of out new relationship. But there was another trick I thought better yet.
I took my cock in hand and rubbed the head against her swollen sex. She shuddered, pushing back against me eagerly. I rewarded her need by pressing my cock deep into her, the weight of the thrust jarring her forehead against the metal table. She lost her grip on her ass checks and they closed against me.
"Spread her cheeks!" I ordered; my right hand fell hard against her bare ass.
She grabbed her plump cheeks again and opened herself for me. I took her hips in hand and began to stroke against her with purpose. Her cunt held me tightly, the velvet soft walls caressing my full length as I stabbed into her with almost violent thrusts.
She moaned deep in her throat, her entire torso rocking with each thrust.
I moved my grip to allow me to stroke her tight ass with the pad of my thumb. She made a soft, birdlike sound deep in her chest. I pressed my thumb into her ass and continued to stroke. I could feel my thumb raking against the head of my cock with each stroke. I needed to cum. I pushed harder. She groaned. I came; filling her with hot cum. She shuddered and collapsed against the table. When her hands slipped from her cheeks I slapped her cheek hard.
"Spread your ass!" I shouted, pulling my cock from her.
She opened her cheeks; I watched the cum collecting on her red, swollen lips for a moment. Then I pressed two fingers into her sex. My cum and her juices lubricated my assault nicely. I stroked them into her for several moments; clipping the sensitive nerve cluster just inside now and then for good measure. She puffed and panted on the table. When I added a third finger, then the forth she raised her head back; moaning low and loud.
"Use me, master, please me," she cooed.
I fucked her with half my hand, my thumb stroking her ass, massaging the tight ring of muscle. She was pressing her sex back against my hand in a steady rhythm that told me she was ready. I cupped my hand, folding my thumb into my palm and shoved. My whole hand disappeared into her sex; her outer lips stretched tight around my wrist. She cried out in shock and twitched around my arm. She hadn't taught me everything I knew.
"Don't you dare cum!" I shouted, fucking her with my whole fist.
With each stroke my fist threatened to turn her inside out, pulling at the inner walls of her sex. When I pressed into her I ran my knuckles against her cervix. She thrashed and bucked and cried out.
"If you cum, I swear to God I'll stop!"
"Yes. Master!" She managed.
I could feel the tension inside her. She needed a release. But I wasn't going to make it easy on her.
"Beg me." I changed my rhythm from long strokes to short, quick strokes.
She struggled to breathe.
"Beg me, or I'll stop."
"Please, master, please, may I cum?" Her nails were biting into her flesh as she struggled to keep her grip on her ass checks.
"Why should I let you cum?" I opened my hand inside her, trying to touch as much of her as possible, all at once.
"Because you are a good master," she flattered.
"Whose are you?" I asked; driving the point home.
"I am yours, master," the words came in a staccato of panting desperation.
"Cum," I said simply, pushing my fist into her harder yet.
She screamed and I felt her legs clamp around my wrist. Her knees buckled and she collapsed on the table I jerked my fist from her sex and she turned to jelly, thrashing for a moment and struggling not to fall from the table as her knees refused to focus on holding her up.
I took her in my arms and eased her to the floor. She pressed her face into my chest, with one hand she gripped my jacket collar and shuddered so hard I thought she might be crying. I kissed her forehead gently and held her close.
She raised her face to me, her eyes lingering on mine, looking at me as if we'd never met. I brushed her hair behind her ear and said nothing.
"I...," she started to speak and then fell silent.
"What?" I asked; the scene was over. We were just two people alone in each other now.
She lowered her eyes again, pressed her cheek against my chest, "Nothing."
I squeezed her tight. She pressed against me as if she wanted to climb inside me. We stayed there, on the floor together, for nearly an hour; neither of us said a word.
Things were different between us after that night. Better in some ways, but different. When the group of us gathered at her home to indulge our predilections, she called me Edward. But I knew, as she did, that the formality of her address served an unspoken purpose. To the others she stayed the strong, stable center of our cadre. To address me as she did when we were alone would have changed too much. Between the two of us that simple word, my name, Edward, carried the weight of master. She never finished the sentence she started that night, but she didn't have to. I loved her too.
I grabbed another bottle of water, opened it as I moved back to her; kneeling beside her I roughly manhandled her face, forcing her jaws open and pouring the water down her throat despite her sputtering protests. I stood and tossed the bottle across the room as I made for the door. She curled into a fetal ball beneath the now wet blanket as I turned up the volume and slammed the door behind me. In the other room I turned the heat up, just a little, and cussed myself before I flipped the timer again.
An hour later I was back in the machine shop; it was almost tolerably warm and she had drug the wet blanket to a dry spot on the cold tile under the work bench, her bare leg stretched out from beneath the blanket. I left the volume high to cover my footsteps as I approached her. I knelt, grabbed her by the ankle and drug her roughly from beneath the table. She screamed, quick, startled; I grabbed a handful of her hair at the base of her skull and jerked her to her feet. Pulling her roughly about the room I shifted my grip on her to allow me to wrangle the bounds at her wrists over the hook in the lift point again. I dropped her weight on her wrists harder than I needed to and she squealed.
My back to her I moved to the workbench, turned the volume down and turned slowly to face her. She looked like hell warmed over. I bit the inside of my mouth to keep the pain I felt for her from reaching my face. I took the second blanket from my bag and placed it where she could see it. Her attention didn't linger on it for long; she was quickly distracted by the thin wooden dowel I held in my hand as I circled her tightly stretched body.
"One name," I drug the tip of the smooth wooden rod along the inside of her thigh and up the crack of her pleasantly shaped ass.
She shuddered, but said nothing. I struck her hard with the dowel, the rod biting into her flesh at the sweet spot where her upper thigh swept out into her plump ass. She screamed and twisted in her restraints.
She sought me out with pleading eyes. I hit her again for her trouble.
"Give me one name," I moved in front of her and let my fingertips brush the tuft of hair that sheltered her clit.
Her gaze fell to the floor; she closed her eyes and breathed heavily, "I can't."
I pressed my fingers into her, violating her sex roughly with my thick digits. She shuddered again as I finger fucked her slowly. She rocked her hips slightly against my hand, her lips becoming slick beneath my gentle touch.
"The cold, the pain... they can all end," I touched the tip of the rod to her chin, lifting her gaze to mine. "It could be the way you want it to be."
Her eyes pulled me into them; she bit her lower lip as I leaned into her.
"It can be the way you wanted it to be when you asked for it to be just the two of us," I whispered into her ear and then moved to press my lips against hers.
Her mouth opened to mine, our tongues danced together, entwining. She kissed me with a passion that I'd never known before. It was as if she wanted to devour me. I continued to press my finger into her sex. She rocked and swayed and I felt her breath grow quick and stuttered.
I broke our kiss, but continued to fuck her with my fingers, "Just one name. One name and I'll let you cum."
"Allison," she forced the word past her lips, "Allison Davis."
"Good," I smiled. "That was easy, wasn't it?"
I pulled my fingers from her sex and moved away from her.
"No, please, don't stop," the words were short and quick and heavy with the labor of her need.
Her chin fell against her chest, her eyes on the floor as I walked out of the room. I came back in just a few moments with her purse in one hand and the phone in the other; the long cord trailed behind me. She watched as I dug through her purse, came out with her tiny address book.
"What are you doing?" she asked weakly.
"Let's call her," I smiled wickedly, "Once we're sure you've been honest, well... The rest will be easier on you."
She blanched.
"Is there a problem?"
She sobbed.
"Is there a problem?"
"Alison isn't one of them."
"So you lied to me?"
She nodded.
"That's... unfortunate," I let the moment hang between us until she raised her eyes to mine. "You would do well to depersonalize what's about to happen," I paraphrased Rickman.
She watched wordlessly as I drug a length of metal grate across the room. It was slightly less than six feet long and barely wide enough for someone to lie on; it was practically made to order. One end I placed on the layout table, the other on the deck. I checked it, made sure it was positioned right and then rummaged through the scrap for a length of rope that I used to tie the grate in place.
I rummaged through my tool bag and drug out several leather straps and an old rubber bungee cord; all of which I placed on the layout table near the end of the grate.
"This doesn't have to happen," I said flatly, standing before her. "Just tell me the names."
"I can't," she pleaded.
"You can," I corrected her, moving to seize her and free her from the tie point. "You can and you will."
I took her in my arms and carried her to the grate, where I sat her down and forced her to struggle for her balance as I removed the leg iron and strapped one of her ankles to the grate. The other followed in short order. The grate was biting into her ass as she struggled to stay upright, her feet higher than her waist at the high end of the grate.
I got another bottle of water, opened it and went to her. She opened her mouth quickly and for her eagerness I rewarded her by spilling almost as much water on her as she managed to swallow. Tossing the bottle aside I grabbed the bungee with one hand; with the other I pressed her slowly back until she was lying inverted on the grate. I hooked one end of the bungee cord on one side of her, ran it across her throat and made it fast on the other side. I then untied her hands and, using the last two straps, I secured them to the grate at her sides.
The dowel rod I grabbed now was shorter but thicker than the one I'd used on her ass. The ends had been turned down and sanded to smooth tapers.
"Tell me the names," I said flatly. She answered with silence, which I rewarded by striking the sole of her left foot with as much force as I thought I could dare. She screamed, her toes curling at the sudden pain.
I repeated the question, answered her silence by striking the sole of her right foot. We continued this for a dozen or so blows before I moved to trace the rounded tip of the dowel along the inside of her thigh. She strained to look at me as I pried her thighs apart, opening her sex with one hand, pressing the dry wooden dowel into her with the other. I fucked her with it slowly; her juices being soaked up by the dry wood rather than lubricating it. Each stroke pulled at her sex. She groaned and twisted against the slow assault.
"I have to pee," she almost whispered. Three bottles of water were taking a toll on her.
"Tell me the names," I pushed the dowel deeper into her, held it in place with my palm and moved my fingertips so I could press against her bladder.
"Please," she simpered. She rocked her hips uncomfortably beneath my hand.
"Tell me the names," I repeated.
"I have to pee!" She demanded.
"No one's stopping you."
"You can't be serious," her eyes went wide.
It was my turn to respond with silence. I knew what had to happen. I knew what I had to do to give her the experience she had asked for. I knew I'd have done it already if the situation were real.
I ignored her pleas and stood, leaving the wooden cock in her. I walked to the work bench and gathered up her shredded shirt; it was cotton and I'd cut it with a mind to using it now. Taking the rags in hand I walked back to her.
"Open your mouth," I barked.
She complied. I wadded the rag tightly and forced it past her teeth. "Don't choke on those!" I snapped.
She mumbled something behind me as I walked to the deep sink. I took the hose in hand and turned on the water. It was icy yet and I froze up for a minute, but not because of the water. 'There's nothing sexual about this.' There was nothing about this that belonged in the world she'd introduced me to. She had to have known that. But it was what I had to do, for her, I told myself. It was all I could say that allowed me to walk back to her and do what needed to be done.
Pain is useless when you need the truth. Hurt someone and they will tell you anything to make you stop. They will make up whatever it is they think you want to hear for just a few moments free of pain. Fear on the other hand is your best friend. Fear that you will harm them is stronger than harming them. The best way to convince them that you will inflict pain on them is to let them witness you inflicting pain on someone else. The fear that they will be the next example makes them compliant. I didn't have an example for her; that we be alone was her rule. But there were other ways to instill fear.
I leveled the hose at her face, soaking the rag in her mouth. She sputtered and struggled in her bounds. I closed my hand over her nose, pinching it closed as I soaked the rag in her mouth. I felt her panic grow with each breath; knowing that she could feel the moisture in every breath, knowing that some small part of her brain was approaching absolute panic. The water ran slowly, filling the rag and running over onto her face, into her eyes. When I felt there was too much I moved the flow across her chest, soaking her. I kept the rag saturated, holding her face still as she fought against the straps. She began to shudder and twist violently. The smell of urine as she lost control of her plaintive bladder told me she'd had enough.
I dropped the hose and pulled the rag from her mouth, "Tell me their names."
She coughed, sputtered; I left my hand over her eyes, held her head still.
"Tell me their names," I said again.
"No," she shouted when the rag touched her lips, and then recounted each name in rapid succession.
I relaxed; relieved that it was over. I released my grip on her face and gently began to undo her bounds; helping her to slip awkwardly from the grate onto the floor. I stood slowly and walked away from her. She'd used the safe word; the scene was over. I'd given her what she wanted. Yet, she stayed on the floor, naked, exposed, her head down, silent. I watched her for a long time, silent myself. When she finally looked up at me there was a look in her eyes I'd never seen before, at least on her. She was small, somehow, small and hungry. I watched her breathing, almost panting.
"Come here," I spoke softly.
She moved quickly, crawling to me on her hands and knees. She stopped beside me and placed her cheek against my knee. I touched the top of her head gently.
"Would you like to play a different scene?" I asked.
"Yes," she answered sheepishly.
"Yes... what?" I challenged.
She was silent, still beside me.
I bent slightly and knotted my hand in her hair, pulling her gaze to mine, "Yes... what?"
"Yes... master," she answered, lowering her eyes even as I held her face high. The last word slipped from her slowly and I watched her shudder as she spoke it.
"Whose are you?" I asked, brushing my fingertips against her cheek.
"Yours, master."
I used the tangled knot of her hair to pull her to her feet, dragging her toward the layout bench. She simpered and scrambled behind me. I pushed her against the bench, her flat belly pinned against it as I pressed close to her from behind.
"You word," I whispered into her ear, "Is butterscotch."
She nodded.
"It is your word," I continued, "I will never use it with another girl. It is yours alone."
"Thank you, master", she spoke softly as my free hand drifted across her belly and up to the swell of her breast.
"On your face," I barked, shoving her forward at the waist, releasing my grip on her hair.
She doubled over, pressing her bare tits against the cold metal table.
"Spread your cheeks," I ordered.
She dug her nails into the crack of her ass and pulled them wide for me. I enjoyed the view of her pouting sex and the puckered brown-black dot of her ass; deciding which to fuck was harder than I'd imagined it would be. I unbuttoned the fatigue pants and pulled my cock free. Stroking it I stepped close behind her. She'd watched me --instructed me- to ass fuck more than a few girls over the last year, part of me thought that would have been the most appropriate initiation of out new relationship. But there was another trick I thought better yet.
I took my cock in hand and rubbed the head against her swollen sex. She shuddered, pushing back against me eagerly. I rewarded her need by pressing my cock deep into her, the weight of the thrust jarring her forehead against the metal table. She lost her grip on her ass checks and they closed against me.
"Spread her cheeks!" I ordered; my right hand fell hard against her bare ass.
She grabbed her plump cheeks again and opened herself for me. I took her hips in hand and began to stroke against her with purpose. Her cunt held me tightly, the velvet soft walls caressing my full length as I stabbed into her with almost violent thrusts.
She moaned deep in her throat, her entire torso rocking with each thrust.
I moved my grip to allow me to stroke her tight ass with the pad of my thumb. She made a soft, birdlike sound deep in her chest. I pressed my thumb into her ass and continued to stroke. I could feel my thumb raking against the head of my cock with each stroke. I needed to cum. I pushed harder. She groaned. I came; filling her with hot cum. She shuddered and collapsed against the table. When her hands slipped from her cheeks I slapped her cheek hard.
"Spread your ass!" I shouted, pulling my cock from her.
She opened her cheeks; I watched the cum collecting on her red, swollen lips for a moment. Then I pressed two fingers into her sex. My cum and her juices lubricated my assault nicely. I stroked them into her for several moments; clipping the sensitive nerve cluster just inside now and then for good measure. She puffed and panted on the table. When I added a third finger, then the forth she raised her head back; moaning low and loud.
"Use me, master, please me," she cooed.
I fucked her with half my hand, my thumb stroking her ass, massaging the tight ring of muscle. She was pressing her sex back against my hand in a steady rhythm that told me she was ready. I cupped my hand, folding my thumb into my palm and shoved. My whole hand disappeared into her sex; her outer lips stretched tight around my wrist. She cried out in shock and twitched around my arm. She hadn't taught me everything I knew.
"Don't you dare cum!" I shouted, fucking her with my whole fist.
With each stroke my fist threatened to turn her inside out, pulling at the inner walls of her sex. When I pressed into her I ran my knuckles against her cervix. She thrashed and bucked and cried out.
"If you cum, I swear to God I'll stop!"
"Yes. Master!" She managed.
I could feel the tension inside her. She needed a release. But I wasn't going to make it easy on her.
"Beg me." I changed my rhythm from long strokes to short, quick strokes.
She struggled to breathe.
"Beg me, or I'll stop."
"Please, master, please, may I cum?" Her nails were biting into her flesh as she struggled to keep her grip on her ass checks.
"Why should I let you cum?" I opened my hand inside her, trying to touch as much of her as possible, all at once.
"Because you are a good master," she flattered.
"Whose are you?" I asked; driving the point home.
"I am yours, master," the words came in a staccato of panting desperation.
"Cum," I said simply, pushing my fist into her harder yet.
She screamed and I felt her legs clamp around my wrist. Her knees buckled and she collapsed on the table I jerked my fist from her sex and she turned to jelly, thrashing for a moment and struggling not to fall from the table as her knees refused to focus on holding her up.
I took her in my arms and eased her to the floor. She pressed her face into my chest, with one hand she gripped my jacket collar and shuddered so hard I thought she might be crying. I kissed her forehead gently and held her close.
She raised her face to me, her eyes lingering on mine, looking at me as if we'd never met. I brushed her hair behind her ear and said nothing.
"I...," she started to speak and then fell silent.
"What?" I asked; the scene was over. We were just two people alone in each other now.
She lowered her eyes again, pressed her cheek against my chest, "Nothing."
I squeezed her tight. She pressed against me as if she wanted to climb inside me. We stayed there, on the floor together, for nearly an hour; neither of us said a word.
Things were different between us after that night. Better in some ways, but different. When the group of us gathered at her home to indulge our predilections, she called me Edward. But I knew, as she did, that the formality of her address served an unspoken purpose. To the others she stayed the strong, stable center of our cadre. To address me as she did when we were alone would have changed too much. Between the two of us that simple word, my name, Edward, carried the weight of master. She never finished the sentence she started that night, but she didn't have to. I loved her too.
