“Master,” she grunted. “Oh...my god.” Her ass lifted off the chips. She was panting. Her thighs gaped, knees banging the metal. She reached back, gripping one of the bars with her free hand. Her body was taut; she was lifting herself up to him, drawn along tight muscle lines, moved by deep and primal desires.
He had her in a cage. He controlled and owned her. He was strong, strong enough to make her do what he wanted. She had to give herself; she had to have his cock in her; she had no other purpose. “Put it in me, put it in me,” she whined. “Fuck me...fuck your slave.”
Stone did not respond. He let her come alone, like the sex animal she was. The message was clear. She would be used on his terms, not hers, always, totally.
She writhed on the shavings, knocking over her bowls. The water soaked the chips and soaked her, too. She was beyond caring. It was the deepest, most tearing orgasm of her life. She was ripped asunder, left in pieces at the man’s feet.
Roaring, crashing, completely demolishing. Dripping, coming, sweltering. Screaming. Into blackness. Explosions in her core. She rolled back onto her side, rolling her whole body up into a ball. Waiting for it to pass.
“Give me your hands,” he said when she was done.
His voice, cold and precise, was a stark reminder that this was no place of love and pleasure but a tomb of anguish. A stark world of control and domination...and obedience.
Sheila was so weak; she could barely slide them to the bars. He had handcuffs, which he attached to her wrists through one of the bars.
“This will keep those greedy little paws of yours out of your cunt the rest of the night,” he said.
She clenched her fists, little and helpless. Her pussy burned, gaping, aching, and empty.
“Good night, girl.”
Her voice trembled. “Good night, Master.”
“Sweet dreams.” He turned the light out and closed the door behind him, plunging her into darkness.
Tentatively, she pulled at the cuffs. The links of the chain clinked across the bar, sending waves of renewed pleasure down her spine. Her belly was hot and ready. She would take on any man, submitting to any torture.
But she would get no sex now. Only darkness and confinement until the dawn, gnawing frustration to eat at her hour by hour. How was she supposed to sleep like this? She didn’t have long to mull the question. For as buzzed as her brain was, her body had been worn to the bone by her Master’s predations.
She didn’t even count as far as the number of strokes she’d received with the cane before she was out as completely as the light in her room, unconscious, slipped away to another world.
A world that would hold her until tomorrow.
Her first full day as Stone’s slave.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sheila was on her way to the office kitchen to fetch Mr. Stone his first cup of coffee. Her stomach growled. Other than a small piece of bacon which he had allowed her to eat off the floor at breakfast, she had had nothing to eat since dinner last night. Her backside screamed out as she moved, the silk panties rubbing against her welted behind.
Sitting was a real horror, so she was more than happy to be sent on as many errands as possible today. Mr. Stone had given her a turtle neck to wear and a thin cotton bra. She was allowed no panties under the black, pleated skirt. Access, he had told her, being the prime operative word for today.
“Hi, Sheila,” Johnny honed in as soon as she rounded the corner. “What’s up?”
Sheila could not afford to stop. She had exactly five minutes in which to present her Master the perfect cup of coffee. If she was so much as one second late, she would pay the price. “Hi, Johnny,” she smiled.
“What’s the hurry? Got a fire somewhere?”
Between her legs, yes. Ever since she had been awakened, naked, cuffed in her cage, Master’s cane pushed up inside her asshole, she had been horny as hell. If he had let her touch herself in the shower, she would have masturbated for sure. But she was only permitted to touch him, washing and cleaning on her knees and finally sucking him to orgasm. This time she had swallowed, the water pelting down on her head as she drank his thick, pumping issue.
She had whimpered, wishing the semen was going inside her.
“Mr. Stone is waiting for his coffee, Johnny.”
“Jeez,” he chuckled. “You act like a minute will kill him.”
No...but it might surely cause her some agony.
“Johnny, I just can’t keep him waiting.” She brushed past, heading for the kitchen.
Johnny wouldn’t let go of it. “Sheila, what on earth is the matter with you?” He grabbed her arm at the kitchen door.
“Johnny, don’t.” She whirled about, inadvertently causing contact between his hip and her ass.
There was no hiding the pain on her face.
“Sheila, you’re hurt.”
She remembered Mr. Stone’s careful instructions this morning. Should anyone suspect she had been suffering as a submissive or slave, she was to redirect their attention elsewhere.
“It’s...it’s personal, Johnny.”
His handsome blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you mean abuse? But you’re not even married.”
“I have a boyfriend,” she said. “And it’s not abuse. We have a consensual relationship. I’m...his slave.”
“Slave? Sheila, have you gone crazy?”
“No, Johnny, it’s true. He beat me last night. On my naked ass with a whip and a cane.”
Johnny’s jaw set hard. “I wish I’d known this, Sheila.”
“Why?” She wondered aloud.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it,” he said coldly. “Just out of curiosity, how long have you been the slave of another man?”
She couldn’t believe the way he was talking, like she had betrayed him. “It isn’t long. About two weeks,” she lied.
“Well after the first time I asked you out,” he observed.
“Johnny, please forgive me.” She was heartbroken. She never meant to hurt the man.
“You might have told me your interests,” he said. “That’s all.”
“I didn’t want you to...think less of me.”
“Think less of you? How could I think less of you than I do now, knowing you’ve been lying to me, stringing me along?”
“I haven’t been doing that, Johnny, honest.”
He regarded her with a calm dispassion that made her wet between the legs. Why had she never felt this way in his presence?
“I want to see what he did,” Johnny told her.
“What did you say?”
“I want you to show my where your boyfriend marked you. Right now.”
Her mouth hung open. “But...but I hardly know you.”
“You owe me, Sheila.” His voice did not brook argument. “I’ve invested a lot of time and energy in you. I deserve to see what I’m competing against.”
“Is there any way to talk you out of this?” she asked meekly.
“No, there isn’t.” He marched her to the kitchen counter. “Have you any panties on?”
“No.”
“He keeps you bare assed?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Lean forward over the counter,” he commanded. “Press your breasts on it, lift your skirt over your head.”
Sheila did as she was told. The counter was hard against her sensitive nipples. Her pussy was thrumming with need. Inch by inch, she tugged up the skirt, not knowing who might walk in or what Johnny might do when he saw the marks.
He said nothing as she bared herself, the cool air hitting her damp pussy. Her cheeks throbbed as if she had been beaten only minutes ago and not last night.
“Do you get beat often?” he asked at last.
“When I’m a bad girl.”
“You must be well behaved, then. I don’t see any scars.”
Her heart beat more quickly. She didn’t want to be caught in any lies.
“What’s your boyfriend’s name, Sheila?”
“Je—Jack.�
�
“Jack what?”
“Collins.”
“What’s his occupation?”
“He’s in sales.” Sheila couldn’t bear it. Just knowing that fine, muscular man was behind her, taking total, obscene control of her body, making her show her ass and pussy in the company kitchen, not giving a damn who walked in, not even Jeremy Stone himself. “Johnny, oh, god, I need you. I need you inside me. Will you fuck me? Will you fuck me like I am now? Over the counter, helpless and shamed?”
“What’s the matter, Sheila, doesn’t Je—Jack Collins give you enough action?”
She could hear the scorn in his voice. He didn’t believe her. God knows what he thought. “Johnny,” she moaned. “I’m a lying little slut. Punish me...with your cock. Teach me...my place.”
Johnny smacked her ass, hard and crisp. She bit down on her knuckles. Oh, fuck, he was no amateur.
“Why would I fuck another man’s slave, Sheila? And why would you disrespect your Master like that? You think this is some kind of game?”
“No, Johnny, I didn’t mean it like that.”
He grabbed her by the arm again and pulled her up to face him. “What the hell did you mean?” he demanded.
“Nothing, I meant nothing.”
Johnny glared at her in rage. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t track down this Master of yours and tell him what you’re up to?”
“No, don’t do that. I’ll do anything, Johnny. I’ll...I’ll please you.”
He shook his head. “This doesn’t add up. I don’t what you’re hiding, but you’re hiding something. Whatever it is, I suppose I shouldn’t give a fuck about it, or you—because you don’t care about me either, right?”
A tear trickled from her eye. If only she could explain it all.
Johnny let go of her. “Go to hell,” he decided.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” He stopped at the doorway. “I had these tickets for that new art show at the Central Gallery. I thought that might win you over better than the concert. Guess it’s moot now.”
She bit her lip as he tore them violently in two, throwing the pieces. She didn’t know why exactly, but it was very important for her to gather them up. She collected each piece, stuffing them all into the pocket of her skirt.
Looking at the clock, she nearly fainted. Ten minutes had gone by. Master was going to be so angry. Her hands shook as she poured the coffee. She prayed it was fresh enough and that she’d get the mix of sugar and cream right.
Punishment, so much punishment.
She hustled back to his office, drunk with the anticipation. What would he do to her? How would he make her pay? She would find out...all too quickly.
To her surprise, he was smiling behind his desk. “Ah, there you are, Sheila,” he said, his voice level and darkly sexy as always. “We’ve been expecting you.”
We...the word sank to her gut, burning like a live ember. She looked on the couch and saw him. A man, about sixty, robust, with a barrel chest and thick, stubby fingers. He had a protruding jaw of the sort that made a man look perpetually angry. He was wearing a three piece silk suit.
The way he looked at her burnt holes clear through Sheila’s body. She hustled to her Master, far more eager to face his wrath about the coffee than she was to deal with the newcomer.
“Master,” she held out the steaming mug. “Please forgive me for being late.”
The other man asked a question. Sheila thought he might be speaking Italian. Stone replied in the same language, like Spanish only more melodic.
“I was explaining to him how you had five minutes to bring it to me,” Stone explained. “And how you were apologizing for your lateness. I just now asked him for his advice in how to punish you best.”
The Italian man said something else, an evil grin on his face.
Stone laughed. “He says the most just thing would be to make you drink it all down in one gulp.”
Sheila turned ashen. “Master, it’s too hot...”
Stone translated this. The Italian man shrugged, leading Stone to say something else.
“Sheila, I have left it in his hands,” he explained. “He is my guest, and he will decide your fate. If I were you, I would seek to placate him.”
“I—I don’t know what to do,” Sheila lamented.
“Use your imagination, darling. I would suggest approaching on your knees. I’ve never met a man who wasn’t pleased by that.”
Sheila set the coffee down on Mr. Stone’s desk. She lowered herself, just as he’d recommended.
The Italian man gave a command.
“He wants you to crawl on your belly, Sheila.”
Sheila released a moan from the back of her throat. “Yes, Master.”
The carpet fibers bristled against her palms. Sliding them outward, she allowed her breasts to impact the floor. Her pussy was dripping wet once again. It wasn’t fair. Was she going to be aroused over and over, never to be satisfied?
She moved like a worm, undulating on her boss’ floor. The stranger’s shoes loomed larger and larger, shiny black leather. Sheila became more disheveled as she crawled. Her turtleneck came untucked from her skirt, and she lost both of her pumps. She tried to keep her nipples from rubbing, but when she got too high on her elbows, the Italian ordered her back down, utilizing Stone as his translator.
She had no choice but to stimulate herself, breasts and cunt both. At last, she reached her destination, her breath quick, her body badly overheated.
“Lick,” said the Italian to her in accented English.
Sheila assumed he meant his shoe.
“No.” The man stepped on her corona of hair, pinning her cheek down. “Lick the rug.”
Sheila applied her tongue to the carpet. It was dry and scratchy and disgusting. Stone said something, making the Italian laugh.
“I told him you had a use after all,” Stone told her in English. “I suggested that I should fire the cleaning staff and have you do the whole building. You would be happy to do that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Master,” she choked on the dust.
“Tell him that. Say ‘Voglio limpiare...”
She tried to repeat the words. The man snorted and said something back.
“He says he would be happy to oblige, because that’s all your tongue is fit for.”
The man’s other heel pressed down on the back of her neck, making Sheila cry out. He was carrying on, quite animated.
“He requests an apology,” said Stone. “You’ve butchered his language. He says you don’t deserve to speak it. He says if he owned you, he would make you bark like a dog all day.”
“I’m sorry,” she wailed. “Please, tell him that.”
“No sorry,” the man said directly in English. “Lick balls.”
“I trust that is self-explanatory?” Stone asked her.
“Yes, Master. I will lick his balls,” she promised.
The Italian removed his feet from off of her. “Pronto,” he ordered.
Sheila didn’t need a translation. She knew she was to get to work on him right away. Her hair tousled and in her face, she went to her knees. Meekly, she reached for his zipper. The man growled and knocked them away.
“You have to use your teeth, Sheila,” said her Master.
Sheila whimpered in resignation. Lowering her head and baring her teeth, she tried to catch hold of his zipper. It took her several tries. For each failure she received a punishing squeeze, the man pincering her between his powerful thighs.
Finally, on the fourth try, she managed to catch the metal tab between her teeth. She had trouble tugging it down over his sizable erection. Her stomach was totally spinning. She had a feeling the man was very large indeed.
“Rapido,” he complained, slapping the side of her head.
Sheila made a huge effort, unlinking the zipper to the bottom. At once, his monumental shaft, covered in silk boxer shorts, sprang free. She could smell him already, musky and tainted with perspiration. Like a locker room.
<
br /> She had to pull at the fly, working open the boxers. Her breath caught in her throat as his cock finally freed itself. The shaft was immense. Twice as thick as any she had ever seen before and long, too.
Hopefully he wouldn’t require her to suck it.
Dealing with his balls would be bad enough.
The man had to help her release his oversized testicles. They were heavy and hairy. She didn’t want to touch them let alone lick them. But she had no choice. Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips, bestowing a kiss. The man sighed in pure male satisfaction.
“Lick,” he encouraged. In an act of pure degradation, he stroked her head like a dog.
She put her tongue to the task, wetting down his testicles, bathing them, treating them like a pair of giant, sweet lollipops. She had to bend very far forward, squashing her breasts in the process. The man was enjoying her deeply.
Using both hands, he lifted the bottom of her turtleneck and ran his fingers up her spine. Effortlessly, he undid the clasp of the bra her Master had given her. She was helpless to stop him. Of her own accord, she had no more right to keep clothes on than she had to refuse to perform this particular, degrading sex act.
Painfully, but still with sexual intent, he pulled the turtleneck and bra up above her breasts so he could take hold of them. “Kiss my cock,” he ordered, grasping her nipples.
Sheila winced from the hot pain. Slavishly, she kissed and licked at the tip of his shaft.
The Italian chortled in pleasure. “Now you suck me, slut.”
These were the words she had most dreaded hearing. “Sir, please...it’s so big.”
The Italian savaged her nipples, leaving her no choice.
Controlled by his fingers, she moved her mouth into place. The tip of him alone filled the space between her lips. Sheila whimpered her submission, but the Italian was not satisfied. He pushed her head onto him making her gag.
“Suck!”
She gasped, breathing in cock. The man’s shaft was her world, the center of her existence. She slobbered, using her tongue, trying to make up for how little of him she could actually hold. He was getting harder; she could feel the heat radiating off of him.
“Oh, you fucking little slut,” he moaned, his ham-like hands glomming the top of her head. “I’m gonna fill you...”
Punish Me, Please Page 7
