And there's the difference—what makes it possible with Brian and maybe with no one else. He has the ability to make it mental when I can't handle the physical and then, when the mental starts playing tricks on me, he flips it back to physical again.
I need to be called an ass slut. I need the attention or I couldn't take this, couldn't see what's good in this.
It's tight, for one thing, it's being filled in the wrong channel, it's naughty, it's thumbing your nose at society like Brian says. It's also a goddamn tease, because I can't get my pussy satisfied. I'm aching all over; I'm living, breathing in this space of prolonged, Tantric need.
The bottom line, pardon the pun, is not society or Tantric sex.
In the end, pardon second pun, I am gagged and being fucked at Brian's prerogative. I wasn't asked, oh, god, I wasn't asked. Do you know what pressure that takes off me? Daddy helps me grow every day, but it can be work. And there are always things in the back of my mind.
Not now. Brian doesn't give a fuck.
Isn't that amazing?
He is restraining himself, I can tell. It's not a cop out, just a recognition I have limits. This is no monster, he really is on double, and triple alert because I can't shout out, can't cry a safety word.
"You need to be widened,” he tells me.
I try and will myself to be more of a hole ... but that won't do it. He means something needs to be done to me...
"We'll work on that."
New resistance. Not so much what he might work on, but the fact that I'd have to get to this point again. From out of my normal life.
Not sure I can do that.
"Methinks the lady doth protest,” he quotes Shakespeare, rather incompletely to my mind.
Oh, god, he's after my clitoris. Using his finger. Not cool. Not fucking cool.
"Ever wear a butt plug, Caroline? I imagine not. They can be uncomfortable for little girls like you, but they are good for keeping you in line. And they have the added bonus of permanently loosening you up. You want that, don't you? To take my cock deeper and deeper each time."
"No next time!” I cry into the gag.
He laughs. Did he understand?
"I'm halfway in, not bad for a virgin,” he comments. “I'm going to fuck you this way a bit then maybe I'll come. Or we might break for a shower."
The way he said it, just with total possessiveness, like my body was nothing more than a receptacle, a semen station...
I orgasm right then, his finger on my clit. He just laughs, low and guttural. He so has me...
"You just wait until I start denying you orgasms, you'll go out of your mind."
I make my protest, a distinctly muted “mmphhh,” sound.
Daddy never denies me, unless it's to give me something else, something even better.
Brian takes my hips, clamping tightly. I have to take it as he moves inside me, in and out, using my asshole like a pussy. I continue to spasm, sweat drenched in the after shocks.
He grunts and I feel his cock swell. Is this it? Am I going to receive his semen?
I try to be ready ... I feel reverence welling up, too late to push it back down, too late to save my pride.
I thrust my ass toward my despoiler, the man who's told me I must be a good ass fuck for him. It's going to do something to me, to us, to have him climax this way, I really won't be able to look at him as equal again, and that makes me mad, but I have traveled too far and the way back makes me even angrier.
I groan ... begging for it. He pumps and pumps with terrific self-control, I think I'm doing okay; maybe I'm big enough now? Definitely ready, who needs a butt plug?
And then, just like that, he plays with my head, taking himself out of me at the last possible moment.
"By the way,” he tells me as he sprays his come all over my ass. “I'm not done whipping you."
The psychological effect is staggering. I try and rear up and away. He holds me by the hair, yanking brutally at my scalp. Everything disappears but the frantic need to appease. Obedience equals end to pain.
I take the semen bath like a good slut.
"Lay down,” he slaps my hip. “On your stomach. I'll tell you when I'm ready for you in the bathroom."
My throat is scratchy. My head is turned sideways, cheek against the rumpled comforter. I'm terrified he's going to leave me. This hurts so much more than the belt or the cock up my ass. “Are we going to take a shower?” I asked.
"I am,” he says cryptically.
"What about me?” I say softly, the words coming from my underbelly, my flesh still glowing in a place of luscious degradation.
"I have a different kind of shower in mind for you."
I close my eyes, whipped and come soaked, my hair tangled and matted.
I'd thought this was the bottom, but it's not even close.
I think of what Brian intends. I think about him bathing me, the ultimate insult and the ultimate gift, both at the same time.
"Would you like that sweetheart?” he croons.
"Yes,” I whisper.
Wouldn't you?
CHAPTER IV
It's funny looking back how the relationship I had with Thomas developed along dominant and submissive lines before I even knew what the words meant.
From the moment he captivated me, made me laugh and dragged me out of that basement—and out of that funk—I became his. To mold, to do with as he wished.
I wonder if he knows to this day just how vulnerable I was—am?
He tells me I've been the strong one all along, that no one could have survived the things I did without having an indestructible core. The trouble is my coping mechanisms were limited and pretty damned dysfunctional.
I knew how to drink, lose jobs and spread my legs. Great country music stuff, but not really helpful for a stable life.
The day after I first called Thomas Daddy I was so incredibly horny and needy. I literally begged him to keep me by his side every minute. We ended up taking a long drive to look at some land near the coast for a possible deal.
He stopped to buy me some clothes. Very expensive. A skirt, on the short side and a pink blouse. We shopped at a store for women much younger than me. I was so thankful for having kept up my jogging, because I could actually fit into the teeny sizes.
I felt totally wicked in the new outfit, complete with strappy sandals.
I wanted to play with him when we got back to the car, but he had a different game in mind.
"Is your seat belt buckled, baby girl?"
"Yes, Daddy,” I told him.
"Are you ready to go bye bye?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"That's my girl."
I took a deep breath, allowing the reassurance to wash over me. This man really could protect me, care for me. I could let myself go, as far as I wanted. “Where we going, Daddy?"
"Daddy needs to see some land."
"What's land?"
"A big piece of ground, a lot of dirt where Daddy might build some houses."
"Why?” I was aiming for about five.
"So people can live in them."
I took one of his hands and started idly bending his fingers, this way and that. “What people?"
"People who need somewhere to live."
"Why?"
"Everyone needs somewhere,” he said.
"Why?"
He stroked my hair. “Just because, baby girl."
"Because why?"
"Baby girl, you're whining."
"No, I'm not."
He spoke sternly. “That's enough, Baby girl."
My pussy flooded. I was twitching like crazy under my panties. “It's not enough,” I said, driven by some uncontrollable desire to be bad.
"Baby girl,” his voice was very calm. “Do you need a spanking?"
"No.” I folded my arms over my thumping heart and burning nipples. “And besides, you can't reach my bottom while you're driving."
"That's true. But I can spank your thigh, can't I?"
I covered both of them. “No, Daddy!"
"Sit back, baby girl."
I obeyed, my face contorted into a great big sourpuss.
He laughed. “How can I be mad at you?"
"You can't,” I grinned. “You can only be happy with me."
The rest of the ride I was the little princess, getting to play with the windows and the radio. I asked a million questions, I rested my head on his shoulder. I begged him until he stops for an ice cream at one of the highway exits.
Finally I fell asleep, my head in his lap.
It was the most peacefully I had slept in ages.
Unlike the present; I am certainly not sleeping now. My every sense is on alert. I relax while the shower is on, but not completely. I half expect Brian to come out while the water's still running, just to mess with me.
He takes his sweet time, or maybe I'm just too on edge. It feels like forever. I want so badly to play with myself. Would he care? Does he even have to know? I'd rather not take chances, but I can only take so much burning. At last I give in, lifting my pelvis and slipping my hand underneath. I know right where to put it.
I fuck my hand, moving as quick as I can. It's humiliating trying to sneak in pleasure like this—after all this is supposed to be my body.
I'm getting real close when I become aware of someone standing over me. Shit, did he float in here like some kind of ninja?
"Just couldn't help yourself, could you?” He has the handcuffs we bought at the toy store.
"What are you going to do to me?” I ask—though it's pretty clear as he clicks the steel on my wrists that I am going into bondage.
"Removing temptation. For a little slave slut who can't keep her hands where they belong."
"Please, Brian,” I moan, my dignity in ruins. “I'm so horny. Please let me come?"
"Negative. I think you need to concentrate on Master for a while."
He circles my neck in the collar and attaches it. There is a leash that jingles as he tugs it.
"Down on the floor,” he orders. “On your knees."
I feel the snug leather against my throat. The symbolism is overpowering. The collar has been placed on me. It will stay there until Brian wants it off. Unless I feel like fighting him again.
It's a pet collar. The leash re-enforces the point. He intends to treat me as an animal.
I'm having a hard time moving. I try and get up on my knees. How am I supposed to do this? I look at him, gagged, pitiful.
"Does the slave girl need help obeying Master?"
I nod, trapped for the moment on my side.
He chuckles. He's going to help me all right, but not in the way I imagined.
"Obey me,” he levels the belt at my hip. “Find a way."
I squirm and squeal, irrationally trying to cover myself. That isn't going to work. The blows sting my flesh, my ass, my back, and the backs of my thighs. He won't let up.
There's only one thing to do. I crawl forward, head first over the edge of the bed. He lets me fall. He doesn't help me to get up on my knees, he does nothing but continue to punish me.
"Legs spread,” he lashes the top of my thigh.
I spread widely.
"Back arched."
I scream into the gag as he whips my breasts. I glare at him in hate and fury.
"You need a lot of work,” he says.
That's it. That's all I get for all that work?
He lifts the leash and pulls me toward the bathroom, “Keep up, slut."
I burn the hell out of my knees. Not a pleasant glow, but total fucking agony.
The tile in the bathroom is actually a relief, hard as it is.
Brian takes out the gag.
I work my jaw, trying to get out the soreness. “May I have some water?"
"Beg for it, like the slut you are."
You total prick! I don't say this out loud, there's no telling what he'd do to me.
"You want a privilege, Caroline, you have to beg for it, the way I want you to."
My lower lip slides between my teeth. I am so hot and ready. Why won't he take me? He has that hard cock to play with.
Then I remember he's a Master, of the sadistic variety. It's not about the climax alone. There is oh so much in between. “Master, may I have some water? Your ... slut ... begs you."
He half fills a glass on the counter.
I gulp it down. “More?"
"No, you'll get yourself sick. Besides I want you to be good and thirsty for my piss."
My look of pure trepidation induces more laughter. “Don't worry, girl, I won't make you drink it, I'm just kidding. I'd advise you to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut tight, though. I know it will be a challenge."
My eyes narrow.
"I don't hear a thank you. What kind of Daddy's girl are you?"
"The kind who's going to kick your ass when this is all over,” I can't resist.
"What was that?” he pulls my leash, digging it under my chin.
"T—thank you..."
"Thank you, Master, you mean."
"Thank you ... Sir."
"There's a good sport.” He winks. “Go hop in the tub, sweetie, there's a dear."
He makes me crouch down, holding up my breasts for him to piss on.
He stands outside the tub, taking his aim. The plug is in, so the urine won't go down the drain. The really crappy thing is I need to go, too.
Brian makes a ritual out of it. He rubs himself over my cheeks, makes me kiss the tip.
I taste the salt...
"Too bad Monica isn't here,” he says. “I bet she would enjoy watching this happen to the woman who's fucking her husband."
"It's not like that,” I insist.
I close my mouth just in time. The spray hits my lips, like a fire hose. I sputter. He takes aim at my eyes, my hair.
"Hold the tits higher."
Not my tits ... the tits.
The golden curtain cascades over my bosom, trickling down my belly. I have piss between my legs, piss on my feet, piss in my eyebrows, piss in my ears.
A man's piss.
I'm soaked, shamed, exhilarated. Collared and leashed, totally used.
"Sleek wet little bitch...” He licks his lips and starts stroking.
His eyes are on me, scanning, part to part, indifferent to my personhood.
I might as well be a jpeg.
God, I want that cock, why is he wasting that erection?
But it's not a waste; he's doing what he wants with it. His cock, his game ... my tough luck.
Anyway, who wants sex with a girl glistening in urine? I stink, the piss has soaked me and it's already starting to dry.
"Open up wide,” he orders.
It's another bodily fluid he has for me and this time my mouth is the target. One of the targets.
I'm dumbfounded how thick the jets are. This is the fourth time with me today. He's like his father ... in this way at least.
No one ever lusted after me like Thomas. I was like his first crush, his college sweetheart and the prostitute he picked up down the lane on a daily basis. You'd think there were no other women but me, like I was every female rolled into one.
And this from a married man—omigod, I am so not the other woman—so not a piece on the side, except when we both want it to be that.
He just has the gift. To give women what they need. Monica couldn't endure him as a sexual animal, couldn't take him as Daddy, or mentor.
He is just Mr. Fix it.
"Brian, where are you going?!"
He's at the door, he is finished pissing and ejaculating and now he's going to close the light on me.
"Cigarette."
"You can't leave me!"
"You're not really in a condition to go outside."
"Let me clean up."
"I am not quite done with you this way, I'm afraid."
"Well you can't leave me like this.” I wriggle to my feet, using my cuffed hands along the wall of the tub.
"I can do what I want wit
h you, Caroline. That's the deal. Unless..."
"Stop rubbing the word under my nose! I know about the fucking word. I'll use it when I want to."
"Suit yourself."
"Brian, wait."
"What?"
My heart is thumping. What to say?
"Will you be long?” I ask meekly.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm not this kind of female...
"I might bring back take out, I don't know.” He chuckles. “You don't mind if I borrow the car, do you, slave girl? Seriously, I won't be too long. Burger World's just across the street."
I can't laugh. I have no emotion left. That last outburst has drained me.
"Yes, Master,” I whisper, the urine in puddles around my feet.
He shuts the lights off.
I try to figure out what the hell just happened.
And why I am hornier than I have ever been in my whole entire life.
* * * *
"You trade one addiction for another."
That's how Thomas sums up the Alcoholic's meetings. That's not the official philosophy, and he's careful to tell me that.
"You have to have the higher power, you have to follow your steps, but sooner or later it comes down to deciding what you're going to use in your life to keep the beast at bay. All of us have it. You can fill it with sex or power, drugs or alcohol."
Or you can fill it with Daddy.
The night he told me about BDSM I was so freaking fascinated, so totally into his explanations, his unique take on things. He could have been into anything, fishing, macrame and it would have seemed sexy, but the way he talked about what it meant for him to be a Master. What it meant to get a woman to trust him, to bare her soul, to bare her body.
"It's in the mind,” he said. “You can be intimate without paddles and cuffs, but to be intimate with them, to really do it in a consensual way, that is the ultimate rush."
His drug, I suppose.
So naturally, it became mine. Daddy's baby girl. Slave slut, little princess no panties.
He wouldn't ever put a collar on me. I wanted to try it.
No one has done that—until Brian.
I pictured this so much differently, a romantic little scene, a piece of rope jewelry, given in a restaurant, the meaning entirely secret as it changes hands. Or an ankle bracelet, delicately attached by Master's hands to my bare flesh. The feeling so intense, He might as well be locking my pussy.
Own Me Wholly! Page 8
