by Ashe Barker, Lily Harlem, Katy Swann, Wendi Zwaduk, Lucy Felthouse, Dolly Watt
Taking a deep breath, she stood. As she did so she was aware of dampness spreading over her folds. Her orgasm had left its mark, she was sure.
Oh, God. How embarrassing.
Sir talked about a new movie just out at the cinema as he helped Sarah into her coat. He then passed James his jacket and clasped his hand on his shoulder. “Great to see you again, James. Let’s not leave it so long until next time.”
“We’ll light the barbecue at ours. Come round soon,” James said, his voice a little slurry—he’d consumed the most alcohol out of them all.
Sarah plucked her car keys from her coat and dangled them in the air. “Good job I’m driving.” She laughed. “Come on, you.”
Cassandra laughed too, but not for long. The little outburst had released a gush of moisture. Damn it. If only she had knickers on and a dress that wasn’t so absorbent.
But she should be okay. They were leaving now, no one would see.
Except for Sir.
Oh, what would he say? What would he do?
Cassandra was both nervous and a little giddy with anticipation.
“Cass?” Sir said.
She realized her smile had slipped and she was worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. Quickly she rearranged her face. “Sorry, just tired.”
Sir tipped his head and raised his eyebrows.
He knew full well she wasn’t tired. She’d slept in until nearly lunchtime then he’d brought her breakfast in bed along with her favorite magazine.
“Well, see you Monday, bright and early,” Sarah said, giving Cassandra a quick hug.
“Yes, see you Monday.”
A little sigh of relief escaped Cassandra’s lips as the front door shut. The part of her ordeal that could have been hugely embarrassing in front of their guests was over. That was something, at least. But now she had to face Sir, and take whatever her punishment was if there was a mark on her dress.
“Cass,” he said, clicking the deadlock on the solid oak door. “How do you think you’ve done?”
“What do you mean, Sir?”
“With your dress?”
“I… I don’t know, Sir.” She ran her hands over the flare of her hips and curled her toes on the floor. She glanced down at them. Damn it, she could feel slickness on her inner thighs now.
“Well, we’ll take a look in a minute. But first I want you on your knees.”
“Yes, Sir.” She nodded and dropped to the floor. The hall rug was soft and warm on her skin. She angled her heels so she wasn’t pressing her dress over her pussy and put her hands behind her back. She stared at the carpet—this was the way he liked her to be when on the ground.
His shadow, shaped by a table lamp next to the bedroom door, stretched across the floor. His outline was long and stretched, and the low lighting elongated his legs and his body so much so that his head was out of her view.
Her breath quickened as she saw his shadow fiddle with his belt buckle. The long leather slid from the loops of his jeans then hung snake-like in his hand, the end trailing on the floor.
Was he going to beat her ass with the belt? It hadn’t been what she’d expected but she’d take it, to please him.
The belt fell to the floor, coiling over itself.
He stepped up to her, his feet still encased in neat black shoes. If it had been lighter she would have been able to see her reflection in them. Sir was meticulous about polishing his footwear. It was one of his things.
The soft sound of his fly undoing told her what was going to happen. Her mouth watered—this was her kind of dessert.
“Open,” he said, gripping the mass of curls on the top of her head and forcing her to look up at him. “Open up for your Master.”
She did as he’d asked, stretching her mouth so wide the joints at the top of her jaw ached. He had a gorgeous big cock and she had to work to take him, whichever hole he decided to use.
“Ah, yeah…” he said, holding his shaft and rubbing the tip of his cock on her bottom lip. “All evening I’ve been watching your mouth, when you speak, when you eat, when you smile. I just wanted to possess it, make it mine, have my cock buried so deeeeep…”
As he’d said the last word he’d slipped in, the flare of his glans traveling over her tongue.
Cassandra stared up at his face as he filled her mouth up with him. She always adored seeing his expression as he entered her body. It was desperation, bliss, control and darkness all wrapped up in one erotic look that turned her the hell on. If it was the last thing she ever saw she’d be happy.
“Oh, fuck yeah…” he said, his cock tip touching the back of her mouth. He never rammed down her throat—he knew she didn’t like that—he rode in just as much as she could take before her gag reflex kicked in.
She hugged the base of his shaft with her tongue, wrapping around the hard flesh.
“Ahh…” he gasped, his grip on her hair tightening. “Yes, like that…”
She rippled her tongue and created a slight suction.
He shut his eyes, withdrew then slid back in.
Cassandra couldn’t move her head. He had it in a firm hold. But she trusted him to get the depth just right, and held her breath as he sank to the max. Again.
He tasted divine, the best flavor of the evening—salt and sweet, spicy and male. She loved Sir’s taste, enjoyed nothing more than having it on her tongue when she went to sleep.
“Cass, fucking hell, sub, I’m going to… Yeah, like that…” He gripped her hair tighter.
The longing in his voice, oh, it was so good. Her pussy clenched and her clit swelled. She itched to touch him, grab his ass, his balls, rub her hands on his hair-coated belly and stroke his root. But that was forbidden unless given specific instructions, so instead she took what he gave. Allowed him to fuck her mouth, take what he needed from her.
Pre-cum leaked onto her tongue, rich and thick, and she knew he was close. His shaft swelled, swelling her cheeks. He sank deeper.
She held her breath.
This was it.
“Ah fucking hell…” he said then groaned as his first wave of release flooded her mouth. He pulled back, thrust in again.
Cassandra toppled slightly.
He held her up, one hand in her hair, the other beneath her chin.
She was his vessel for pleasure. That feeling, that moment of being claimed, owned, of him giving up his absolute control over everything, thrilled her utterly. She loved that split second of time when he knew only her, thought of nothing but her.
More cum coated the base of her tongue, and she swallowed it down.
He slowed. A long, low moan vibrated through his body and she felt it in his cock. His control returned.
“Good girl,” he said breathlessly. “You’re so damn good at that.”
Unable to speak, she batted her eyelashes. She didn’t think she was particularly good at blow jobs, she just opened her mouth and let him do what he wanted to do. She was simply a tool for him to get off on.
Except she knew there was much more to it than that, even if the thought of being just a female body to be used did stoke her darkest fantasies.
He released his grip on her hair. Several tendrils made a bid for freedom and hung over her face, her ears and down her neck.
“Oh, I am sorry,” he said, pulling his cock from her mouth. “I seem to have made you look rather disheveled, Cass.”
He didn’t look sorry in the least. In fact, his gaze seemed to take in her now scrappy appearance as though it delighted him. But then he did like to see her messy, her neat work persona as far removed as it could be.
He tucked his softening cock away then re-zipped his fly, but he left the top button undone, so there was a hint at the dark hair that fanned from his navel to his groin.
He wiped the back of his hand over his brow. His cheeks were flushed. She knew she should look at the floor again but couldn’t tear her attention from him—he was so beautiful.
He undid the top button on his shirt, then th
e next and the next then drew it from his shoulders revealing his wide chest. He dropped the top next to his belt then held out his hand.
“Stand.”
“Yes, Sir.” She gratefully placed her hand in his palm and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her knees were a bit stiff.
“So,” he said, releasing her hand and running his finger into the groove of her cleavage. “How is your dress?”
“I don’t know, Sir?”
“You don’t know.”
She shook her head.
“Is your pussy wet?”
“Yes, Sir, very.”
“And have you allowed your juice to leak onto your clothing?”
“I’ve tried not to, Sir.” That was the truth, but as for it not leaking, she would bet her last pound that she had a disgraceful stain on the red material. “I’ve tried really hard.”
“Trying isn’t always good enough, is it?”
“No, Sir.”
“And if there is a mark you know you’ll be punished, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The way he said punished always made her stomach flip. Punishments from Sir were always as much a treat as they were torture. Yes, it would likely hurt, but it was good hurt and it would end well—for both of them.
“Then I think you should turn around and show me.”
“Yes, Sir.” She made no move to turn.
“Well… Go on.” He spun a circle with his finger. “Now.”
She had no choice, her time was up. She swallowed—her mouth still tasting of him—and slowly moved to face the dining room door. Her focus settled on a picture they’d brought back from France of the Eiffel Tower.
He was silent.
Oh, what was there? What did his silence mean?
Her stomach did a little flip and her nipples ached. Whatever happened the ginger was coming…soon.
“Well, well, well,” he said, “aren’t you the good girl.”
“I try, Sir.”
“Not a mark on it. You must have worked really hard to hold all that girl cum in.”
“Yes, Sir, to please you, Sir.”
“Maybe I wanted to see your pleasure staining your dress.”
He was behind her. Close enough for her to feel his breath on her shoulder.
He rested his hand on her waist and slid it down to her buttocks.
Cassandra’s vision blurred a little, the Eiffel Tower swayed. “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t know.”
“I wanted to see this…” He pushed the material of her dress into the crack of her buttocks.
“Oh…”
“I wanted to see the evidence of the orgasm I gave you between courses all over your dress.”
“Sir, I…” She swayed as he shoved the material of the dress deeper, right between her legs.
He wrapped his hand around her waist, held her still.
There was no way the dress wouldn’t be marked now. He’d rubbed it all over her damp lips.
“Sir,” she gasped.
He pulled the skirt part straight, so that it hung neatly again. “Ah, yes, that’s more like it.”
Cassandra juddered in a breath.
“Much better.” He kissed the curve of her neck. “Now you look like a woman who is ready to have her evening spiced up.”
Chapter Four
“Yes, Sir.” Oh, it was time for the ginger. Cassandra was half excited, half full of trepidation.
Would she be able to handle it?
“You clear the table,” Sir said. “And I’ll load the dishwasher.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Leave the tablecloth on, though.”
“Yes, Sir. Anything else, Sir?”
“Yes, when the table is clear I want you bent over it, at the far end, with your ass ready for me.”
She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
Quickly, she rushed to do as he’d bid. So it was going to happen on the dining table. Not Sir’s usual spot for playing, but maybe their evening in there had got his imagination running.
Heat spread over her chest and down to her belly and pussy. The thought of him eating his meal and talking politely whilst imagining her naked and bent over the very table they’d been sat at turned her on. Had he feasted on his steak and decided how he’d position her in a few hours’ time? Tucked into his cheesecake and thought how he’d push ginger into her ass then fuck her?
She hoped he’d fuck her. Sometimes he didn’t, he just played with her. There was always pleasure, always an orgasm—sometimes several dotted between spanks and whips and toys that teased—but fucking was her favorite, it made her feel so close to him, part of him, as if their souls were one.
Cassandra took the glasses into the kitchen and set them on the counter. She then tidied away Sarah’s coffee cup and the dessert plates. She wiped the placemats, dried them and stashed them in the cupboard.
The tablecloth was a deep, racing car green and made of thick material. She brushed a few crumbs away and moved the candle from the center to the opposite end to which she was to position herself.
It was time.
She slipped out of the dress, paused briefly to look at the state of the back, then removed her bra.
The house was warm but her skin was hotter. Eagerness to get on with a scene always did that to her. It made her flush with want.
Sir was still tidying, no doubt wiping down the surfaces.
After making sure all the chairs were neat, Cassandra bent double at the end of the table. Her breasts squashed onto the tablecloth and her mound nudged the wood at the end. It was a perfect height, and her legs were straight, her ass high and accessible.
She turned her head to the side. The sound of the dishwasher door slamming shut made her smile and her cheek bunched on the tablecloth.
Not long now.
Sir’s footsteps were loud coming from the kitchen. He was moving around, no doubt collecting the ginger. The tap came on, briefly, then the sound of his shoes on wood got louder.
This was it.
He appeared at the door, his top half still bare, holding the plate with the ginger and her grandmother’s small flowery jug.
She had no idea why he needed that little heirloom for their scene.
“Very good,” he said, giving her an appreciative look.
“Thank you, Sir.”
He placed the ginger next to her face, so that it was only inches away.
The pungent smell instantly wafted toward her, filling her nostrils. It even smelled hot.
She stared at it. It wasn’t particularly big, she was sure Sir had a few other butt plugs that he used on her that were longer, wider, but still… It held almost magical qualities, unknown magical qualities.
Sir rubbed his hands over her back and down to her buttocks. He spent some time sweeping over her skin, exploring her contours even though he had done so a thousand times before.
Cassandra had to stop herself from begging him to start. Just one spank, each buttock, just to get the party started in her nerve endings and to release the first shot of endorphins.
She closed her eyes, and tried to relax into the moment of being adored.
“So sweet,” he murmured. “So pale and soft, and all mine.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You need to trust me more than ever tonight, Cass.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“This is going to be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.”
“Yes, Sir. I trust you.”
“Good, then we’ll begin.”
He smacked her. Hard and fast, each buttock twice.
Cassandra jerked then sighed into the sting as it flashed over her skin then went deeper, to her muscles.
He stroked over her sore patches.
“You redden so quickly,” he murmured. “It’s beautiful.”
He hit again. Another two strikes per buttock—forceful wallops that shoved her against the table. Not one to do things by half measures, he put real male muscle behind it.
“Good girl,” he said, again caressing her skin. He dipped his finger into the crease between her buttocks and slid down to her anus. “I’m going to make you so hot, so wet, so ready for me.”
“Please, oh, please.” She wanted penetrating. She needed him there, in her.
He lifted away, and the drag of the chair legs on the floor made her look over her shoulder.
He’d seated himself at the head of the table, so that his face was level with her exposed ass. He was holding the jug of water.
“Keep still,” he said.
Cassandra tensed. She curled her toes on the floor.
Water slicked down the cleft of her buttocks, a cool trickle that traveled to her anus.
“We’re going to use water as lube,” he said, “I don’t want gel taking away the heat of the ginger.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He placed his hands on her buttocks and spread them wide.
Oh, she was so bared to him, no place to hide. He could see and touch and drive whatever he wanted into her pussy, her ass.
Again she closed her eyes, though when she did the image of the ginger root lingered there.
She had to go to her special place where only Sir existed—Sir, and pain and pleasure. Her body was his.
The soft tip of his tongue ran over her smarting right buttock. He licked over her left cheek then down the ridge between them, the tip ending up on her asshole.
A low groan rumbled up from Cassandra’s chest.
Him touching her there, like this, it showed her that he loved every part of her, wanted to kiss every inch of her body.
He circled her hole, slowly, as though enjoying the feel of the wrinkles of skin against the tip of his tongue.
Cassandra moaned again. She curled her hands into fists. His breath was hot on her wet skin and his stubbled chin just scratched her flesh
He lifted up and poured more water.
It would be making a puddle on the carpet, but that wasn’t of concern.
“That’s it,” he said. “Now give me the ginger.”
“Yes, Sir.” She reached for it, her hand a little shaky, and passed it down to him.
