She Called Him Sir

by JJ Argus

  I gurgled and gagged as he pushed me all the way down, swallowing every inch of his cock as he jammed my face into his groin.

  I felt so... well, dominated, so mastered, so helpless, in a dazed, incredibly excited way that I didn't even begin to understand. The way he was manhandling me, using me, taking charge of me, made me feel like his bitch, like his slave, in an incredibly dark, erotic sort of way that made me want to cry out at the hot thrills twisting within my over-filled belly.

  “Ahhh,” he sighed. “Swallow that, you nasty little slut.”

  Of course, there was nothing to swallow as his cock was already deep in my throat, and his come was pouring directly down into my stomach. He lifted me up and back by the hair, and leaned forward, kind of holding me like that, his hands lifting my hair up at the top of my hair.

  “Are you my bitch?” he panted.

  I moaned dazedly and he slapped my face lightly.

  “Are you my bitch?”

  “Y-Yes!” I gasped.

  He slapped my face again, and again, still lightly, but stinging.

  “Are you my bitch?”

  “Yes! Yes, sir!” I cried weakly.

  He dragged me over his lap again, and then his hand cracked down against my bottom.

  “Then you need to be punished for not having my dinner ready,” he said.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Each blow was sharp and the stinging, and I cried out weakly, writhing atop him, staring at the patio stones beneath as my bottom burned way up above. I cried out again as I felt him pressing against the cucumbers, pulling, then pushing harder.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  I felt his fingers at my clit, and opened my mouth in a soundless cry of wordless pleasure.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Again he paused, pressing against the cucumber sticking out of my ass, then gripping the other, pulling it and twisting it slowly, slowly, pulling, pulling more – more – more – more – twisting – pulling, until it was just barley inside me.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  His hand slapped against my bottom again as he twisted and turned the cucumber, then he thrust it back into me with a long, slow, determined push against the aching tightness of my elastic pussy slave as his fingers rubbed harshly against my clit.

  I screamed as I came, caring nothing whatever for who heard or what they thought. My upper body, which hung over the edge of the chair, thrashed and twisted. My legs kicked and flailed, and my hips bucked frantically up against him as the orgasm consumed my world and tore my mind to pieces. The pleasure was so intense it was painful, but I thrilled to the pain as my nervous system tore itself apart, overloaded by the wild frenzy of sensations flooding through me.

  * * *

  Sir liked to play with ropes.

  The soft, flexible rope he'd used to tie my wrists together behind my back was, afterward, used to tie my wrists together above my head, and on the other side of one of the two foot thick fluted column which went from floor to ceiling just inside the entrance hall.

  He had doubled up a long length of the rope and tied loops in it. Then, as I still hung over the edge of his chair, he guided those loops up around my breasts, and slowly worked them tighter right up against my ribs. The pressure made my breasts throb even more, and press out more tautly below. My nipples ached even more as he pulled me up and back, then lifted me in his arms and carried me inside.

  I could barely stand, still shell-shocked from the incredible intensity of the orgasm. I swayed weakly as he pushed me against the pillar, then leaned back, chest heaving. I did nothing as he drew my wrists, which he'd just untied, up and back behind the pillar, then tied them together again. There was something on the other side of the pillar, something which kept them from sliding down, but I didn't care and wasn't thinking about it.

  He drew the doubled ropes which led to the loops around my breasts, back around behind the column and tied them tightly together, pressing my soft, warm back firmly against the cool stone. More rope pulled my ankles back to the sides of the column and bound them immovably in place. But the most intrusive, most noticeable of the ropes was the one which circled my hips. It too went behind the column to tie over what must be some sort of nail or screw or ring there, for it definitely had a strong, upward pull.

  The rope around my hips was attached to the doubled up rope which went down between my legs, circled the cucumber still inside me, circled the one sticking out of my bottom, and up between my buttocks in back, then went up and back behind the column again, tugging sharply on my hips, kind of lifting me up onto the balls of my feet.

  He had removed the Y-shaped chain which had squeezed my nipples, and now they were swollen and ultra sensitive. He tied small cords around each nipple, which made them ache and burn again, then made me stick out my tongue as far as I could. He removed the stud I had in my tongue and replaced with with a ring, then tied the two cords to it!

  That meant, of course, that my tongue was pulled over my lower lip, and that if I jerked it up at all it pulled on my nipples! I moaned a dazed complaint, but then a silken scarf went around my head over my eyes and the world disappeared behind it.

  I moaned weakly, and relaxed into my bonds as much as I could. The orgasm had drained me, drained my energy, drained my mind, drained my soul. I wanted to curl up in a ball and lie still for an hour or two or ten.

  But that passed quickly. The situation was too wild, too hot, too shocking, too wicked, too outrageous, and my throbbing breasts and over-filled belly were having an effect.

  Sex. I'd had sex before, of course. I was far from a virgin. But I'd never had a man like him. Or rather, I'd never been taken by a man like him. I'd had some hot, passionate sex, but nothing like the way he just – used – me, the way he took me, threw me down and rode me like a bitch! Like a whore! He acted like he owned me, like he could do anything he wanted to me. He didn't ask anything. He just did it. That should have outraged me, and it did, in a way, but for some reason my sense of outrage had become linked to my sense of the erotic.

  Where before I became affronted by a man not treating me with respect, now I became aroused by it. It wasn't just him being rich and handsome, either. I'd had rich, handsome men before, after all. No, it was like... like he deserved to take me, to do what he wanted with me, in some weird sort of way. I didn't love him or anything, but I was in awe of him, and I didn't even know why. But everything about him made me quiver with heat.

  He used me like a man. I know that sounds dated, and I rarely, in fact, had never before wanted a man to just use me, to just throw me down, tear off my clothes, and fuck my brains out like I was their bitch. But now I was thrilled to have it done by him.

  My insides ached, in a hot, deliciously erotic way, throbbing around the thick cucumbers he'd stuffed up into me. And now I was realizing that every time I moved my head or tongue my aching nipples were tugged. And every time I moved my body, even a little, the ropes pulled against my sex, against the cucumbers, jamming them up harder, and against... I didn't know. It was... there was something hard, rough, right against my clit, right beneath it, like a knot, and every time I pulled up that knot ground against my clit.

  I was soon pulling and stretching and twisting in a slow, breathless way which had sensations pouring through my brain. I was tightly and helplessly bound to the column, and that was part of it. That was outrageous, even as I felt the heat of my buttocks pressed against the cool stone, even as my breasts throbbed and my nipples burned.

  And then I felt his tongue against my clit!

  At first, the sensation was really just a little flicker. But it grew rapidly, so that my body began to writhe and twist more energetically as I gasped and moaned and whined in overheated pleasure and passion. He stopped, and I moaned and tried to push my hips forward against where I imagined his tongue was. Then it pushed forward with long, slow licks across my quivering, burning clit that made me cry out.

  “Faster! Please
! Please!” I whimpered, the words almost unrecognizable given the cord attached to my tongue.

  He ignored me, and the slow, agonizing licks continued, as the ropes held my hips back from bucking violently against him.

  “Please! Please, sir!” I cried.

  He stopped entirely, and I moaned desperately. Then he started licking again, and the pleasure burned through my mind as his tongue licked faster and harder, nearly driving me over the edge.

  “Yes! Yes! Please! Faster! Harder! Please!” I sobbed dazedly, tugging on my nipples as I slurred the words.

  I came again, grinding desperately against his tongue, or trying to, as the ropes held me tightly pressed to the column.

  I sagged in the ropes, and he left me be for some minutes.

  Then his tongue started again, stroking lightly, caressing, teasing and taunting me until I was once again in a frenzy of overheated passion and lust, my hips jerking convulsively against the ropes locking them in place.

  “Please!” I moaned. It sounded like 'preeeze' as my tongue tugged against my nipples.

  “Make her come,” I heard him say.

  His voice sounded like he was at least ten feet away, maybe twice that.

  The tongue began to lick hard against me even as my frazzled mind picked up on the distance. Shock rippled through me, but then I felt ...someone … press their lips against my clit and begin to suck hard.

  Convulsions ripped through me as the orgasm howled down around me like a hurricane, and it was too late to care who was doing it as I cried out again and again.

  Chapter Five

  The sunlight in Cairo was unbelievably bright. Sir had gotten me a pair of very sleek, fashionable designer sunglasses, though, to wear with my short pinstriped skirt, blouse and blazer. We got off the jet and a pudgy Arab man in a light colored linen suit waited for us on the tarmac. He smiled ingratiatingly at Sir. His eyes flicked over me, seemed caught for a moment at my long legs, then jerked determinedly back to Sir.

  “Welcome to Egypt, Mr....”

  Damn it! He had such a thick accent that it was garbled. I thought it was mac something, though, as in a Scottish name. And then Sir spoke back in Arabic and I had no idea what either of them said. But the man led Sir to a dark limousine while I made sure our bags were properly offloaded and placed in the trunk. When that was done I got into the limo, which was mercifully air conditioned, and closed the door.

  The man sat beside Sir. I sat across from them, as Sir had told me to do, legs crossed and turned a little sideways. They carried on a conversation in Arabic while the man seemed to struggle to keep his eyes away from my legs – and failed often.

  I wasn't wearing stockings today. It was too hot. My legs were smooth and gleaming, having gotten a second session with the laser. And I was used to men looking at them, so didn't take offense.

  Sir had told me to get a self-teaching CD in Arabic, and I had started practicing it, but I recognized nothing. It would take a long time at the rate I was learning, before I could do more than ask for the bathroom or the nearest restaurant. I was barely up to that, in truth. I looked out at the streets as we drove through, feeling excited by being in such a mysterious foreign city. I wondered if I'd get a chance to go out and look around, to play tourist. Of course, I'd need something else to wear, as my short skirt wasn't likely to be accepted in a Muslim city, however cosmopolitan it might think itself.

  The limo arrived at a tall, very modern hotel in white stone, and while the doorman held the door on one side for Sir and his Egyptian host I slipped out the other side to make sure our bags were unloaded. I had made the reservations according to the list Jeremy had provided, and had gotten a penthouse suite for Sir, as listed. I'd requested fresh fruit and vegetables be on the tables – something which took new meaning for me after he'd used the cucumbers on me – and that his windows faced the Nile.

  The bellhops, or whatever they were called in Egypt, stared at me and stared at my legs, but unloaded the trunk as the doorman held it open for Sir and his host. I kept an eye on the bellhops to make sure none of our bags were missed – or taken – and followed behind more slowly. I got inside as Sir was leaving the counter headed for the elevator. I knew where he was going, though, and by now knew that all he'd done was pick up the key.

  I went to the counter, signed in, and then took another key and, followed by two bellhops with luggage carriers, took another elevator up. Again, they stared at me unabashedly while I fidgeted in the quiet, luxurious elevator, and wished Sir would provide me with something else to wear.

  Not to mention let me take the buzzing little vibrator clip out of my pussy.

  It was coloring everything I saw with sex.

  My mind flittered to an image of the elevator stopping, of the two bellboys tearing my clothes off and taking me right there up against the walls.

  The elevator stopped, and I led them up the very short hall, knowing their eyes were fixed on my ass and legs. The door was unlocked, and I went inside as they followed behind. Sir was out on the balcony, talking with the Egyptian guy, as I directed the bellboys to take our things into separate rooms. They might have been surprised at how little luggage I had compared to Sir, but didn't say anything.

  I tipped them both five dollars, as Jeremy's list had suggested, and they kind of bobbed their heads and left.

  The suite was Arabic luxury, with old fashioned chairs and tables, heavy, colorful curtains, and antique iron chandeliers. The ceilings were very high, with ornate mounding, and the floors of gleaming marble covered with Persian carpets.

  I went to the bar and checked to make sure his favorite brand of Scotch was present, then that his preferred juices and bottle water were in the fridge. I opened an orange juice bottle, poured it into a glass, then carried it out to him on the balcony. He took it without a word, said something to his Arab friend, and then, switching briefly to English, said. “Bottled water for the gentleman,” before switching back to Arab.

  I went back to the bar, got a bottled water, poured it into a glass, put in a couple of ice cubes, and walked back, handing it to the man, who thanked me.

  I left them and went back inside, checking to make sure the bowls of fruit and vegetables were in place. Then I went to his bedroom and sat on the bed, testing its firmness, tested the pillow, then began to unpack his things and put them away. There was nothing in my own suitcase which needed to be put away, that was for sure. I'd seen what was there.

  With that done I searched out the thermostat to make sure of the settings, turned it down just a notch, then walked back towards the balcony just as Sir and his friend came back inside. I closed the door behind them, and followed discretely as Sir saw him to the door, and out.

  “Tiresome old bore,” he sighed, as he walked back.

  He went to his bedroom and began to undress. I helped, took his jacket and hung it up, placed his tie into the tie rack, and placed his shirt on a chair to be laundered. When he was naked, he nodded to me.

  “Go shower and change into that lovely new outfit I got you, Fire,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, a bit warily.

  He walked naked into the large en-suite bathroom, and then paused there, turning and gesturing me forward, a frown on his face.

  “Do you see the large bath towels in here, Fire?” he asked.

  I blushed and cursed myself. “I'm sorry, sir. I did ask, but I forgot to check,” I said.

  He stared at me and I licked my lips a bit nervously.

  “You know that's not acceptable,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” I gulped warily.

  “How shall I punish you?”

  I felt my chest tightening, felt alternating waves of anxiety, anticipation, fear, excitement and annoyance sweep through me.

  He snapped his fingers at his belt, which I'd just hung up, and, my stomach clenching, I went and fetched it for him. He doubled it in his hands, then pointed at the huge, king sized bed. The foot of it had a foot thick rounded horizontal, orna
tely carved post between the two high corner posts. Heart beginning to beat faster, I turned to it and then bent over, reached back, and lifted my skirt up to bare my bottom.

  “Have you been a bad girl?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I said a bit breathlessly. “I've been a bad girl, sir.”

  Crack!

  “Oww!”

  The belt cracked against my bottom with stinging force, that whipped my head up and back and almost stood me up again.

  “Do you kneed to be tied down?” he asked in a pleasant tone.

  And suddenly, the thought of being tied down made the heat roil through my body, made my nipples burn.

  “Y-Yes, sir!” I gulped, face flushed.

  He went to the dresser where I'd placed his 'toys', and opened it. The rope was tightly coiled, and just as soft as I remembered it. He looped it a half dozen times around my right wrist as I lay bent over the foot-post, and drew my arm out and down, winding the rope just under the side of the bed, then around the leg before bringing it straight along the bottom to loop twice around my ankles then continue. He wrapped it around the other leg, drew it in and then up around the side of the bed to my other wrist, pulling it down and out to the side and tying it tightly.

  My heart was beating furiously and I felt my pussy throbbing around the thin clip inside it and buzzing against it.

  Then the belt cracked against my bottom again – harder.

  I cried out again, head whipping up and back, my chest rising up off the mattress – but only briefly, before the pull of the ropes jerked me back.

  Crack!

  The belt snapped at my bottom again, and a hot, stinging pain tore through me.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  I cried out at each blow, my bottom aching more and more fiercely as my wrists and legs pulled instinctively against the ropes. The blows were slow and measured, but relentless.