She Called Him Sir

by JJ Argus

  My embarrassment began to fade after a few minutes, though it never went away completely. But as it retreated I began to feel how wicked and naughty and nasty it was to be dressed like this in front of a complete stranger, and that roused my dark side so that my arousal increased.

  I did kind of a lousy job of taking notes, to be sure.

  Sir also found several reasons to ask me to go and get something, be it charts, or more refreshments. And each time I did I had to kneel and present whatever it was to them. Once he even reached out and stroked my breasts as he thanked me. El Habbib's eyes grew even more round at that.

  When they reached agreement he saw the man to the door, with me following along, squirming inside. Sir turned with a self-satisfied little smile.

  “You just saved me about a hundred times your annual salary, Fire,” he said.

  “I did?”

  “Probably more.”

  “Do I get a raise?”

  “Nope.”

  “That doesn't seem fair.”

  “Who said life is fair? Most women look like they do, and you look... “ He held out his hands. “Like this.”

  He took the notebook from me and examined it, then shook his head.

  “Your note taking, on the other hand, leaves much to be desired.”

  “It was kind of hard to concentrate!” I protested.

  “Why?”

  “Why?! Because... because I was half naked!”

  “So?”

  “Well...”

  “I'm sure that you were a little embarrassed, at first, but surely you got over that.”

  “I uhm, well, yes, sort of, but … but it was hard to focus!”

  “Why?”

  I stomped my foot in frustration.

  “Because of all this!” I said, gesturing at me. “Because I have a huge dildo inside me! And that thing that keeps grinding against my clit! And those balls you pushed into my ass! And – .”

  “You mean you're horny?”

  “Well... yes!”

  “Strange. I thought you would calm down after that orgasm I gave you earlier. You must be an unusually horny girl.”

  I glowered at him. As if!

  “Well, if your nasty little pussy is making it so hard to concentrate we shall have to punish it,” he said with a feigned apologetic shrug.

  I felt a new tension in my stomach at his words, but also a hot swirling heat.

  He gestured for me to follow him into his bedroom.

  “Strip,” he ordered.

  I anxiously obeyed, though I considered protesting – briefly. I groaned in relief as I got the corset thing off and was able to inhale properly, but my breasts throbbed as they began to move on my chest now with my movements, and my hands unconsciously rose to cup and squeeze them.

  He tied me spreadeagled on the bed, legs spread achingly wide. Then, humming pleasantly to himself, he produced those slim cords he'd used before to bind my nipples, and did so again, making me wince and gasp and moan in complaint.

  “Please, sir!” I gasped.

  “Please sir, can I have some more?” he asked mockingly.

  I moaned as he tugged up on them, forcing me to arch my back a little. He lifted them up to the overhead canopy crossbar, and tied them there, then took out a huge vibrator. This was more of a club-like object, with a long handle and a rounded white head the size of a billiard ball. He tied a cord to that and hung that from above too, with it just resting against my pussy.

  He brought something else over, sat down next to me and pulled my hair back a bit.

  “Open wide,” he ordered, pressing something round and red against my lips.

  I obeyed, and he slowly worked the ball gag into my mouth, then strapped it around behind my head.

  My arousal was deepening into an almost painful intensity now as I moaned and stared up at him.

  He found an extension cord, fed the electrical plug from the end of the vibrator into it, and then plugged it in.

  “Now we'll teach your hot little pussy not to distract you,” he said with a smug grin.

  He left, closing the door behind him.

  The vibrator was powerful, but it was hanging from a cord. It thus had no pressure behind it whatever, and as my pussy ground instinctively against it, all that did cause it to swing away. It was extraordinarily frustrating! It was barely touching my sex, but that touch made my flesh quiver, and I kept trying to push against it, even while angling my hips down so as to bring my clit into direct contact. With my back arched that was almost impossible, and every time I partially succeeded it swung the vibrator back to reduce any pressure against me.

  Maybe if I hadn't already been aroused by everything it mightn't have had that much effect. As it was, the thing was driving me crazy! I squirmed and writhed and arched and twisted and pulled at the bonds, gasping, breath ragged, skin flushed, and began to sweat. The sexual heat inside me was now a fever, but a fever which showed no sign of breaking.

  My hips were rolling and grinding up and down almost continuously, for my clit was exquisitely sensitive with that clip thing squeezing down on the surrounding flesh, and every contact I made with the madly buzzing vibrator also made the little spiked ball vibrate madly against me in a way which was almost indescribable. It sting deliciously, if that makes any sense.

  I was exhausting myself, sweating, panting for breath, writhing and twisting as the frustration mounted. The intensity of the sexual pressure was making me frantic. If only, if only I could hold that vibrator against myself for just thirty seconds! Just ten seconds!!

  My clitoris was swollen and aching, and my pussy squeezed continuously on the thick dildo as the round silver balls rolled within my clutching, spasming belly. Again and again it seemed I must be on the very razor edge to orgasm, but couldn't quite reach it. I quivered and trembled and throbbed and sobbed weakly, moaning into the gag, eyes red-rimmed as tears of frustration filled them.

  He strolled into view, and I cried out desperately, my voice muffled by the gag as I jerked up against the ropes, staring at him.

  “How is our little pussy doing? Does it feel hard-done-by?”

  I moaned and begged him to make me come. Of course, with the gag in my mouth, and being as dazed and overheated as I was my words meant nothing.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, and his finger combed the damp hair away from my forehead and cheeks.

  “How is my little bitch doing?” he asked.

  I arched up and he tugged on the cords on my nipples, then chuckled.

  He reached down and unfastened the gag.

  “Please, sir!”I begged. “Please let me come! Please! Please!”

  “Hmm,” he said, fingers sliding lightly over my breasts.

  “Are you my bitch?”

  “Yes! Yes! I'm your bitch! I'm your bitch!” I gasped.

  He tugged sharply on the cord and my nipples burned.

  “Sir,” he said.

  “I'm your bitch, sir! I'm your bitch, sir! Please make me come, sir!” I begged desperately, my words tumbling over themselves in a babbling rush.

  “I don't think you've done anything to deserve having an orgasm,” he said.

  “Please!” I whimpered. “Please, sir!”

  He removed his trousers and climbed into bed, but above my head. I felt his hands on my head, tilting it back, and I rolled my eyes upward as my head tilted back, my mouth opening as he slid his cock into it. I sucked frantically, moaning around his cock, the heat rising still higher within me as he pumped it slowly in and out of my open mouth.

  I relaxed my throat, if no other part me, and his cock slid deep into my gullet, with his balls pressing against my cheeks just under my eyes as he buried the last inch with a groan of satisfaction.

  I felt him tugging on the cords, again and again, yanking on my nipples, and cried out at each pull as my nipples burned with pain and dark pleasure. He gripped my hair in one hand, tilting it even further back, and began to slowly pump in and out, using the full
length of his cock to basically fuck my throat. I didn't even gag! I was so mind bogglingly overheated that I reveled in the raw, carnal nature of what he was doing, tilting my head back, and exulting in how well I took him.

  He pulled slowly out.

  “Are you my bitch?”

  “Yes, sir!” I gasped in a choked voice, gulping in air.

  “Say it.”

  “I'm your bitch, sir!”

  “Again,” he demanded, slapping his wet cock against my cheek.

  “I'm your bitch, sir!” I gasped.

  “Again.”

  “I'm your bitch, sir!”

  “Do you want to come, bitch?”

  “Yes, sir! Please make me come, sir!” I begged.

  “Work for it, bitch.”

  He fed his cock down my throat again, and I worked my throat muscles against it as he tugged on the cord and my nipples burned. He pumped slowly in and out, then less slowly, so that I began to gag and choked as his cock thrust in and out.

  He pulled out again, and I gasped dazedly.

  “Are you my bitch?”

  “I'm your bitch, sir!” I cried. “I'm your bitch, sir!”

  Again he slid into my mouth, into my throat.

  Every time he pulled out I had to proclaim myself his bitch.

  He began plunging his cock in and out of my throat with sharp, deep thrusts that quite literally took my breath away. I was light-headed, dazed by lack of air as he reached across, gripped the handle of the vibrator, and pressed it firmly against my clit.

  The world exploded.

  My mind exploded.

  My body thrashed and bucked as I screamed and screamed – my throat blocked by his cock as the orgasm fried my brain. I'd never felt anything like it, and thrashed violently in place, as though I were having an epileptic fit or something, my eyes bulging, my muscles spasming, convulsions wracking my overheated body as he ground the head up and down against my clit and sent my nervous system into overload.

  I don't know how long it lasted. It seemed to go on forever, and I thought the top of my skull was going to blow off from the pressure of the release. Somewhere in the midst of it he came inside me, and pulled his softening cock free. That was all that stopped me from unconsciousness, I'm sure. And I was so dazed that I just lay there like a boneless mass of flesh as the orgasm finally subsided.

  He chuckled throatily, then fitted the ball-gag back in place and moved away.

  I ignored him. I ignored everything. I was floating, languorous, dazed, moaning, eyes slitted, totally fucked out, excuse the expression.

  He placed something heavy on the mattress between my thighs. I ignored it. I was staring at the canopy overhead, though not seeing it. I had no energy to lift my head up and see down there.

  Then I felt the vibrator. Now, it had been less than sixty seconds since that mind blowing orgasm. I really, really didn't want to feel a powerful vibrator against me down there just then. I felt raw and sensitive, especially with that damn spiked ball against my clit. The sensations pouring into me from the powerful vibrator were raw and powerful, very uncomfortably raw and powerful.

  I jerked my head up and saw that he'd taken the vibrator off it's hanging cord and placed the handle on the mattress, with the head pressing directly against my clit. Then he'd put a very large bag of something... it looked like rice, though I couldn't read the Arabic lettering, on top of the handle.

  He then took a long piece of tape and taped it across the handle just below the round ball, taped it to my body. Grinning, he winked, and left the room even as I tried to fit my shattered mind together enough to protest.

  And the door closed behind him.

  The sensations were extremely uncomfortable, but I could do nothing about them, and still had virtually no energy.

  That changed. Just as in the car, the sensations began to shift and change inside me as my body began to absorb them, and then I was subjected to the raw intensity of a powerful vibrator pressing directly against my clit. It jerked and jounced a little as my body jerked and twisted, but it stayed tightly in place as it drove me into another massive climax.

  It is possible to scream your voice raw without even making much noise. If you're gagged, I mean.

  It was worse than the car, because the vibrator was far more powerful. It was a plug in, not a battery powered one, and the dildo inside me, the clip around my clitoris, the ball against it, made every orgasm a wild roller-coaster of searing pleasure over stinging, aching pain. Then the powerful discomfort would follow, until that slowly shifted and turned, and my body would begin to work its way up to another massive sensory meltdown.

  My belly ached. My chest ached. My throat ached. I was sweating like a pig, light-headed as I gasped for breath, dazed and shell-shocked. And still I rode the roller coast up to another massive orgasm, then plunged down to the deep discomfort of the vibrator buzzing against raw nerves.

  Then I did it again.

  And again.

  And again.

  It was worse than the car. The orgasms were more powerful, as was the discomfort, and it lasted much longer. I think I was literally going insane with the hurricane of sensations as my body writhed and thrashed and twisted and bucked and I sobbed and screamed and howled into the gag in the desperate agony of ecstasy.

  It was both wonderful and horrible.

  I began to hate the approaching orgasms, to fight desperately against them and cringe away from the impending muscular convulsions. But then as they arrived the pleasure rode my body and I screamed in helpless pleasure, twisting and bucking and arching in the throes of fiery release.

  Finally, he arrived and pulled the vibrator away. I couldn't speak. I was utterly drained as he untied me. He rolled me over onto my belly and spread my legs wide. He slowly pulled the big dildo out of me, which, thank God, removed the clip and spiked ball, too, then jammed the vibrator in under my pussy, right under my clit. He turned on the vibrator, and I moaned in helpless pleasure as my hips began to grind against it.

  His cock slid into me, and began to pump, and I grunted and gasped and moaned as his hips slapped against my buttocks. When the orgasm came, I felt him gripping the thing pressed against my rosebud, the flat little penny, and felt him tugging on the cord linked to the silver balls.

  He pumped hard, and I ground against the vibrator, and one by one he pulled the silver balls out of my ass and blew the top of my head off with the intensity of the climax. Climax? Make that climaxes. Multiple orgasms. It was like an orgasm that never stopped. It just got weaker, then stronger, until I couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't stand it, and screamed in maddened pleasure into the gag.

  I felt him jerking my hair up and back as he leaned into me, felt his hot breath on me as he thrust into my aching pussy, felt his teeth on my throat as he bit and sucked, and my eyes rolled back in my head as I finally lost it and faded to black.

  Chapter Seven

  Sir lived in a castle. Why didn't that surprise me?

  We flew back to London on his jet, then took a helicopter to his estate southwest of the city. It wasn't a traditional castle. I mean, it didn't have high walls, or a moat or drawbridge or anything. It was really more of a huge manor house with crenelated towers. It was on four hundred acres, which, I supposed, certainly guaranteed a measure of privacy, and I was given a suite of rooms in one of the towers.

  The view was incredible! And the rooms were large and luxuriously decorated. I certainly couldn't complain about the accommodation!

  “You'll be my little slave girl locked in the tower,” he said, his warm hand on my back as he guided me around.

  I was wearing a variation of the business suit from earlier. Only this one was navy blue, and the skirt was, if anything, shorter. My wardrobe had grown since the start of the trip, but everything in it was meant to show off my body.

  “Isn't slavery illegal?” I grumbled.

  He grinned. “Only if it's unwilling. But you're my willing slave girl, aren't you, Fire, so
I won't have to lock you up in the dungeon.”

  “Do you have a dungeon?”

  “I had one built,” he said with a grin.

  I should have known!

  “Uhm, and do you torture people in it?”

  “When I'm in the mood,” he said with a grin.

  His hand slid between my legs, and he rubbed it lightly along my sex.

  “You're always in the mood,” I said in a tight voice.

  The damned buzzing thing against my clit kept me in a nearly permanent state of arousal. It wasn't debilitating, but it was coloring my behavior at times, especially around Sir. I often had to stop myself from touching my body around others, and I responded much faster to his touch.

  “Perhaps, if you're a bad girl, you might get to see my dungeon first hand,” he breathed, his finger sliding just over the clip which was placed over my clitoris.

  I felt a little nervous at that, wondering just how serious he was at this bondage and slavery stuff. Clearly he liked tying girls up, but then, that wasn't all that kinky. And he certainly liked disciplining girls. But he hadn't done anything particularly painful as of yet, and I was hoping he didn't start. I didn't think I was into pain, I mean, not real pain, you know? Spanking, even strapping, were things which kids might have undergone at the hands of their parents. So it's not like they were terribly perverted. I have to admit, though, that when he called me his little sex slave I felt a powerful little pulse of deeper arousal at the thought of being his naked slave girl, collared and chained beside his throne – assuming he had one, which, given his arrogance, I wouldn't have bet against.

  “After you unpack my things get changed into the new black dress I bought you. It's in the closet. Then go and find Jeremy and he'll further instruct you in what you need to be doing while I'm at home.”

  “Uh, are there servants here?”

  He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “The size of this place? God, girl, do you think I'd be vacuuming it myself?”

  “I mean...”