Her Master Demands (Dark BDSM Erotica)

by Dan Bruce

  Emily was a woman in a high profile position – the personal assistant to the C.E.O. She was a woman with a level of covert corporate power – having sway over the boss and the ability to influence major decisions. But her position, and more so, her arrogant nature, had earned her plenty of enemies who would relish an opportunity to bring about her demise. In a world where men still held control, Emily had carved a niche that demanded respect. But now she possessed a dark destructive secret that could threaten her high standing, and bring her fragile ‘house of cards’ tumbling down around her, should a whiff of the scandal fall into the wrong hands.

  “No! There has to be a limit!” Emily resolutely said. “What happens in the basement stays in the basement. When I walk out of here I have to be a different woman!”

  After another glance in the mirror then a look over her shoulder just to be sure she was definitely alone, the collar was removed and placed with the leash on top of her clothes.

  Totally naked except for her pearls, more conscious than Eve having fallen from grace, Emily took another shower – removing the spunk but not the sin from her body. Cleaned, at least physically, her mind whirling in turmoil of snapping emotions, Emily dressed herself and made good her appearance. The collar and chain were tucked away in her bag – a souvenir to take home and look at in private. And in the bag they would stay locked away, and be brought back to the office again, day after day, on hand to be worn in the washroom of the basement, should Her Master’s whim demand.

  Chapter 3

  Normality! Emily wore it like a mask, not aware that it was there.

  She left the building and nodded to the security guard behind the desk, barely conscious of the man and his greeting. The lateness of the hour wasn’t even questioned, Emily betraying no hint of what had kept her at the office well beyond nine in the evening.

  Darkness had fallen on the streets outside, the air hot and balmy, London enjoying a brief spell of clear skies and sweltering heat sandwiched between the more persistent rains that would blight another British summer. Taking advantage, or in need of a cigarette, people had spilled out of the local wine bar, chatting and smoking as they raucously quaffed. Emily saw a familiar face; she heard a bitchy voice – her arch enemy, Tessa Clifford, was holding court - the queen bee who headed Human Resources surrounded by her drones. Emily smiled politely as her name was called, declining the insincere offer to join the evil witch and her entourage in a glass of chilled Chardonnay.

  It was all so routine. Life was going on. But Emily walked through it as if in a cloud, everything around her ill-defined. She entered the underground, ignoring the beggars that seemed to multiply by the day. The Circle Line was running reasonably okay, gathering its strength again after the peak hour exhaustion. Emily took the tube home to South Kensington. She sat in a grubby carriage that had seen better days and blocked out the other passengers in typical commuter fashion. It was business as usual for Mrs. Johnson, yet none of it was the same. She was acting on auto-pilot, behaving as normal, drifting along in an unnatural haze that no one seemed to notice.

  It was only when she opened up her treasured Chanel bag, to take out the iPad she would look at but not read, that Emily was jolted and realised she was actually alive. She saw a few links of the chain leash lurking in the depths, escaped from under the spare blouse Emily had bought during her lunch break – a sensible precaution having received Her Master’s summons, given what had happened the previous time in the basement. Suddenly it struck her: what she had done; what she had allowed; how good it had felt to be so utterly debased and brutally fucked by two dominant men; the fact that it wasn’t over, this was now part of her life; the threat that the leash and the collar represented, yet there they still were in her bag, and there they would be the following day.

  The iPad came out. The bag was quickly shut. Emily looked at the screen that never changed, feigning normality, accepting its blandness, thinking of Her Master, thinking of that collar - hopes and fears running riot in her mind.

  An hour later Emily was picking at some food, sharing a late supper that Les had prepared. They chatted about something, although Emily would never remember what. Yet she kept the conversation going, betraying not a jot of her heinous infidelity, or the mounting concern that was playing havoc with her mind and ruining her appetite for the food.

  Les cleared away and loaded the dishwasher. He then joined Emily in the lounge and helped her finish off the wine, telling his wife about his day and article he was currently working on in his work from home role as a free-lance writer. On the surface it was all so normal – mundane and safe – Les blissfully unaware of Emily’s change of state. Only their cats sensed the difference and accused with knowing eyes, smelling her deceit, sniffing out her lies, not giving a damn because why should cats care as long as someone continued to feed them.

  Emily went early to bed. Les joined her as always hoping for some sex, but wasn’t overly surprised when it was initially denied. Emily protested tiredness – after such a long day, she claimed she was far too exhausted.

  Sleep didn’t come easy, at least not for Emily, although Les was soon snoring which earned him a poke in the ribs. Half an hour later Emily was poking Les again – guilt and insomnia and a slavering pussy combined to bring about another dose of normality.

  Dragged from sleep, Les performed his duty – always grateful for any crumb he was thrown from the sex table. The sex didn’t last long: five minutes of hard thrusting and Les was spurting. It was no great climax, and one he had on his own – Emily not even bothering to pretend any different. Normality felt empty as Les squeezed out the sperm from his balls and blew it into Emily’s pussy – not wearing a condom, sure there was no need. He cleaned himself with a tissue; then as usual, Les turned his back to his bed-mate of four years. He fell asleep again easily, innocent like a child. Emily lay awake beside him, numb to her crime and the shocking risk of infection she’d just exposed her husband to.

  Chapter 4

  The facade of normality continued the following day at work. Emily arrived at the office around her usual time, well ahead of the rank and file, but later than her workaholic boss, Donald Harper, who ran the company with good example. She spent half an hour with Donald, receiving updates and instructions. Tasks were then actioned, meetings were arranged - a corporate high-flier’s life was professionally organised. Calls were fielded, others were let through – Emily knew enough to differentiate what and who was allowed access to the boss. The day progressed and Emily coped without stress. She forced her mind to do what was needed and blanked out the other aspect of her life – the fact that she had a Master who could at anytime demand.

  It was only during her lunch break that a crack appeared – a crack that would turn into a gaping chasm. It appeared in the open in a nearby park – Emily opting for some solitude rather than joining colleagues for a bite in one of the many over-priced eateries that populated the area. Taking a moment to sit on a bench and watch the world go by, Emily’s mind was jolted back to another bench - the one from the previous evening on which she had been thoroughly fucked by two different men.

  Sitting alone under the summer sun, the memories flooded back – the hard wooden bench helping her reflect. Her ass was still aching, part in hurt from the belting and severe poundings she had taken, part in need to be buggered again – the brutal sex that Her Master gave her had become addictive after only two sessions. Emily sat in the heat and closed her eyes, oblivious to everything around her. She clenched on her asshole, relaxed the sphincter and clenched again – the muscle twitching around an imaginary phallus that she fervently wished was actually in her.

  Emily repeated the process with her pussy, clenching and dreaming, recalling great sex. Great, but too brief! How she wished Her Master had fucked her longer that way, performed like an athlete giving hours of hard rutting. He had promised to do so and had repeated the pledge, but as yet had only favoured her with delicious minutes of teasing. She still needed to
earn Her Master’s cock in her cunt, pounding away and spurting out spunk. With all else blanked out, she could see his beautiful erection so clearly in her mind. She could feel it inside her as if it was actually there, so hard and alive and wonderfully filling.

  Blissfully dreaming, remembering the previous evening, a smile passed her lips as Emily recalled what she assumed was a throw-away comment when Her Master had seen her fingering her pussy in the shower...

  “Tut tut, Blondie!” the man had mocked having caught Emily in the act. “Can’t you wait? You’re such a slut. Perhaps I should make you a present of a model of my cock and you can have it inside you whilst you sit at your work desk. Would you like that, Blondie? Would you like to have me permanently inside you?”

  Yes was the answer. At least here in the park Emily would welcome such a toy. She wished she was riding a replica of Her Master’s cock right now, secretly fucking herself with a life sized copy of that stunning erection which fitted her so wonderfully well. It would be fun – help quench the thirst that tore at her loins. But a dildo was nothing compared to the real thing – the living flesh that Her Master possessed, its warmth inside her, and the friction that it brought – the hard virility that it represented as it plunged in and out of her body.

  Emily pussy started to gush – the memory of Her Master fucking her exciting her so much. She daydreamed, recalling the sex and her subjugation, wondering when it would happen again, desperate for that cock to be inside her once more, delivering against the boastful promise that Emily was sure Her Master was well capable of.

  When would it happen? He had said it would be soon, but then almost two weeks had elapsed between the first and second times, so was a fortnight his definition of ‘soon’. Certainly a repeat tonight was highly unlikely. There had been no message this morning, like the day before, summonsing Emily to stay late in the office and be at the elevator at a particular time. But another summons would undoubtedly come, Emily was sure of that – tomorrow, or the day after, or the following week. Perhaps another fortnight would have to pass, which would be a hideous wait, but the summons would come, and Emily would go to the basement for whatever Her Master chose to do, alone, or in the company of another man.

  A thrill of excitement washed through her. There was danger in this dark sordid affair – this total compliance to a dominant man’s will. But she found the brutal sex was so incredibly good: Emily wallowing in a nature she never realised she possessed; Her Master nourishing her needs so well, ploughing her deep and planting his seed inside her, mixing it with the seed of another man.

  A flush of guilt struck her as she recalled the bliss of those ejaculations – big bare cocks spurting into her bowels. That was bad! It was very, very, bad! As was her subsequent behaviour last night. Getting Les to fuck her! What was that all about? On reflection, that single act of fornication with her husband was much wickeder than the double infidelity, which in itself was shocking in its whorish depravity.

  She shouldn’t have done it. Emily realised that now - not without having a check up first! It wasn’t fair on poor Les, putting him at risk. Everything about what she was allowing was wrong - something would have to be done.

  ‘But what?’ Emily wondered, taking a moment to consider the big picture whilst still hankering for Her Master’s cock, which she knew for certain she could never forsake, even if she was given a choice.

  Confess to Les and risk a split?

  No! The idea of breaking up with Les didn’t appeal at all. After four years together, Emily had grown accustomed to having him around. He was like an old pair of slippers, comfortable and worn in. He was Welsh and middle class, but that was forgivable, and it gave Emily an excuse to act superior. Whilst he lacked the social graces that good breeding bestows, Les was actually pretty smart, and his work as a freelance journalist kept him well informed on a whole variety of topics. Emily had never admitted it, but Les was actually quite an interesting guy. Naturally, after four years the passion between them had waned, but up until recently, Emily had never hankered for endless wild sex – what she had with Les had suited her fine. At thirty-one, Les was a few years older – a good-looking bloke, easy on the eye, and a bane in the life of Emily’s evil older sister which was reason enough to stick with the guy. The truth of the matter was, in many respects he was perfect for Emily who should have considered herself lucky to have such a treasure: a dotting husband who was loving and faithful, accepting of Emily’s prickly nature without ever uttering a word of complaint.

  ‘But would he accept infidelity?’ Emily asked herself.

  Probably was the answer. If it ever came out, Les would be hurt, but he would probably accept for the sake of the marriage, as long it was just a fling.

  And safety had been practiced!

  That was the thing Les would never accept – Emily putting him at risk with unprotected sex. That more than anything was totally unfair.

  But what could she do? Take another test before having sex with Les again? That might be sensible, but what then thereafter? Defy Her Master the next time he demanded that another bare cock went inside Emily’s body and fired out its dangerous mess? That would be the rational thing to do, but Emily knew she would never be able to refuse any aspect of the sex should Her Nemesis decide to share her again.

  Emily pondered. Questions raged. The thought of Her Master’s beautiful cock punctuated every phrase. Then suddenly she was jolted by a demanding tone emanating from her Chanel bag. Emily took the mobile out and saw the number. It was a call from the office – nothing unusual there - several of her co-workers had her private number. Yet Emily gulped, struck by guilt and a dark foreboding.

  She took the call.

  “Hello,” she tentatively said with a fluttering in her heart.

  “Enjoying the sunshine, Blondie?” asked a voice Emily recognised all too well.

  Emily gasped in reply. She was gripped by terror. It was Her Master - Her Master from the basement, a man who Emily wanted with a passion, and whose cock she was mentally riding at that very moment. She had hoped for some contact – a summons for more sex. But this was wrong – Her Nemesis Master had no business calling her when out of the office. And how the hell did he get the number! How did he know where Emily was!

  “I asked you a question, Blondie!” snapped the man down the phone. “Now don’t get me angry by refusing to answer.”

  “Ye... Ye... Yes,” stammered Emily, her eyes darting around in panic. “Yes Master,” she quietly added, knowing she had to, even here in the park, out in the open with so many people around.

  “Lucky you!” the man continued, his voice a snarling laugh. “I wish I could go for a walk and get some fresh air, sit on a park bench and look at all the fit girls sunning themselves on the grass. Not that a cock slut like you would be looking at the girls. But I bet there are plenty of tasty male bodies on display. Have you seen anyone you like – some topless young hunk flashing his pecs, whose cock you’d like to get out and ride?”

  “No Master!” Emily protested.

  “Don’t worry, Blondie – I’m not the jealous type. I thought you would have realised that after yesterday. But if you weren’t lusting after a nearby cock, you must have been thinking about one – a slut like you would be doing nothing else.”

  Emily blushed at the accusation. Unusually for her she was left speechless by its accuracy.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” the man laughed again. “And whose would it have been? Come on Blondie, be honest. I won’t be offended if you say my Italian friend’s – it was certainly an impressive piece of meat he boasted – biggest darn cock I’ve ever seen! Was that it: where you whorishly daydreaming of Italian salami ramming into your cunt or up your filthy ass?”

  “No Master. It was your cock I was thinking of,” Emily quietly admitted.

  The man chortled, clearly happy with this fact. “How sweet!” he then teased. “If you’re so hooked on what I’ve got, perhaps you should rush back and go down to the ba
sement and I’ll give you a lunchtime fix in the washroom.”

  “If that is what you’d like, then yes – I’ll come back straight away, Master,” answered Emily, a rush of excitement flooding her body at the prospect of another fucking from this brute of a man.

  “You are such a slut, Blondie – a real glutton for my cock,” Her Master said in a sneer. “But sorry - no can do. I’ve got an important meeting happening soon. So unlike everyone else, I’m here at my desk, chatting to you to calm my nerves.”

  Emily didn’t know what to say in response. She felt deflated, having had her whorish hopes raised and then instantly dashed. And she had been taken out of her depth by this first ever call, so words were not coming easy to this normally chatty young woman. But she knew that something was needed. Politeness demanded some sort of reply.

  “I hope it goes well – the meeting.”

  “It bloody well better!” came back the man, his voice sure and confident despite his claim to nerves. “I’ve invested a lot of time and effort on the ground work – put myself out in a whole variety of ways, so I’ll be seriously pissed off if anything goes wrong. After all my hard work, I deserve the sort of break in life it would give me... Anyway, enough about that – it’s not why I’m ringing. I thought I’d call to put your mind at rest.”