Master Class

by Jason Luke

  The man’s chest was heaving; filling, emptying and then refilling again with air as Clarissa drew him inexorably towards his climax. His hands clenched into fists and then began to drum against the carpet. At the last moment he clawed for her head to hold her mouth locked to his cock. Then he came hard, thrusting up with his hips as his cum splashed against the back of her throat. Clarissa swallowed. Her eyes filled with water. The residue of the man’s release tasted salty. She kept sucking him, slowly drawing her hand up and down the softening shaft as if to milk every drop from him. When there was no more, she sat back on her haunches. The man’s eyes were closed, still in the sweet delirium of his orgasm. Clarissa waited until his eyes flicked open, glazed and dreamy. Then she licked her lips lasciviously and smiled the smile of a flirtatious whore.

  There was no time to revel in the satisfaction of pleasing the stranger. Another of the men was pawing her, rolling Clarissa onto her back. She did as she was bid and felt herself floating. It was like being slightly drunk; drifting on a cloud of erotic sounds and smells. When she closed her eyes, she felt weightless. Hands were between her thighs, pushing them apart. She bent her legs a little and her knees fell open. She was waiting for the feel of a man’s hands, or perhaps a rough bristled jaw against the softness of her pussy. But the touch was distinctly gentle and feminine. Clarissa slitted her eyes and saw that it was Miki. She was kneeling between Clarissa’s parted legs, dipping her mouth to Clarissa’s pussy. Behind Miki was one of the other men, kneeling with his cock in his hand. Clarissa watched the other girl’s face and saw the instant the man behind her filled her pussy with his cock. Miki’s features seemed to soften with delight. Her eyes rolled up into the top of her head and her mouth fell open in a long guttural moan. Clarissa reached down and teased her clit until the other girl adjusted to the cock sliding in and out of her, and the couple began rocking together in a primal rhythm.

  “Leave that to me,” Miki had an accent, the sound of each word rounded, but the meaning was unmistakable. She brushed Clarissa’s hand aside and bent her mouth to her pussy.

  Clarissa knew that she would not last long under the tease of the girl’s willing tongue. Another cock suddenly appeared right beside her face. She turned her head and saw the last man lying naked on his side. Clarissa stretched her neck and swirled her tongue across the top of the man’s cock like it was a delicious treat.

  When the man fucking Miki tensed and then came, he threw back his head and growled. Miki held herself perfectly still while the man pulsed and flexed between her legs. She had her eyes closed as though she were concentrating on the warm spill of his juices within her. After he withdrew, limp and exhausted, the other girl stared at Clarissa with a mischievous grin of wickedness. She crawled over Clarissa’s prone body and lifted herself on her haunches, her pussy poised just above Clarissa’s mouth.

  “Lick his cum from me,” Miki insisted.

  Clarissa’s first brush of her tongue along the girl’s swollen wet lips was tentative. She could taste the man’s sperm, mingled with the girl’s own unique flavor. The other girl lowered herself and Clarissa had no choice other than to lick her sex again.

  “Yes!” the girl hissed. A warm rush of cum spilled across Clarissa’s tongue, chased by more of the girl’s own wetness. “Very good.”

  Clarissa lost all sense of time. One of the men who had orgasmed came back to her, hard again. She serviced him and the rest of the men until she was trembling with fatigue and sheer exhaustion. She felt wrung out. Her breasts and pussy were tender. Her lips felt swollen. She looked slowly around the room, as though surveying the wreckage of a collision.

  Miki was sprawled across the floor with her legs splayed and one of the men slumped across her. The other three men were draped over the sofas, stretched out and limp. Their cocks were now soft, their bodies collapsed and drained of all energy. Clarissa scraped her fingers through the tangled knots of her hair. She felt immensely satisfied at a superficial sexual level; she had been willing and eager to please.

  On a deeper level, the frustration of not being able to orgasm herself left Clarissa irritated and twitching. She had no control over her body; her pussy was clenching in empty spasms, and her clit felt hard and straining with frayed, tensed nerves. She knew that even the slightest touch would send her spiraling into explosive convulsions.

  She walked delicately across the mayhem of the room like she had dynamite between her legs, wary of the slightest movement that might trigger her orgasm. She found her dress beneath one of the men’s discarded shirts. Rather than put it on right then, she draped the dress over her arm and picked up her purse. She crept from the room naked, leaving the others undisturbed.

  “Well?”

  Nick Edge was leaning against the door, his muscled arms folded across the bulge of his broad chest. Clarissa couldn’t help herself. The first instinctive flick of her eyes was directed down to his cock. He was hard. She lifted her gaze, comfortable in her nudity.

  “I have completed the task, Master,” Clarissa said softly.

  “Did everyone else in the room orgasm?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Did you cum?”

  “No, Master.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “What?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and for a fleeting moment of madness she considered reaching boldly for Edge’s cock in the hope he could entice him to fuck her. She discounted the idea regretfully. Edge wasn’t the kind of man who would so easily surrender his will and resolve to the temptation of a pussy. “Miki was someone I never expected,” she said, frowning as she tried to organize her thoughts. “Until tonight I had never even thought about sex with another woman.”

  “Did you enjoy the sensations?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Good,” Edge nodded seriously. “In the course of your submission you can expect to entertain other women, Clarissa. A lot of Masters want to see their submissive paired with another girl – the fantasy of two women pleasuring each other is one of the greatest turn-ons for most men. It is good that you enjoyed the experience. Having an open mind will make you more desirable to a future Master.”

  Clarissa nodded. There seemed nothing more to say. Edge was staring at her fixedly, as though trying to see through her flesh and into her soul.

  “Do you want to cum, Clarissa?”

  “Yes, Master,” she couldn’t conceal the breathless desperation in her answer. “Please.”

  Edge grunted, deliberately taking his time to decide while she hung by a thread, tense and awaiting his verdict. Finally he unfolded his arms and leaned her against the closed door. Then he stood close beside her.

  “You can cum,” he offered. “But you cannot arouse yourself. Your only stimulation will be my voice and the movement of my hands… but I’m not going to touch your pussy.”

  Clarissa frowned. Could she cum without actually being stimulated? Was that even a thing? Her brow furrowed into a little arrowhead of concentration. She closed her eyes, and Edge leaned so close that he was whispering in her ear.

  “Imagine me,” he began, his voice undulating and soft as a summer’s breeze. “Imagine me standing with a dozen other guys. We’ve all got our shirts off, Clarissa. We’ve been working construction all day – and it’s your job to bring us drinks. We’re gathered in a circle, sitting outdoors at the construction site. You arrive in a van. You’re wearing a tight black leather skirt and a see-through white blouse. You’ve left your panties on the passenger seat of the van and your pussy is aching, isn’t it?”

  Edge’s voice was almost hypnotic, alluring and filled with rich vivid descriptions that Clarissa could see clearly in her mind’s eye. She could imagine all those rugged men, leering at her as she strode towards the group. The thrill of being the center of their lustful sexual attention made her pussy twitch and tingle.

  “Yes, it is,” she felt compelled to answer. The voice didn’t seem to be her
own. It was thick in her throat; dulled and trance-like.

  “You set down the tray of drinks and as you bend over, your skirt rides high up your thighs. We can see the lips of your pussy, the soft pouch of your sex. You’re wet, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Edge ran his hand across Clarissa’s abdomen, teasing her as his fingers grazed lower in slow tantalizing sweeps. Clarissa ached to be touched. Edge’s hand was maddeningly close to her pussy, but too far away to stimulate her. She felt herself tensing. She licked her lips and her mouth hung open, soft and glistening like slices of ripe fruit.

  “And you want to be fucked, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to surrender yourself to all of us. You need to feel a cock in your pussy and another in your mouth. You need to be swept away by all these rugged anonymous men, don’t you, Clarissa?”

  “Oh, God, yes!” Passion and desperation filled her voice. She was on her tip-toes, lifting herself and trying to reach Edge’s gliding fingers. He teased her, and then his hands went to her breasts. She sighed, frantic – but suddenly a fresh and startlingly new sensation seemed to ignite low in the pit of her stomach. Clarissa had never paid much attention to stimulating her breasts in the past, but now her nipples were achingly sensitive. Edge trapped one of them between his fingers and gently began to roll it.

  Clarissa hissed. The look on her face changed from frowning despair to confusion, and then finally to a soft glow of pleasure. She began to pant, deeply at first, and then shallower and faster. Edge tightened the squeeze of his fingers until Clarissa’s nipple almost began to ache.

  Almost.

  It was a razor-fine line; the indescribable balance between pleasure and pain. Clarissa winced, but it wasn’t an agonized expression. It was spurred by the first rumbling tremor of an orgasm – unlike anything she had experienced before. The sensation came from a different place; somewhere deeper within her body. Her mouth hung wide open, and then she moaned.

  Edge lowered his mouth to her nipple and sucked. Clarissa clamped her hand around his head and fisted her fingers into the thatch of his hair to hold him to her breast. Her legs were straining, trembling with fatigue and the rising roar of an orgasm. She clung to Edge until her entire body clenched.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God!” Clarissa cried out. Her eyes were screwed shut, her back arched as the intensity of the release seemed to burst like a great glowing light from the very core of her. It tore her apart and left her shattered into broken pieces, slumped in Edge’s strong arms.

  Edge held her through the raging storm until the crescendo of Clarissa’s orgasm subsided into broken silence, and she could finally breath again. She felt woozy. She swayed like a drunkard on her feet.

  Edge smiled knowingly. “A woman’s body has many erogenous zones,” he said. “Which means that there is more than one way to entice an orgasm… if a man knows what he’s doing.”

  Chapter 9:

  The phone rang. Clarissa was in bed, exhausted from the long night at Edge’s house, and the shattering intensity of her own orgasm. The insistent demand of the ringtone drew her groggily from a dreamless sleep.

  “Hello?” she ran her fingers through her hair and pried her eyes open. It was after midnight.

  “Did he fuck you?”

  Clarissa came awake in an instant, suddenly cold. “No,” she said regretfully.

  There was a long silence. Clarissa sat up in the bed. She was naked. The sheets fell around her waist.

  “I’m beginning to lose my confidence in you,” Congressman Jansing’s voice was an impatient simmering snarl down the line. “Either you’re incompetent, or you’re lying.”

  “I’m not lying,” Clarissa said. “If we’d had sex and I had the proof, I would gladly give it to you. I want to save my grandfather’s farm.”

  Jansing was fuming. Clarissa could hear his pacing footsteps over the rasp of his breath. She imagined him prowling back and forth like a restless lion behind the bars of a cage. “Then maybe you’re incompetent,” he declared. “You seem to be the only woman in Washington who can’t get herself laid.”

  “I’m trying,” Clarissa’s tone became a plea for understanding. “I’m doing everything you told me to do.”

  “Well you’re not doing enough,” Jansing barked. “When are you seeing him again?”

  “Tomorrow night… I mean, tonight,” she corrected herself. It was already the start of a new day.

  There was another long and tense silence. Clarissa gnawed fretfully on her lips. At last Jansing spoke again, his voice turned abrupt and final.

  “I want to meet you. Now.”

  Clarissa’s eyes filled with alarm and trepidation. “But it’s after midnight…”

  “I don’t give a damn!” Jansing exploded down the phone line. “Meet me in the alley behind Eighth Street. You’ve got thirty minutes.”

  Clarissa dressed in a flurry of panic and dread. She knew there was little chance she could hail a cab at that hour. She drove her car to Eighth Street and parked under the puddled glow of a streetlamp, then walked anxiously to the dark mouth of an alley. She hesitated, standing on the sidewalk. She was shaking with fear and apprehension. The alley was pitch black. She swallowed hard and looked left, then right. She was alone on the sidewalk. The city around her seemed restless but asleep.

  Clarissa took three steps into the alley.

  Out of the darkness a set of car’s bright headlights flashed from the far end of the alley. It gave Clarissa a little reassurance… and a deepening sense of ominous foreboding. The alley was wide; there were industrial trash bins lined against one wall overflowing with refuse and black plastic bags of trash. The stench took Clarissa’s breath away.

  She walked slowly towards the blazing headlights. There was no sound. The car was hunched silently. A rat scurried beneath her feet, jinking from within a bag of trash and darting away into the deeper shadows. Clarissa stifled a scream of loathsome fright.

  She walked on in the beam of the headlights until she reached the front of the car. It was a black luxury SUV with dark tinted windows. Clarissa trapped her bottom lip between her teeth. A rear window glided down and a man’s pale hand beckoned her. Clarissa walked to the rear door and opened it. Sitting in the dark shadows was Congressman Wilton Jansing. She knew it was him by the waft of his expensive cologne and the pale features of his face, blurred and made indistinct by the shadows.

  “Get in.”

  Clarissa stepped into the car, feeling frail and fearful for her own safety. The man’s voice was edged with his temper.

  She sat in the corner, as far away from Jansing as she could. She rested her handbag across her lap. The Congressman snatched the bag away from her and dug his hand inside. Clarissa sat in mute fear.

  The Congressman rummaged through the bag’s contents until he had the burner phone in his hand. He turned it on and scrolled through the phone’s menu, grunting. There were no photos on the phone, and nothing on the call log apart from the times that Clarissa had dialed his number to report in. He dropped the burner back into the bag and felt around until he found Clarissa’s own phone. Once again he searched the device.

  Nothing.

  Jansing let out a long sigh of frustration. Clarissa could feel his temper. It was like a force field; some tangible presence he projected that turned the interior of the luxury vehicle cold as ice.

  “Mitchem,” Jansing spoke abruptly to his secret service driver, sitting patiently behind the steering wheel. “Take a walk.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man got out of the SUV, and Jansing waited until he was sure the bodyguard was well away from the car. Then he turned sideways on the upholstered leather seat and stared at Clarissa’s pale frightened face with the full force of his temper.

  “If Edge isn’t fucking you, what is he doing?”

  Clarissa shrugged. Her eyes were huge and frightened and the words jammed in her throat. Jansing was intimidating. “He’s… he’s training me…” she sai
d softly.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” the Congressman snapped.

  “He’s teaching me to submit.”

  Jansing bunched his fist and punched it against the padded leather seat in fierce frustration. The violence startled Clarissa, and her fear took on a new face. Until that moment, she had dreaded Jansing’s controlling power over her grandfather’s farm and her own career. Now her fear became a fright for her very wellbeing.

  “How is he teaching you to submit? By sucking his cock?”

  “Yes… and the cocks of other men as well…” Clarissa added delicately. “Tonight I had to pleasure four men and a woman.”

  “What?” Jansing’s head snapped round.

  Clarissa nodded. “It’s true. He brought four of his team into a room. There was a woman with them. Edge ordered me to have sex with them all.”

  Jansing looked wide-eyed in rising outrage. He thrust his hand under Clarissa’s skirt and pushed her back hard against the seat with his other forearm to pin her. She squealed – first in shock and then in instinctive offense. Jansing had his hand all the way up her thigh, forcing her legs apart. Clarissa wasn’t wearing panties – there hadn’t been time to do anything more than pull on the same dress she had worn to Edge’s house before she had scampered to this meeting. She felt the Congressman’s probing touch, callous and possessive.

  “Did any of them fuck you? Did they?” he was shouting into her face, his features corrupted into a swollen mottled mask of outrage.

  “No!” Clarissa shook her head. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Jansing’s temper broke like a terrible storm and filled her with real fear.

  His fingers were all over her pussy, pulling the tender lips of her sex apart as if to reassure himself that her virginity was still intact. Clarissa was sobbing; violated and helpless.