Submissive to Her Master - The Box Set

by Simone Leigh

  “There is a time and a place for fashion shoes and kitten heels. Walking on the fells isn’t it.”

  “Are we walking on the fells?”

  “We are tomorrow.”

  The following day we do indeed walk a fell. Brin insists that it is not a rigorous walk on the scale of things, the fell being a mere midget of only a little over a thousand feet, but I am unused to this kind of activity. Purple faced and huffing, I scramble the final steep pull to the peak, almost on all fours on the slippery turf. Brin is ahead of me, striding out with a swing in his step.

  “Catch your breath.” he says. “Let’s sit and have a coffee.”

  Still wheezing for lack of breath, bending over to grab the stitch in my side, I let Brin pour the coffee before I stand up straight and take a look around. The view is astounding.

  The mountains stretch as far as the eye can see in all directions, fading to a smoky blue in the far distance. Bright lakes nestle in the valleys, glinting in the sun. The day is one of sun and cloud, dappled light and shade.

  “Wow!”

  Brin looks at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Worth the climb?”

  “Oh yes.”

  That evening, I am as stiff as a board. I would love to soak in a hot bath, but of course this is impossible in the camper van.

  “Here, lie down.” says Brin. “Let me work those muscles for you.”

  I flop, face down onto the bed.

  “Aw, c’mon.” he says. “I can’t massage you through jeans and boots. Get your clothes off.”

  Awkwardly I strip off and lie down. My muscles just don’t want to move the way they should. Brin starts at my feet, massaging the soles with his thumbs, working the individual toes.

  As he works his way up my calves, kneading and pushing, a warmth creeps through me, seeping through. At my thighs, the warm wends inwardly.

  Brin knows exactly what he is doing to me. Teeth glinting white against his tanned skin, he hops onto the bed, straddling me across the legs. His hands glide beyond my thighs, kneading my lower back. Then, the fabric of his shirt straining as he stretches to caress my shoulders and arms, he kneels upright for a moment to strip off the shirt. I try to watch, awkwardly from my face down position, in the small wardrobe mirror to one side, as with an economical movement, he simply lifts the shirt over his head and off.

  Fascinated by his now naked chest, I find myself watching Brin in the mirror, examining the subtle shadows of his tight stomach muscles, the line of hair tracing the path from his navel downwards beyond his belt, the sheen of perspiration over his shoulders.

  Brin returns his attentions to my body. His massage is working wonderfully well and my previously stiff muscles are limbering and warming.

  It is not only my muscles that are warming. A familiar glow is suffusing my loins and thighs. Restless, I adjust the position of my hips to allow my knees to part a little. Brin glances back for a moment to see what I am doing then smiles down at me.

  “Don’t be in such a hurry. We’ve got all night.”

  His voice is soft, his hands warm and hard as he smooths over my skin, fingers probing at tight knotted muscles.

  “You should take more exercise.” he comments.

  “Oh yes. I shall.” I promise. If this is the reward for exercise, I’ll be happy to do it.

  Brin’s hands are working my upper spine and neck, heel of the palm pushing down into my shoulders as muscles crack and jump.

  He lifts his weight from me and gets off the bed. “Turn over.” he says.

  I roll onto my back to see Brin, his eyes fixed on mine, unbuckling his belt. As he shrugs off his jeans, his erection, freed from captivity, stands tall and hard, twitching slightly in a pulse-beat vibration.

  Now he straddles me again, across the hips. He resumes his massage, but now it feels less than medical. Fingers spread wide, he strokes and caresses the soft skin of my stomach. Hands questing north, he fondles my breasts, squeezing softly before teasing at my puckering nipples with two fingers. Bending forward he nuzzles at me before gently taking a nipple between his teeth, biting gently and sucking, before trying almost to engulf me with his mouth.

  So close now, Brin’s heady fragrance swims over me, his mix of spice and musk overlaying the clean sharp scent of a well-exercised man. Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes as I kiss the top of his head. His hair, still damp from the day, softly brushes my face, tickling my nose and making me giggle.

  Brin looks up, a twinkle in his eyes. “It’s not kind to laugh at a man who is making love to you.”

  I try to reply, but sneeze instead. “Your hair.... ah.... ah.... ah....”

  “Ah don’t tell me you’re allergic to me.” he complains. “How can I fuck a woman who’s going to break out in a rash when I shove my cock inside her?”

  This reduces me to helpless laughter. As I giggle insanely, Brin backs off to settle between my legs, nudging my knees apart to gain entry.

  “Ah will you just shut up woman. How’s a man expected to concentrate?”

  With difficulty, I curb my giggling as Brin lowers himself further between my legs. Realising his intentions, I rock my hip upwards, shoving a cushion underneath to support myself.

  “Now there’s a good girl.” he mutters, as his face dips between my thighs.

  Already primed by the massage, arousal washes over me in warm waves. Brin’s tongue lapping at my sex, I lie back, stretching like a cat, a sigh escaping unbidden.

  Moist tinging suffusing my sex, Brin licks slowly at my pussy lips, not penetrating or probing, but sliding the silk of his tongue over my sensitizing skin.

  Fingers push my thighs wider by a little, then tease apart my folds, opening me, releasing my flowing juices to be licked away. Lust spirals up in me as the fingers open my pussy lips completely, Brin’s hot breath laps against my entrance, before he fastens his mouth around me. His tongue sweeps inside my throbbing pussy, winding circles around my inner muscles, sending electric fizzing through me.

  My blood singing, hips a-tremble, I am moaning now, continuously and uncontrollably.

  My moaning becomes almost a wail as Brin’s tongue slips up to my engorging clit. Arousal becoming urgent, the on-coming rush is calling me.

  A shudder shoots deliciously through me as my bud is nudged and teased. Slipping back the hood with one finger, Brin tantalises the hard nub with his tongue, bedevilling the tip with flicks and dabs.

  The blankets are warm and damp under me as my pussy floods, but I don’t care. Blooming out from my core comes my orgasm. Spreading through me like the opening of the petals of some exotic flower, it ripples through me in waves, sending cunt and thighs and belly into rapturous spasms.

  Yelling incoherently, I writhe and twist on the bed, Brin gripping hard at my hips to hold me still as he continues to work my ecstatically clenching clit and core.

  Finally, it is too much. “Stop Brin! For God’s sake, please stop.”

  He withdraws and kneels up, wiping his mouth and wearing a smug expression. “It’s nice to know I’ve still got it.”

  Lying limply, I nod. “You have that Brin. You have that.”

  It dawns on me that Brin is waiting, expectant. Rousing myself again, I sit up. “Lie down Brin. Your turn now.”

  He arches his eyebrows. “So.... there’s a change. Giving the orders now are we?” But his tone is light and his eyes are laughing. Lying on the bed, he watches me, his shaft still dancing to a heartbeat.

  Sitting beside him, I bend to take it in my mouth, pausing to lick away the dewdrop on the tip. It is easier for me now than on previous occasions. In this position, I have more control than when kneeling before him.

  The silky skin, salty sweet on my lips, is warm, and as I apply a little pressure, encircling and squeezing with my mouth, Brin grunts quietly, his head pressing back against the pillow.

  Tracing the outline of the head with my tongue, I support the base with one hand, making a ring with fingers and thumb. Feeling it harden and sw
ell further, straining upwards against my hand, I slide my fingers up and down the length of Brin’s cock, all the while working the head with my tongue and lips.

  Brin’s hand strokes my head. “Ah that’s good.” he says. “That’s really good.”

  It gives me an odd feeling of power, this feeling of a live thing in my mouth and hand; feeling it jerk and pulse as I suck harder. Finally, feeling that I have persuaded the pulsing member as large and hard as I can manage, I release it and swing up onto the bed. This time I straddle Brin.

  Positioning myself, my still dripping pussy, hot and wet, just brushing against the shaft, on all fours I lower my hips just enough to take the head into my cunt.

  Brin thrusts upwards, trying to sheath himself in me, but I pull away, keeping my entrance still just kissing his cock-head.

  Brin thrusts again, and again I pull away, always playing my sopping pussy-lips over the tip.

  “Aw, c’mon. Have mercy woman. How much d’ya think a man can stand?”

  It is delicious. For the first time in my life, I am controlling a man. He wants to fuck. He wants to drive his cock deep inside me, but now I am setting the terms. I turn Brin’s words back on him.

  “Don’t be in such a hurry. We’ve got all night.”

  He looks up at me quizzically. “Lie back.” I say. “Just relax. Let it happen.”

  He doesn’t move, still gazing up at me as though I am a stranger.

  “Do as you’re told.” I say.

  He stares up at me with an expression of shock, then smiles ruefully, shrugs and lies back, eyes closed.

  Holding the head with my pussy, I wind my hips in lazy circles. Brin groans, more loudly this time and it occurs to me that I now know what it means to be a ‘cock teaser’. Enjoying this game, I continue my gentle torment of the quaking shaft under my control.

  Brin’s breath is growing rapid and he is sweating profusely. I notice that his hands are curled into tight fists and decide that it is time to play the game to the finish.

  Aligning myself carefully, and with no warning, I smoothly lower myself onto the throbbing erection, all the way, as hard as I can, and then, just as quickly, pull away again, resuming my cunt-hold on the cock head.

  This time, jerking, Brin yells. “Oh begorrah woman! You can only drive a man so far.”

  I say nothing, but slip a couple of inches of cock into my pussy; just enough to grip it firmly with my pussy muscles, squeeze it a couple of times and then pull away again.

  Brin is shuddering now, his hips quivering under me. He is not going to last too much longer so....

  I lower myself again, gliding up and down Brin’s cock, riding him hard, slamming up and down for all I am worth. Breasts bouncing, panting with effort, I fuck him like there is no tomorrow.

  It lasts about twenty seconds. Brin convulses and rocks, cumming hard. I reach back to massage under his balls and cock, feeling the pulsating root as he pumps his load into me. Revolving my hips, I keep going, drawing out the moment as long as I can for him.

  “Ah bejaysus Martha. You’ve gotta stop! I can’t stand any more.”

  I cease my grinding, still with Brin deep inside me, and he collapses back onto the bed gasping and twitching. A mood of sheer devilment on me, I slowly pull away, squeezing with my inner muscles as I do so, making him yelp again and leaving his relaxing cock trailing sticky cum over his stomach.

  After a few moments, Brin wipes his hand over his face, then looks up at me.

  “Congratulations my girl. You wouldn’t have done any of that a couple o’ weeks back I‘m thinking.”

  “You’re not wrong there.” I laugh.

  His eyes soften. “It was fantastic. Thank you. it’s not every woman that can really take a man for a ride like that. If I’d realised you had it in you, I’d have been more careful around you.”

  “You did it Brin. You’ve made me.”

  “No girl. You’ve done it yourself. I just helped you to see it.”

  I don’t know how to follow this comment, so I opt for cowardice. “How about a hot drink?”

  “Good idea.”

  Sipping steaming coffee I ask “When is it that you want to get to your fruit picking job? I’d thought we were going straight there. I mean, it’s great that we’ve taken this little holiday, but I know you were concerned about getting the work.”

  “You’re right. We should be moving along. Tell you what, when the seasons’ done, if you like we could come back here, or go wandering somewhere else.”

  “That sounds great. I’d like that.” Warmed inside by more than just the coffee, I stretch and yawn. “Think I’m about ready to sleep.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  The following day, we set off for the fruit farm. A few hours’ driving south brings us to lush orchards and fertile fields. Green as far as the eye can see, sunlight slants through grey clouds. Rain glints as it falls and a rainbow forms over the greenery. I feel that I have already found my pot of gold.

  Arriving at the fruit farm, the shed that is supplied as lodging for seasonal workers comes as a shock. I had never realised that it would be so squalid.

  “Is this legal?” I mutter to Brin as I gaze in horrified fascination at peeling paint, broken windows and grubby pallets that pass for beds. Neither do I care for the mushroomy smell that clings to everything.

  He rocks his hand back and forth. “Kinda. Thing is, they’re all desperate for the work, so no-one’s gonna complain or report it. Everyone here, is here voluntarily. It’s not like they’ve got the gang-masters here. So, everyone mucks in and makes the best of it.” He looks at my expression and laughs. “Don’t worry. We’ll sleep in the camper van, but we’ll meet up with the group in here on an evening. The nearest pub’s miles away, so usually we just get in a job lot of beer between us and enjoy the crack.”

  “Usually? You know the people here? I though everyone was seasonal?”

  “They are, but the same people often come back every year. We mostly know each other and it’s just getting together with old mates.”

  I nod thoughtfully. It’s nice that Brin has friends here. We won’t be surrounded by strangers. I correct myself. Brin won’t be surrounded by strangers......

  There is a sudden noise from outside and a tumult of voices.

  The door bursts open and a crowd of people pile into the shabby room.

  “Hey Brin! Great to see you.”

  “Hi Brin. We were thinking you weren’t going to get here...”

  “Hey, who’s this? You with Brin?”

  The question is coming from a big, burly, blond man with an East European accent. Actually, beyond ‘big’. He is a giant of a man.

  “Er yes. Hi. I’m Martha. And yes, I’ve come with Brin.”

  Unsure of the etiquette here, I hold out my hand to shake. The blond man solemnly takes it and equally solemnly, shakes.

  “Nice to meet you Martha. I’m Aron. I must say that you are a surprise. I’ve always thought of Brin as traveling alone.”

  A bit unsettled by this, I want to continue the conversation to find out just what he means by this, but am interrupted by twin squeals from two girls rushing into the room. They dash up to Brin to hug him.

  “Hey Brin!”

  “Hi Brin. We were hoping you’d be here again.”

  The girls are pretty. And young.

  Young and pretty.

  And Brin is hugging them back.

  Aron is watching me through hooded eyes. “You known Brin long Martha?”

  Biting back my automatic response, I fight to stay polite. “No, not long.”

  I hardly know him at all. It’s barely been two weeks.

  Aron continues. “He’s a free spirit is Brin. No offense, but I really am surprised to see him travel with anyone.” Belatedly, he seems to realise how this must sound. “You must be pretty special to be with him at all.”

  “Mmm.” I nod non-committally as I watch the two girls pawing at Brin and he makes no attempt to stop them
.

  I don’t feel special.

  I feel left out. Ignored.

  There is a pop and a hiss as someone opens a can of beer. Brin turns to me, nodding sideways at a dark skinned, brown eyed man who is busy passing out cans of beer from a box.

  “See Martha. I told you we’d be having a party.” He wraps an arm around the shoulder of each of the girls. “Come and meet Katarina and Kalene.”

  Suppressing my inner demon, I paint a smile onto my face and hold out my hand again.

  “Hi.” I say brightly. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Martha.”

  The following day I join the morning shift to go out picking strawberries. Despite Brin’s warnings that it is hard work, I am dismissive. How hard can it be to pick a strawberry?

  Twenty minutes later, bending double in a field, working my way along a row of plants, I am eating my words.

  My back is already aching. When I stand up suddenly, there are stars in front of my eyes. The youngsters around me, mainly squat down to pick the berries, but my older muscles are unused to this position for extended periods, and so I alternate between squatting and bending.

  We are paid by weight. Provided with a basket of empty punnets, each punnet of fruit is filled, and when all the punnets in the basket are full, they are taken to be weighed. The punnets must be full of perfectly ripe fruit with the green stalk left attached to slow down rot. From here they go straight to the local markets and supermarkets. Even a day-old strawberry is already past it’s best.

  The people around me all have filled baskets much more quickly than I do. Their hands snatch at the ripe fruit, plucking them magically whole and unspoiled, to deposit them in an appetising way in the punnets.

  I am so much slower. My punnets fill much more slowly. My filled baskets are weighed much less often.

  Finally, it dawns on me to ask how much we are paid for this and am horrified at the answer. The reality of working on minimum wage comes home to me. It’s not as if I even need the money.

  WHY am I doing this? After only a few hours - we haven’t even had a lunch-break yet - I am ready to give up and walk away. Only pride prevents me from doing so.