by JJ Argus
“Bring her here.”
He turned me and pushed me forward. Gasping, moaning, I crawled forward until she could lean over and grasp my leash, then jerked me up between her legs. She had drawn her skirt up and back and revealed that, like me, she was hairless. Now she drew me in between her thighs, rubbing my face against her pussy.
Some part of me recoiled, but I was so aroused and so used to obedience by then that my tongue flicked out with barely a second of hesitation. I moaned as Matthew ground himself against my buttocks, and gasped in pain as Sandra tugged on my hair.
“Remember what Matthew showed you, slave,” she said coolly.
I was not a girl lover. I mean, of course I'd seen some of it, and had pawed and groped and kissed girls before, mostly as part of a teasing thing with the boys. But I wasn't a lesbian, nor bisexual. Still, given my state of mind, the dark hunger which had crept over me since meeting Sir, and the strange excitement I took in doing things which most would find horribly degrading, it did not gross me out. A part of me even found the challenge rather fascinating as I licked at her clit.
I rolled my eyes to the side, and saw Sir looking down, and felt another pulse of heat between my legs as I tried my best to imitate what Matthew had done to me. Of course, I wasn't nearly as good, nor was my tongue anywhere near as practiced.
Then Matthew, well, I guess you could say 'mounted' me, even making strange, animalistic noises as he climbed atop my back. I gasped as I felt his cock prodding at the swollen lips of my sex. But the fat dildo jammed inside prevented him from sliding into me. His cock stroked along my moist center, then rode upward, pressing against my back opening again.
I felt the pressure as his lips bit into the nape of my neck, as the soft flesh of his chest pressed against my back, as his hands slid around me, cupping my breasts, kneading and squeezing them as he licked and sucked at my throat.
His mistress pulled on my hair and pushed on my head, pushing my face into her sex as I licked dazedly, enveloped by a wildness, a feral sense of sexual fever. My body began to jerk in time to his thrusts as Sir sat back and watched. And my rolling eyes caught the hunger in his eyes as his 'slave girl' was used and ridden and made to perform for his ex wife.
Her hands were small, but strong, and she pulled my hair with an imperious manner which left no doubt about her arrogance, and how she felt about me. Instead of being indignant or offended I felt a wild thrill at the thought, moaning as her slave boy thrust into me, gasping as he pinched at my nipples, shuddering as he bit into my flesh and ground himself against me.
He rode me into yet another incredible, breathless climax as Sandra held tightly to my hair, forcing my face against her sex, forcing me to keep licking, however dazed I became. And when I faltered, her small hand slid below my chest, fingers pinching cruelly at my nipples to jar me from the fog of my orgasmic languor.
* * *
Sandra stayed for a week. It was an uncomfortable week, for, as I said, I'm really not into girls. But it was a week in which she treated me as a sex slave even more than Sir ever had. I had to call her 'mistress', for one thing, which seemed, at first, both silly and darkly exciting. Soon, though, it became routine.
It felt bizarre, the first time she walked me. I was crawling, like Matthew, on a leash, with the dildos within me. She had added a halter made of thin leather straps which tightly circled my ribs, and then squeezed my breasts on all sides, forcing them out tautly. She added small, weighted rings dangling from my nipples, tongue, and clit, as we were 'walked' outside in the garden.
Sir was not present. And that was one of the main reasons it felt so strange. I barely knew this woman, or the man crawling alongside me, so what was I doing letting her demean me like this? And why did I find it exciting when I didn't even like women??
But I did.
I crawled, glad of the padding in the leather boots I wore, and the strange leather mitts, drooling a little, because of how the weight pulled my tongue down and out over my lower lip, feeling deliciously like an animal of some sort without a clue why that aroused me.
And when she sat on a stone bench, I and Matthew licked at her stiletto heels as if we were perfect little slaves, then took turns licking and sucking at her clit and pussy as she twisted her fingers in our hair and instructed me on how to properly please a woman.
Then she made me do it by myself, while Matthew worked on me, pawing, stroking, caressing me, and then dropping to his back beneath me, grasping my buttocks, and pulling my pussy down against his mouth. Sandra had a small crop in hand, and used it often, snapping it down against the sides of my breasts whenever Matthew caused my attention to wander from her pussy.
Was I becoming a total, scanky slut? I guess so. But for some reason I didn't think of it that way. It was like I was in another world with different moral rules.
She put the weight back on my tongue, telling me I needed to stretch and exercise it, and we walked on, as she admired the garden, and spoke occasionally about this or that flower or plant which she had arranged to have placed there.
After a bit, she took the weight off my tongue, then began to throw small balls along the grass for Matthew and I to chase. Again, I felt how bizarre it was, but that didn't stop me from crawling as fast as I could to get to the balls before Matthew. For each time we returned, the one who failed got a single sharp snap of the crop across their buttocks.
We were not to talk at all. She made that quite plain from the beginning. But that was okay, for it fit with this new, kinky game of me as some sort of sexual pet or animal.
Matthew was dressed much as I was, which is to say, he was naked, save for long boots which protected his knees, padded, fingerless gloves to protect his hands, and a harness around his chest. Oh, he also had a dildo up his backside, and a strange sort of squeezing leather thing around his cock below his balls. He also had a raging erection which she largely ignored, an erection which bobbed and jerked as he moved, and which, when we wrestled for the balls, pressed and slid and rubbed and squeezed against me.
I longed to have that cock inside me, in my pussy, but Sir had said my pussy was for him alone. So failing that I would have loved to get my mouth around it to make him come. I thought it awfully cruel of Sandra not to let him climax, but to keep him hard and endlessly aroused.
When we returned to the house Sandra led me down into the dungeon, and into one of the cells. There, she placed me on my heels, and removed the dildos before placing a new sort-of dildo on the floor beneath me. It hooked into a slot, and was inflatable. I slid my pussy down onto it without effort, and took it deep inside me.
Then she strapped my ankles to my thighs, and pulled my arms behind my back, locking the restraints together. She tilted my head up and attached a chain to my tongue ring, pulling it up and out, then did the same to my nipple rings. To counter this, she pulled my hair into two pigtails, and tied them up and back.
Then she inflated the dildo in my pussy to the point I could hardly stand the strain, before leaving me there.
With a vibrator placed against my clit.
This was not to be something short-term, like Sir had done. This went on and on. It took very little time to push me over the edge into a massive orgasm, and to keep me riding that roller coaster ride form anguished discomfort to mindless pleasure.
The affect on my body and mind was notable in that the super tight, aching dildo inside me was no longer uncomfortable at all. In fact, in my sexual heat I tried to ride up and down, to take it even deeper. Doing so pulled on my nipples and tongue, but I didn't care. I was frantic to get it deeper, to impale myself on it, regardless of discomfort.
The strange, anguished noises I made were almost beyond my recognition. I was a lust-crazed animal desperate for sexual pleasure, sweating, aching, gasping, moaning, sobbing, and then screaming in pleasure before starting it all again.
Only when I was completely exhausted, when only the tight cords holding me up by hair, nipples and tongue kept me from falling o
ver, that she returned. She eased me off the giant dildo, then pulled me across her lap. As Matthew thrust his ever-hard cock into my mouth, she worked her fingers, then her entire hand into my stretched out pussy, fisting me, fucking me, driving me to the edge of sanity as my body convulsed with a shattering, endless orgasm.
By the time she left, only a week after arrival, I had become, well, almost, a slave in reality. I don't mean to say I was a prisoner, that Sir would have stopped me from leaving had I so desired. I mean that in my mind, I was a sex slave, and it didn't really occur to me to say no to anything, to refuse, to disobey, nor to leave. I knew, intellectually, that I was free to do or not do whatever I wanted, and to leave when I wanted. But emotionally, I was a sex slave, Sir's sex slave.
We flew to Geneva the day after Mistress – I mean Sandra – left. I was dressed, as usual, in short business skirt, high heels, stockings, blouse and blazer, my hair done half up, half down in a businesslike fashion. Beneath this my body was striped from the whipping Sir and Sandra had given me the day she had left, thin red lines criss-crossing my breasts and groin.
I checked out the hotel, made sure everything was properly in place, attended the meetings with him, took notes, made calls to clarify or confirm information, and made reservations for dinner, which we ate in a five star restaurant. I was clad in a long, lovely gown for that, and then was clad in nothing as, later, I was chained to his enormous bed and 'tortured' with ice, feathers, candle wax, vibrators, and his tongue and fingers to the point of screaming madness.
Sir treated me as his assistant whenever anyone was about, as his pet or slave whenever we were alone. But his punishments were rare. In most respects, aside from his arrogance in ordering me about, say, he treated me like his friend, like his lover. And of course, occasionally, as his pet. Sometimes he let others use me, but my pussy was for him alone. Except where women were involved.
I was grateful that didn't happen often, for though I had become quite good at performing for women, it was far from my preference. And I found it disturbing, to be honest, how easily they turned me into a quivering ball of wretched, sobbing, overheated flesh. Grovelling for men was arousing, but for women was, well, embarrassing on several different levels. And I never got used to it.
I soon learned his entire name, but it really didn't occur to me to use it, and in fact, I continued to think of him as simply – Sir. My life, my job, were serving Sir, and I was richly rewarded on any number of levels for my service.
The End
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Erotic stories & novels by JJ Argus
Zoe's New Job * Working For The Smiths * What I Learned in College * Two Teachers * Twenty Nine * Tomb of Darkness * The Wolf Girl * The Submission Game * The Student Librarian *The Straight Girl * The Secretary * The President's Slave Girl * The New Neighbors * The Mouse * The Master's Choice * The Interview * The Girls in the Band * The General's Aide * The Director * The Debt Slave * The Dark Passage * The Challenge * The Butler * The Banker Babe* Stripped! *Stocks and Bonds * Sir * Slave of the Vampires * Rich Man's Yacht * Personal Services * Nigger's Girl * Mister Stirling's Chauffeur * Miranda's Tower * Masters Fine Leather * Journey into Slavery * Into The Past * In the Vampire's Lair * In The Summer Heat * Her Very Own Pirate * Fiona's Need * Erin's Four Masters * Emily's Debt * * Courtney's Boring Life * Courtney Gets Caught * Chained Heat * Bound in Red Tape * Biker Bitch * Behind the Mask * An English Girl in China * A Slave to the Pack *Owned by the Pack * An Office Affair * A Life of Slavery * A Darker Shade of Gray * A Dark Spirit * A Dark Desert Heat * Anything *