His Master's Voice [2]

by Jay Ellison

  A moment later, I heard the jingle of Master’s belt buckle being undone. “Oh, god…” I whispered in response, remembering the size of him from the other night.

  He showed no mercy for my infraction. Master grabbed me by the hips, his fingers rough and bruising, and pressed himself hard against the curve of my ass. I could feel him breathing roughly, too—how he was enjoying this. “What I do, I do out of love, not out of anger. Understand?”

  I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.

  He slid his arms around me protectively and pressed himself against my back. Suddenly, my fears melted away. I felt safe. Cherished. He said in my ear, “I may punish you at times, Timothy, but I will never harm you. I will never allow harm to come to you. As a gentleman, it is my duty to protect and provide for you. I mean to be the gentleman that you need. Understand?”

  “Yes.” My voice nearly moaned forth.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid. I do want you to understand what you did wrong. Tell me your color.”

  “G-green.”

  He molded his body against mine, and his voice came soft and hot in my ear, making me shiver in response. “I am Master,” he explained. His voice was infuriatingly calm. I knew this was important to him. I knew he blamed himself for his failure with his former courtier, Michael. “It is not your place as courtier to question my edicts. Your place is to hear my voice and obey, even if you disagree with me. As my courtier, you must have absolute trust in me that what I do, I do for your own good.”

  His cock slipped between my legs and along the crack of my ass. He felt huge and hard as bone against me, dripping with precum. I immediately started to whimper. I was afraid he would split me apart if he impaled me right now.

  “What I tell you to do something, the proper response is ‘Yes, Master.’ If you seriously disagree, you may use your safeword to stop our play. If you are unsure, you may say, ‘If it pleases you, Master.’”

  “Yes…yes, Master.” I started to pant, ashamed by how turned on this encounter was making me.

  Master slid his dick between my legs, wetting the insides of my thighs. The feel of him against my nakedness made me tense, then writhe with primal lust. I felt the low rumble of a growl in his chest. His teeth nipped gently at the back of my neck.

  I squeezed my eyes closed and lowered my head, accepting my role as his submissive. I kept hoping he would take me at last and relieve me of this unrelenting lust, but though he wet me up and down with his dripping cock, he didn’t penetrate me.

  Instead, he withdrew. There was no escaping this terrible wanting.

  “Please, Master,” I bit out, surprisingly myself. “Please take me. Please let me come…”

  He slapped my ass with surprising strength and precision, startling me. “It is unbecoming of a courtier to request anything of his Master, particularly this early on in their relationship. Floor,” he commanded. “Present yourself, sub.”

  I immediately dropped to the floor and arched my back, elevating my ass and resting my forehead against the hardwood. If he needed this in order to fill me, I would do it. I would do almost anything for him.

  “Turn your head. I want you to see this.”

  Doing so, I saw that Master had produced a vile from his suit coat and was unscrewing the delicate glass container. “I have these oils specially designed in Chinatown. I strongly suggest that you avail yourself of them and use liberal amounts when you are here. This way, your gentleman may penetrate you quickly whenever he’s feeling amorous, with little discomfort on your part.”

  He let me smell the tincture. The oil smelled sweet, like spices, but burned coolly when he applied a sample to the back of my hand. Soon, he returned to his place behind me. He reached beneath me and applied the fragrant, slippery substance to the outside of my hole. The substance burned coolly but not uncomfortably.

  He steadied my ass with one hand and slowly pushed two oily fingers past the tightness of my muscle. I moaned pleasurably at the feel of him inside me and rocked my hips in response, hoping he would go deeper. Sensing what I was doing, he withdrew his fingers and slapped me sharply across the buttocks. The blow, as before, was controlled to drive the pain sharply through me and make my hardening shaft harder still. I grunted. “I want you tight, pet. And I do not want you to speak, except to stop our play. Understand? Speak.”

  “Y-yes, Master.”

  He had applied a great deal of the oil. I could feel it cooling my skin where it dripped down between my legs. “You are just lovely, and your boy cunny is a work of art, but it’s obvious you need discipline. Luckily, I am very good at that.” His fingers gripped my hipbones, holding me in place so he could force just the head of his tremendous cock inside me. I moaned at the invasion. My body resisted him at first, but the oils made it a short battle. In seconds, the head of him was nested inside me. He stopped to let my body acclimate to the feel of him stretching me.

  “Timothy.”

  “Yesss,” I gasped out, my body shivering with the delicious invasion.

  “Your color.”

  I had to think about it. “Green,” I grunted out.

  “Good.” His voice was hoarse with need. He reached around and snagged my dick in his hand, holding onto me tightly. “You feel like heaven.”

  Heaving his pelvis upward, he impaled me with one massive thrust, sheathing all his hot, quivering maleness deep inside my body so his balls were pressed to my ass. The oil prevented it from being truly painful, but it was a lot to take all at once. My hips jerked reflexively, my fingers clawed at the hardwood floor, and I cried out in sudden shock. He filled me completely, uncomfortably, and my body instinctively tried to shy away from the massive cock stretching me to my absolute limit. But there was nowhere to go, and we both knew that. I couldn’t run. I could only endure this incredible, pleasurable humiliation.

  “Good boy. Good pet.” His voice barely sounded human. Like some giant predator in heat, he grunted and started fucking me—harsher than I was used to in a lover, pounding me brutally into the floor. I whimpered at the way he used me, the enormous control he had over his body—and mine. The pressure and fullness was almost more than I could endure, yet I felt my whole being responding to his dominances on an entirely primal level. My thoughts—my former desires—all of it was washed away by the all-consuming need to please him, my Master.

  There was nothing remotely romantic about what he was doing to me. He growled as he gradually increased his pace, going deeper, making me gasp. The force of each blow made me slide along the floor and scratch at the hardwood for some kind of purchase. There was lovemaking…and then there was what he was doing to me right now. He was subduing me with his cock, making me accept my new role as his submissive. He was the apex predator and I was his prey…his fuck-thing. He had earned the right to take me, to use me, and he wanted me to know that.

  Whining, I lowered my head and gave myself over to him.

  “Good pet. Good little slut.” He grabbed a handful of my shoulder-length hair and yanked sharply back, forcing my head up higher so I was on my hands and knees now. The grip he had on me canted my head back almost painfully far. I gave a little cry, but that didn’t stop him or slow him down in the least.

  “Take my cock, you sweet little slut. Take it good,” he said while he pounded ever deeper inside me. Each pounding blow sent pleasurable shivers up and down my back and arms. “Who am I?” he demanded, his voice hard as nails. “Tell me who I am.”

  I relished the sweet pain my Master had granted me. “You are…Master. My M-Master.”

  “And who are you, Timothy?”

  Pleasure and pain spiraled through my body, leaving me quivering all over. The relentless power of his fucking made it hard to even think of an answer. “Y-yours…your pet…your slut.”

  “Yesss.” His balls slammed into my ass, over and over. “Remember that the next time you challenge me.”

  He held me down against the floor, penetrated me so deeply it left me gasping for
air. I could no longer tell where I ended and he began. Growling low in his throat, Master used my body to satisfy his lust, his harsh, hot breath in my ear. He jackhammered into me one last time and I screamed in ecstatic pain and came hard on the floor despite his hold on my dick, my body bucking wildly against him. He controlled me even then, his hips jerking while he shivered and emptied his balls deep inside my body.

  The moment seemed to last forever, and at the end of it, he sighed, sounding satisfied, at last. “My beautiful courtier.” He used my hair to jerk my head to one side and lay a warm, wet kiss on my neck. “You’re mine and you must never forget that.”

  “Y-yes.” Shivering, sweat dripping off my nose, I gasped out the word. I felt completely shattered. I felt completely his. “I won’t…I won’t forget.”

  “Good.” He pulled out and casually fixed his trousers, then moved to stand in front of me. He looked fantastically unruffled, perhaps a little piqued in the cheeks, but nothing like how I felt, broken and born again, kneeling at his feet.

  I stayed where I was, down on my face, unwilling to move…unwilling push him further or question his edicts. I didn’t think I could take him again—not right at the moment.

  He spoke above me—softly, a teacher delivering an important lesson to a favored student. “This, too, is a lesson, pet. I can be incredibly generous, but you must understand: I do not tolerate disobedience. And I will never forgive or forget a betrayal. Remember those two things, if you remember nothing at all.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He bent over and lifted me easily into his arms. He exhibited barely any effort, and I found myself immediately—and instinctively—folding against him. “Come. Rest. There are so many more lessons for you to learn this weekend.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sunday Morning

  I woke in my Master’s brightly lit bedchamber to a splash of sunlight in my eyes. It made me sit up and look around, blinking in the brilliance. I couldn’t rightly call the room a bedroom. It was too glorious for that.

  It looked like the suite of a royal prince. The walls were decked in red and gold flocked wallpaper, and the furnishings—the armoire, the Queen Anne writing desk, and the bookshelves were all exquisitely detailed cherrywood. Master’s grand, Victorian-style bed had tall poles and an ironwork headboard through which white veils had been woven. There was a full-sized fireplace, a beautiful chandelier dripping with crystals, and three tall, floor-to-ceiling bay windows that faced a brilliant vista over the morning city streets.

  I felt warm and safe with Master’s arms wrapped around me, his chest rising and falling where it was pressed against my back. I moved a little, and he moved with me. Even though I knew I’d fallen asleep here last night at some point, I had no clear memory of it. The realization made me uncomfortable as I sat up and pushed wayward hair out of my eyes. “How did I…?” I turned when I felt the brush of his hands between my shoulder blades, leaving a shivery warmth in their wake. “I don’t remember coming up here.”

  Master managed to look sexy even disheveled from sleep. I was a little surprised to see he was still dressed like the evening before, that he hadn’t undressed at all. “I carried you,” he whispered. “You were in subspace.”

  “Subspace…?” I stopped when I recalled something about that in my BDSM research. It was apparently a state of consciousness that a submissive could reach if handled correctly. I hadn’t believed it was real.

  “We slept. Nothing more,” he assured me. He brushed a long, fire-red streak of hair out of my eyes before cupping my cheek in one hand and slanting his mouth across mine. The sweetness of his morning kiss made me melt inside, and I put a hand on his burly chest just to keep from collapsing against him. “It’s rather late.” He glanced at the bedside clock. “And we have a long day of training ahead of us. Hungry?”

  I was—for him. “Sure.”

  “Good.” He took a leather lead from the bedside table and attached it to the O-ring in my collar. “Come, pet. Your training officially begins.”

  Downstairs, in the vast, industrial kitchen, he commanded I heel on a cushion on the floor while he set to work making us breakfast. “Do you cook?” he asked while he heated a skillet on the stove.

  Yesterday, I would have had a snarky response like, “Sure. I can microwave a Hungry Man like nobody’s business,” but something had happened in the course of last night, and though I still wanted to be witty and sarcastic, I was also afraid of disrespecting him. “No, Master. Not really,” I said. “I’ve never really had to.”

  “That’s a shame. It’s a lost art.” He cracked some eggs into a bowl and started what looked like an excruciatingly perfect omelet. “I’ll arrange for some cooking, hosting and dinner etiquette classes for you. You will not be here every night, of course, but on those nights when you are, I expect you to prepare an attractive dinner, in addition to your other duties as my courtier.”

  “What other duties?”

  “Cooking, light cleaning, and, of course, your obligations to me as my courtier.” He ticked the points off on his fingers. “I often host dinner parties for members of the Society, and I will require that you attend and serve at those, as well.”

  It all sounded rather domestic—like something a partner would do. “So I’ll be cooking, cleaning, and serving.”

  “And washing up. But not laundry. I have a service for that.”

  I felt a stab of nervousness. I wasn’t especially talented in domestic matters. “I’m not sure I’ll have the time for all that. I kind of…uh…” I didn’t know how to tell him, so I lowered my eyes and just blurted it all out. “I kind of have two jobs, and band practice on top of that.”

  He carried his two perfect omelets over to a breakfast nook. He didn’t look particularly perturbed. “Come, pet. Sit. Eat.”

  I was pleased to be able to sit at the table and eat with him this time. I was hungrier than I had thought and wound up wolfing down my food. He looked amused, but didn’t reprimand me. He did give me further instruction on dining etiquette. When we dined out, he would always be the one to order our food. Whether we were eating out or dining in, I was not allowed to eat until he gave me permission. “If your gentleman stops eating, you must follow suit,” he explained patiently. He put his fork down, and I followed. “If your gentleman rises from the table, you must also follow and await orders. Your eyes should be on him at all times, watching for even his most subtle clue. It will become second nature to you with time and practice.”

  He pushed an envelope across the table to me. “Open it.”

  I did…and almost passed out.”That’s a…lot of zeroes,” I said, looking at the check. I pushed it back. “I don’t want it. I’m not doing for this for money.”

  “You are not allowed to decline,” he explained in a stoic voice. “And the money is a form of selfishness on my part. I expect you to quit your retail job so you may concentrate on your duties as my courtier.”

  “I don’t know about that…” I said, and then stopped, afraid I was offending him. I didn’t seem to be, so I continued, “What you’re asking for is a lot of trust that our relationship will continue.”

  “I’m a gentleman, Timothy, not merely a Dom,” he reminded me. “It is the duty of a gentleman to both care for and provide for his courtier. This arrangement”—he pointed to the check—“is ancient beyond measure. And, yes, part of that is supporting you financially.” He sat back and gave me an all-business look. “On Monday, you will put your six week’s notice in.”

  I licked my dry lips, then took a sip of the freshly squeezed orange juice he had provided. “What about my other jobs? The dog training? And the band?”

  “Those are paths for you to navigate. Regardless of whether you continue in one or both of those occupations, you are expected to be an exceptional courtier. Now—eat.”

  Once we finished, he told me to clean the kitchen, do the dishes, and wipe down all the surfaces. He watched me work, but offe
red no criticisms, which I counted a victory. While I worked, I thought about his expectations that I would be quitting my day job so I could do this. I didn’t know how I felt about that. It had taken me six years of shit work to get to my present pay grade. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to just throw that away.

  As soon as I was done, he reattached my lead and led me down the hallway to a gigantic Grecian bathroom tiled almost entirely in black, with black and gold fixtures, and real ivy growing on trellises on the walls. It should have been a dark room, but there were huge skylights overhead letting in glaring streams of sunlight that lit up the soaking tub resting on a raised platform in the center of the room.

  The room was colder than the rest of the house, and that had the obvious effect on me. “Toilet,” he said, leading me there. He waited for me to relieve myself, but I found it impossible to do with him standing there, watching me.

  After a few minutes, he relented and went to run the water in the tub.

  Steam rose from the water, and a scent like lavender filled the air. Tall white candles surrounded the tub on one side, but they were unlit at the moment, and, though I imagined it would be delightfully romantic to take a bath with Master, I sensed he had a specific purpose behind this lesson.

  He commanded me into the soaking tub, which, though deep, was only half-full of fragrant, bubbly water, offering me no real modesty. The way it was designed, it allowed Master to sit comfortably along the extra-wide ledge.

  The water was delightfully hot and sweet, but I said, “I did take a shower before I came here last night, promise. I may look a little unkempt, but I’m not.” I laughed at my little self-deprecating joke.

  He gave me a look that said this was no laughing matter. “Perhaps. But I want to bathe and groom my pet to my specifications. Hands and knees. Now.”

  I blushed at that. Suddenly, I was feeling extremely vulnerable. “Okay.” I settled down on my hands and knees, the water only partially covering me.

  Master’s expression remained stoic, though his attention became increasingly focused as he worked over me. He picked up a soft, natural sponge and ran it down my arms and then my legs, the sensation sensual and ticklish at the same time. He moved unhurriedly over my shoulders and back, squeezing the hot water over my muscles and sponging the suds away.