by Jamie Knight
“What do you think, pet?” he asked, looking over at me.
I gave a thumbs up, my mouth somewhat occupied by the ball gag. My enthusiasm was partly because, if we timed it right, there wouldn’t be time to get another case before the end of the lockdown, giving us some downtime while we still staying together in the hotel, before real life could come back in full force.
The new case was probably going to be even quicker than the last one. At least, that was what Damien said. Even I could see that the evidence was overwhelming, to the point that I was surprised it had even come to trial.
“The other side is a bit of a crusader,” Damien said.
“Aren’t you?” I asked.
“I’m more of a philosopher. I help bolster what I think is right, though I know when to quit and when to pick my battles. Harris is like a honey badger, attacking anything that comes across his path.”
“Has he ever won a case?”
“Oh, no, not one. He also graduated at the bottom of his class at Harvard.”
“He went to Harvard?”
“Family connections, nothing to do with his ability. That’s one of the disadvantages of always getting what you want. It’s easy to come to expect it to be the order of things when it absolutely is not.”
“Can’t you get everything you want?” I asked.
“Yes, but I choose not to.”
“Why?” I asked, completely confused.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Fun was something my sweet master knew a lot about. He was also very good at surprises.
It wasn’t the first time he had tied me up, though it was the first time I had woken up in that state. My sweet master must have been very gentle indeed while tying me up, though I had to say, he still did a very good job. I couldn’t move at all, and I had already tried. The silk ropes were holding strong. I also couldn’t see.
“No use struggling,” said Damien’s voice. “The ropes are firm. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Yes, master,” I said, settling down.
“You are wearing a sleep mask I have altered into a blindfold. That is why you can’t see,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, not expecting that.
“You will be released, but only after you answer some questions.”
“Yes, master,” I said.
“I want to tell me what you really think.”
“About what?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“About this. About me. About what have we been doing the last month or so.”
“I love it, master,” I said.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered, meaning it in my very soul.
“What was that?”
“Yes, master,” I said, loud and clear.
“Much better. What do you love about what we do? I want specifics.”
“I-I love how you touch me. It makes me feel really good, better than I have ever felt before. I like how you make me work for your cum, and how you treat me rough before you treat me soft.”
“You like the pain?”
“There isn’t really much pain, master. Not real bad pain, anyway. Even the rough stuff, the tying me up and fucking me hard, Even the ball gag. It doesn’t hurt. It can be really intense, but it doesn’t hurt. The spanking hurts a bit, but then it feels really good after. It’s all kinda unpredictable, which makes it really exciting. Oh, and the creativity!”
“Such as?” he asked.
“Well, the flowers, for one. The rose petals, I mean. Making the big pink and white hearts in my bedroom. The blindfolds, so I can’t see but can still feel. The feeling becomes a bit stronger, if I’m honest. The dress-up was pretty fun. Oh, and the butterscotch!”
“That was fun,” he agreed, breaking character just a bit.
“There is no other person I will give my body to than you. I am yours, my master. Completely and forever.”
“What do you like me to do, specifically?” he asked.
My mind reeled, trying to think of the right thing to say. In the end, I decided to just tell the truth and start at the beginning.
“I like it when you suck my toes.”
I gasped as much with pleasure as surprise as, suddenly, my master’s beautiful mouth was gently sucking my big toe, his lovely hands stroking my legs as he did so. Giving my other toe some tender love, he continued stroking my legs, waiting for me to tell him what else I liked. It didn’t take too long for me to work this out.
“I-I like it when you cup and stroke my pussy,” I said.
Caressing his hands up my legs, they came to a rest, meeting on my belly. His right hand then slipped down between my thighs, lightly cupping my wet, aching pussy. I moaned with pleasure and relief. Even his voice made me so horny.
Just silently touching me for a long while, my sweet master began to stroke me in slow, tight circles, making sure to hit my clit with every pass, sending another jolt of pleasure blasting through me. I desperately wanted to moan, but master hadn’t given me permission. I got away with it in the shower, but we weren’t really doing it then. When he tied me up, it was serious, and his word was law. I did not even move without his permission.
I got even wetter just at the thought of Damien in complete control of my body, doing whatever he wanted with me, whenever he wanted. I trusted him entirely. I trusted him with my life. I knew, as well as I knew anything, that he would never harm me.
“I-I also like when I’m not sure if you’re going to let me cum,” I gasped, edging on a moan but not crossing the invisible, forbidden line.
Taking advantage of my new wetness, my master angled his hand and slipped three fingers deep inside me, going up to the third knuckle. After giving me time to get used to being filled up, he started to gently move inside me, working my pussy towards a massive orgasm, taking his time to get there, building up the anticipation, not only of the burst of pleasure exploding behind my eyes every time he made me cum, but of seeing if he would actually allow me to cum. Just when I got to the point that I wanted to scream, he came to a halt, cupping my pussy as I came down.
Eventually, and I couldn’t tell how long, with time passing oddly in the dark, my master started to finger me again, with half as many fingers at half as deep. It took longer than before, but sure enough, I was again at the edge of an orgasm. It was so close, I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t know for sure if he would halt at the last minute. Somehow he managed it again, easing off as I felt the first contractions of what seemed like could be a massive orgasm, coaxing me back down to a resting state.
Then, it happened. Going back in with three fingers all the way in, my sweet master pounded me deep until I was screaming with a body-rocking orgasm.
“Did I say you could scream?” he asked when I had recovered.
“No, master,” I said.
“That was naughty, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, master.”
“You were a naughty girl just then, weren’t you?”
“Yes, master.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, master, I was a very naughty girl.”
“You know what happens to naughty girls, right?”
“They get punished?” I asked.
“Exactly, my pet. I am going to have to punish you.”
“Yes, master.”
I wasn’t sure what he was doing at first. I had never had so many fingers in me at once. All five of them, from what I could tell, though they were in a funny position, as though he were doing shadow puppets. I was already really wet, so they went in pretty easily. What I hadn’t expected, or really thought possible, was just how deep they went, my master continuing to slide in until he was in my tight little pussy up to his wrist.
I bit my lip hard to keep from screaming, especially when he started to move, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It was almost like he was punching me from the inside, only the movements were a lot smoothe
r and gentler than that, working my pussy until there was a burst of pure white light inside the darkness of the blindfold.
I couldn’t be sure, but I was fairly sure I had passed out. The next thing I could remember, Damien was stroking my pussy.
“You okay, baby?” he asked, coming out of his master role.
“Y-yes,” I said, still not fully recovered.
“It’s always tough the first time. It should be easier, and a lot more pleasurable, if I have to do it again.”
“O-okay,” I said, secretly hoping that he would do it again, wondering what I would have to do to make him want to punish me like that again. I was such a good girl by nature, I actually had to plan my misdeeds.
“Would it help if I kissed it better?” he asked.
“Yes, please!” I said.
Working his way down my body, he got his mouth to my pussy, covering it in soft, wet kisses. I hummed with joy, just wishing I could put my hand on the back of his head to urge him on.
Soon, his kisses turned to long, soft licks, caressing the flat of his tongue down the length of my pussy. I did my best not to squirm, even though I wanted to. I did manage to shift myself down a bit though, pushing my pussy even harder against my master’s sweet, loving tongue.
Gradually, he picked up speed until he was absolutely devouring my pussy in a way that made me want to scream. As though reading my mind, Damien put a hand gently over my mouth, the other still working in my pussy. Taking this as permission, I let it all out, the sounds that came up from me muffled by his hand.
Finally, I came down, having hit the peak of ecstasy, my master kissing my pussy as I relaxed. The kisses continued, down one leg to my foot, and then up the other from foot to hip. He dropped in to visit my pussy a bit longer, smothering it with tender kisses like he had before. My master started moving onward and upwards, blazing a trail of wet kisses from my pussy up over my pelvis, across my belly and between my tits, like marks on a map.
He nuzzled my neck, throwing in the occasional lick to make me hum, the head of his cock brushing teasingly against my pussy lips. I wanted it in me so bad, I could feel it, like a weight in my chest. I was pretty sure he knew that and was putting me though an exquisite torture on purpose, to get me ready with anticipation.
I was so wet it almost hurt, the throb in my little cunt getting to fever levels. Finally, my sweet master saw fit to end my beautiful suffering, sliding the head of his cock inside me. I exhaled in a rush, having learned my lesson about moaning, or indeed screaming, without Master’s permission.
Kissing me hard, shoving his tongue into my mouth, he pushed more of his cock in, getting more than halfway inside me. I gasped around his lips, my tongue more than a little occupied at that moment. He fucked me gently, getting me ready for a hard pounding, which was coming soon.
Working up to it, probably so he wouldn’t shock me, my master fucked me hard, pounding his massive cock in my little pussy so hard the headboard slammed against the wall. I started to cum, feeling it coming up from deep inside me. Damien could feel it too, I guess, because suddenly I could see perfectly well, the room itself dark enough not to leave me blinded by the light.
“Look at me,” he ordered as he pumped. “I want to see your expression as you cum.”
“Y-yes, m-master,” I stammered, trying to keep myself together.
It was as sudden as it was it was intense, a wave of nausea the likes of which I had never experienced before, even when Mama would give me cod liver oil, saying that it was good for me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, no doubt seeing the weird look on my face.
“I-I feel sick,” I said, blushing even as the words came out of my mouth.
Untying me, Damien got me into the bathroom, carrying me to make things go faster, and held my hair back, still loose from the shower, as I worshiped at the porcelain throne.
I had been feeling sick for days, particularly in the mornings. I was also really limited and pretty random in what I could stand to eat. I did my best to hide it from Damien, not wanting to worry him; a plan that had clearly backfired.
“Better?” he asked, stroking my back, making me feel very good indeed.
“Yes, master,” I said, weakly but with a smile.
“What’s going on?’ he asked, hitting the flusher.
I had hoped to wait for a good time to tell him, but there really wasn’t going to be any such time. He could probably already guess, so I might as well tell him.
“I-I think I’m pregnant.”
It was the first time I had said it out loud, the full weight of the situation coming down on me all at once.
“I-I’m going to have our baby,” I said, between the oncoming sobs.
Damien held me and kissed me, drying my tears, which were absolutely tears of joy. He was crying too.
“I’m going to resign from the firm,” I said, when we had both calmed down a bit.
“Why would you do that?” he asked, seeming truly shocked.
“Well, I just figured it might be a bit awkward. The assistant you were in lockdown with, showing up pregnant. Tongues might wag.”
“Tongues are always wagging. I don’t care, and neither do they. I’ve already called the partners and told them about us. They were a bit grumpy, of course, but then I reminded them what an asset I am to the firm. They couldn’t help but agree and grudgingly give their blessing. We can both keep working at the office until you’re due. Then, I’ll switch to home-based, only leaving to go into court for the first few months.”
“Will they go for that?” I asked.
“They don’t really have a choice.”
We kissed passionately, and he took me into his warm embrace, making me feel safe and loved.
Epilogue
Damien
Time. One of humanity’s oddest and most enduring constructs. Sure, the space-time continuum would exist without human life, but it wouldn’t have nearly the same flavor or importance, particularly if there were no way to follow it. What would clocks be without clock-watchers?
There were many people watching their clocks, most with great anticipation. The shelter-in-place order that had come with the outbreak was the largest self-isolation in the western world since the Blitz, when the non-evacuated population of London took to the subways to wait out the Germans before going right back out and rebuilding the city exactly as it was. They didn’t know how long they would be there, either.
It started out a month, then two, then six, the rabble becoming even more roused with each addition of time. Humans could be very strange creatures, creatures of habit to the core, reacting with both fear and anger when those habits, those rituals, acquired over a lifetime, were disrupted, even for a life-saving good cause.
Emma and I were fine. We were safely away in our suite and out by the time the lockdown was lifted, when medical researchers finally found a vaccine that had proven to be effective. There were still limits as everybody got jabbed, since there was still a large section of the population that was potentially infectious. Social distancing was still a thing, but masks became optional.
Emma didn’t show very much in the early stages, keeping the potential office scandal to a minimum. Not that anyone was going to say much about it; everyone who might have been spreading rumors though the building had been firmly on my side for years. If anything, they would try and play it up as a good thing, given that the reputation of the firm, more valuable in their business than a transport truck full of solid gold, was at stake.
The quarantine order was lifted entirely a few months after that, just in time for our daughter to be born into a virus-free world.
“Did we ever choose a name?” I asked, looking down with wonder at the tiny new life.
“I don’t think we did. To be fair, we were somewhat busy,” Emma said.
“Too true,” I agreed.
“I’ve always liked Imogen,” Emma said.
“Imogen LeVay,” I said, trying out the sound. “Could w
ork. Sounds like an impressionist painter, but neither of those are bad things.”
“It would also be hard to make fun of,” Emma said.
“Very true. If I had a dollar for every time some smartass put on a demon voice when saying my name, I would have been a billionaire in high school. I seriously doubt any of them had even seen The Omen. So, not only brats, but cultural ignoramuses as well.”
“What is the world coming to?” Emma asked, shaking her head sadly.
Just then, Imogen, as she would soon officially be named, started to move and fuss, as though to say, “I quite agree, Daddy.” It was nice to have consensus.
There were more than enough rooms at home to put in a nursery. It was a mansion, after all. We had to go straight there after we were given the all-clear to leave the hotel that had been home for so long. I drove up there myself.
Emma just about fainted when she saw it. I couldn’t remember if I had told her I lived in a mansion before we left, but her reaction strongly indicated that I had neglected to impart that particular piece of information.
We waited a bit longer for the wedding, not at least for Emma to recover from the rigors of childbirth, and because we wanted very much to enjoy our honeymoon. There was also something of a demand, as weddings, funerals, and every other form of event had been severely limited for most of the year, and there were a lot of people trying to make up for lost time
“When’s the big day?” McKoy asked, leaning on the counter in the break room, cool as the breeze, his tie much looser than company policy allowed.
“Whenever we can get a date,” I said, stirring my latte.
“Are you going to use a wedding planner?”
McKoy dropped his cup, what was left splashing all over the tile floor. I hadn’t hit him. I didn’t really believe in using violence. I had simply fixed McKoy with a look so utterly withering, he actually hit himself.
“What happened to McKoy?” Sandra asked, coming in for her break.
“A serious case of self-chastisement,” I said, casually.
“Looked more like self-flagellation,” Sandra said.