Meet Thy Master 2

He broke the kiss, turned, and walked to the door, flinging it open to the St Kilda evening - the distant rumble of a tram, a shout from Acland Street. He sat in the chair, jeans now unzipped, his cock hard and proud in his hand. "Want the whole fucking street to see the state of you. My wet, desperate little slut."

Her cheeks flamed. He laughed softly, stroking himself, his thumb smearing a bead of precum over the head. The familiar, intimate act she had only ever heard nearly broke her. "Want this, you greedy bitch?"

She could only nod, her throat sealed shut.

"What, pet? Didn't catch that. You don't want it?" he taunted.

Her voice was a hoarse whisper. "Yes… I want that cock. In my mouth. In my ass. I’ve dreamt of it… fucking dreamt of it…"

He surged up, slammed the door shut, and crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her to the bed, shoving her face down into the cheap polyester spread. She heard his jeans hit the floor, then the slick sound of his belt being pulled through the loops. His hand held her down as the cool leather traced the curves of her ass.

The first impact was his palm, cracking against her skin, sharp and shocking. Then three fingers plunged into her, stretching her, followed by a second stinging slap. A low blow from the belt followed, a preview. He quickly bound her wrists with his silk tie, then pulled a blindfold over her eyes - his own scarf, smelling of him. Her world shrank to sound, scent, and sensation.

Then the belt fell, raining blows on her ass, each one a stripe of fire that made her scream into the bedspread. Her cries were met with his low growls of approval. Just when the pain threatened to consume her, he would stop, his tongue leaving the burning welts, a cruel parody of comfort. When she was limp and sobbing, he flipped her over, pressed the cool, hard leather of the belt against her soaking cunt, grinding it into her. "Now, every time I wear this, I'll smell your fucking desperation, slut. You like that?" Her answering gush was all the confirmation he needed.

He shoved her legs apart, his fingers leaving bruises on her inner thighs. Three fingers began a rapid, insistent tap on her clit, building a rhythm, then a slap of the leather there made her back arch off the bed. Pain and pleasure fused into one unbearable need. "Oh, so it's the pain slut tonight, is it?" he murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice. The stinging blows continued on her cunt, her thighs, her stomach, until she shattered, a raw, guttural scream torn from her as her release flooded out, soaking the bed.

He rolled her over, hauled her ass into the air, and in one brutal motion, his cock invaded her ass, stretching her, burning her. At the same moment, the buzzing head of a vibrator was thrust deep into her cunt. She screamed again, the dual violation complete, exquisite. He freed her hands, snarling, "Fuck yourself with it while I wreck this ass." She obeyed, matching his pounding rhythm, the vibe buzzing against his cock through her thin walls. They were animals, grunting, sweating, the room filled with the sounds of their debauchery. With a final, deep roar, his hot cum filled her, and he collapsed on top of her.

After a moment, he rolled off. "The chair. Now. Finish it for me."

Blindfold removed, she stumbled to the chair, her eyes locked on his semi-hard cock. Her fingers found her swollen, sensitive clit, her other hand thrusting inside her ruined pussy, just as he had taught her over the phone. She was close, so close.

He saw it, stroking himself back to full hardness. "Don't you dare come yet, you greedy fucking whore."

He was on her in an instant, his fist winding in her hair, yanking her head forward onto his cock, shoving it deep down her throat as he simultaneously thrust the vibe back into her cunt. She gagged, moaned, her lips stretching around him. When his grip loosened, she took over, sucking him with a hunger that shocked her, scraping her teeth along his shaft, swallowing his taste. He pulled her off, sat in the chair, and dragged her down onto him. "This is it, slut. What all the whispering was for."

She sank onto him, his cock stretching her impossibly wide. She rode him with a frantic, savage energy, her nails clawing his chest, her screams muffled against his neck. She milked his cock, squeezing him tighter than she thought possible, and when her orgasm hit, it was a seismic event, a wordless, guttural roar that tore through her.

As she convulsed around him, he lifted her off, spun her around, and shoved her to her knees. One last, hard stroke of his own hand and he came, jets of hot cum striping her back, her hair, her bruised ass, marking her, claiming her with his scent.

He slid down to the floor beside her, gathering her trembling body against his, whispering into her hair. He had unmade her. She turned her head, a faint, exhausted smile touching her bruised lips.

"Sir," she whispered.