The look in Zach’s eyes when I open the door of my flat and he sees my outfit is feral.
Just as I expect, given the promising WhatsApps he’s been sending me this morning.
When I come over, will I find my slave girl waiting for me?
I shivered when I saw that. Master Zach hadn’t had his fill of me, it would seem. I replied immediately.
Of course, sir
Good. I look forward to putting you through your paces.
Yesss.
My Sunday is looking up. An afternoon of being put through my paces by Zach? Now that’s my kind of Sunday.
‘Hello, sir,’ I say demurely before turning to lead the way through to the open-plan living area as he shuts the door behind him, trying to rein in my excitement. I may have dressed up a little. Nothing quite as provocative as my Slave Night outfit, but a skimpy lavender lace bralette that shows off more than it conceals and an equally inadequate pair of panties that I suspect he’ll appreciate.
When I glance behind to check, his gaze is indeed glued to my bum. Just as it was glued to my hard and all-too-visible nipples when I answered the door.
Excellent. I’m practically rubbing my hands together in evil glee.
Zach has set this scene in motion, but he has no idea who he’s messing with.
No idea at all.
My master hasn’t quite embraced the theme as wholeheartedly as me. He’s in jeans and a soft navy sweater over what looks like a white t-shirt. Kinky it isn’t. But hot? Definitely.
‘Would you like to go upstairs, sir?’ I ask when we hit the kitchen area. I’m a competent, flamboyant and extremely messy cook, but I’ve tidied up so the place is immaculate.
‘In a sec,’ he answers, his eyes roaming over my practically naked body in a way that’s incredibly predatory and utterly amazing. He steps forward so we’re toe to toe, and I lift my face, expecting him to kiss me. But he slides his hands around my waist instead. They’re cold, and I jump.
‘I want to see how ready you are for your master first,’ he says, and I practically come there and then. He lifts me up and places my bum on the marble island. Again, it’s cold. Ouch.
He steps back and uses his hands to part my legs wide before putting his hands in his pockets.
‘Show me.’
That I can do. I’ve been ready for him since I woke up yesterday morning, sore and used and ecstatic. I pull my thong aside, exposing myself to him. I know he’ll find me slick and ready.
He grits his jaw and steps forward again, slicing a cold finger through my folds. God, it’s heaven. He makes a low noise of approval and jams his finger straight inside me. I gasp at the welcome intrusion.
‘Very good,’ he mutters. ‘Show me your nipples.’
I hook my thumbs under the delicate lace scallops of the bralette and pull it aside as best I can, presenting my taut nipples to him for inspection. He dips his dark head and pulls hard at one, teasing it lightly between his teeth and sending shockwaves of need straight to my pussy, inside which his finger is frustratingly still.
He switches boobs. ‘Have you been in this state all morning?’ he murmurs, his breath warm against my other nipple.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good.’ As a reward, he sucks deeply and brushes a fingertip over my clit. I arch into him while letting out a decadent sigh. God, I love this man unleashing himself upon my body.
‘If I may, sir,’ I venture.
He releases my nipple and my pussy. Bugger. ‘What?’ he asks sharply. His face is right in front of mine, his eyes so blue. I adore this demeanour. I adore it when he’s strict and stern and intense and masterful—it has me so hot. Especially when he does such a rubbish job of masking his desire.
‘I wondered if I could wash you?’ I hesitate, feigning nerves I don’t feel, because this slave-girl version is a lot less brazen than I am. ‘As part of my service to you. It would be my honour to wash every inch of you.’ I drop my gaze pointedly to his jean-clad cock, which is already straining behind his zip, before returning it to his gorgeous face.
He lifts a hand and rubs one of my nipples lazily between his thumb and forefinger as he considers my offer. Given our little scene, I need him to call the shots even if I’ve already masterminded our entire afternoon. He watches me, a crease forming between his brows as I tug on my bottom lip with my teeth.
‘Why not?’ he says finally. ‘In the shower, I assume.’
‘I don’t have a bath,’ I say, ‘so yes. Sir.’
‘That sounds like a good way to put you to work,’ he muses. His mouth is so close to mine. ‘You can get on your knees and wash my cock. And maybe, if you do a good job, I’ll allow you a few seconds of the handheld shower against that sweet pussy. What do you say?’
He swipes a finger through my folds again at the same time as his mouth captures mine, and my strangled yes please, sir is lost in the ferocity of our kiss.
Honestly, being a kinky fantasy slave girl is most enjoyable.
My delicious master has already played with my pussy a little.
He’s made me remove my bra, and he was so happy to have me topless for him that he fondled my nipples a little more, pulling at them till I wanted to scream my head off and telling me how dusky and pretty they were and what a good girl I was.
Next, he had me bend over and pull my thong off, slowly, slowly, while he inspected my pussy a little more from behind with deft fingers that probed and poked at my needy flesh in the hungriest way.
And now, as hot water steams up the enormous walk-in shower in my bathroom, he commands me to pull off his sweater and his t-shirt, revealing miles of golden skin and soft hair over taut muscles. I want to bury my face between his pecs. I’m hoping the shower will give me the opportunity to grope every millimetre of him, because he truly is gorgeous.
I lay his tops to one side and make quick work of his socks before unbuckling his jeans as he watches me with wild, hungry eyes. I slide them down his legs before hooking my thumbs into the waistband of his boxers with as much control as I can muster. Then they’re down, and his glorious cock is springing free for me, hard and proud, veined and ridged. I wonder how long he’ll make me wait before I can hop on it. Lower myself down until I’m impaled on every inch.
‘Come on,’ he says, tugging me into the shower by the arm. My enormous shower enclosure is my pride and joy, with a massive raindance shower head as well as a hand-held one (every girl needs one). He positions himself right under the torrent of water, and I watch in drooling delight as he throws his head back and shoves his hands through his hair.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
In this stance, the guy literally looks like a god, his pecs and lats on full display and that majestic erection jutting straight at me, begging me to sink to my knees. But I stand on the periphery of the spray, hands by my sides, and await instructions until he says, ‘Wash me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I say gratefully, pumping a copious amount of my favourite Aesop shower gel onto my hands and soaping them up.
‘Back first,’ he orders. He has far more self-control than me. That hard-on looks painful. But I scurry around him and reach up, soaping down his elevated arms before smoothing the lather over the muscular planes of his back. I watch lasciviously as the suds float downwards to the hollows of his arse. Holy fuck, I’m drooling.
I do what I’ve wanted to do for ages and cup them. Much as I love being banged senseless from behind, I do enjoy a good arse-grope when a man is thrusting on top of me. I’ve missed that so far with Zach.
They’re gorgeous. Hard muscle, soft skin, the tiniest bit of fuzz. Mmmm. I soap them very thoroughly. ‘Permission to rub my nipples against your back, sir?’ I ask breathily.
He grits out a granted, and I step on up, pressing my boobs to his skin and shimmying so my stiff nipples brush back and forth. Mmm. As I do so, I slip a lathered-up hand between his firm cheeks and slide my fingertips between them, grazing over the clenched ring of muscle there before locating his taint and massaging it. I’m banking on it being so good for him that he’ll be in no place to berate me for overstepping.
And what do you know?
I’m right.
He drops his arms to his sides and sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth as I move, and rub, and massage. I’m in a dreamlike state beneath the downpour as my wet body undulates behind his, my tits against his back and my lower stomach brushing against his cheeks. And when I brush a tentative knuckle over the delicate fold of skin holding up the back of his balls, he jumps.
‘Come here,’ he says, his voice harsh. Uncontrolled.
‘Yes, sir.’ I slink around his body, making sure to brush my nipples over his upper arms as I do, and stand in front of him. I stare up at him, marvelling at the beauty of his particular take on the male form. He’s divine. His lashes are dark and wetly starry, his eyes practically all pupil, and his expression predatory as he takes me in. Water’s streaming down my body, slicking my hair down my back.
‘Wash my front,’ he says, ‘quickly. Then get on your knees and suck my dick.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Yippee! I practically bounce over to the shower gel and pump away before smearing the lather languidly over his pecs. I rub in a circular motion, admiring their firmness, how well they fit my palms. My thumbs flit over his nipples and he hisses.
Hmm.
He likes that.
Noted.
Obviously, I do it again. I don’t take my gaze off him as I squish my hands under his arms and soap up his armpits before caressing the domed bulk of his shoulders in huge, opulent swirls. Over his biceps I go, down taut forearms, before returning to his stomach. Rivulets of water pour over soft skin and hard muscle. I lather him up before running a fingertip down the trail of dark hair that leads straight to his beautiful cock.
He’s been watchful, quiet, so far, but as I finally wrap my fingers around his length and reach underneath to his tight, full sac with my other hand, he emits a low, unwilling groan that thrills me.
Nothing to see here. I’m just washing my master.
I let my hand roam up and down his length, careful to keep my touch as light and languorous as it’s been on the rest of his body.
And then I hold back a smirk and get to my knees in front of him.
My mouth is right in front of his cock. It’s so close I could stick out my tongue and lick up his slit. I can tell that’s exactly what he’s expecting me to do, because his entire body braces, tenses, in expectation.
Instead, I plaster an innocent look on my face as I reach for one rock-hard, gorgeous thigh, my fingers skating over hair-covered quads and hamstrings and adductors. Bloody hell, this guy is tense.
I’m going to make him blow so hard.
I busy myself with washing his leg, careful to keep my mouth exactly where it is and wondering just how long it will take Mr Sexy McMaster to cave.
‘Forget my leg. Suck me,’ he orders.
There it is.
Just like clockwork.
I look up at him and bat my eyelids. ‘Yes, sir,’ I say breathily. The torrent of water has washed the suds off him, which is good, because I much prefer the taste of dick to the taste of Aesop. I dart my tongue out and lick up his slit as I’ve been dying to do. It cuts through his soaking flesh like a hot knife through butter, and there’s definitely pre-cum under all that water.
Delicious.
He groans as I lick him like a popsicle, his wetness allowing my mouth to move slickly over him. I can’t keep my eyes on his face as I take more of him inside me because, you know, physical human limitations, but I do raise a hand and drag my nails down that glorious stomach and through the short curls at the base of his dick before wrapping my hand around his length.
I lever his dick upwards and give him a long lick up the ridged vein on its underside. He brings his hands to my hair, smoothing it off my face before sliding over my ears and jaws so he can take control if he wants it. The spray is hitting me in the face, but it’s all so wet and slippery and glorious that I’m in my element.
I’m like a pig in shit, basically, naked and soaking and on my knees for this man, sliding his cock in and out of my mouth, licking and sucking and even dragging my teeth lightly over his length. And I’m so turned on. Every drop of water on my nipples is torture. I’ve clenched my thighs together without realising it. His balls feel full and fucking perfect as they sit heavily in the cradle of my hand.
‘Would you like it soft or hard, sir?’ I enquire, sliding him out of my mouth.
‘Hard,’ he manages. He’s looking down at me as if I’ve just discovered string theory. I suspect, much though it pains me, that the way I’m looking up at him is not dissimilar, because he is male beauty personified. I drink him in from this excellent viewpoint as greedily, as lasciviously, as I can.
‘Then fuck my mouth, sir,’ I say, the politeness of my request squarely at odds with the filth of my offer.
He studies me for a long moment, his innate sense of respect warring with the character he’s embodying and, I suspect, the inner beast he’s allowing out to play today. I nod to show him I’m serious, and he closes his eyes for a moment, then tightens his grip on my skull.
I take him in my mouth once again and suck hard, like he asked. And then he’s pulling me in towards him, driving his dick further into my mouth, so far I have to employ herculean effort not to gag. But God, the way he’s using me, fucking my mouth like this hole exists purely for his pleasure, like he’ll die without this hot, wet place I’m providing.
The best bit? He sounds like he’s dying, too. The echoes of his primal moans and grunts fill the shower enclosure. This guy is letting rip. Every vestige of control, of restraint has evaporated leaving only his blind need. Whether it’s his need to gratify himself, or to forget, or to obliterate every last one of his demons, I don’t know.
But as I take it all, nose-breathing and gasping and sucking, my free hand clawing desperately at his arse, his thigh, I find my heart so happy that I’m the one he’s entrusted with the side of himself he hides from everyone else.
I give his firm, gorgeous arse one last smoosh and make my way to the cleft between his cheeks, sliding a finger down the wet valley until I find the place I want to breach. The pace with which he’s fucking my mouth is fast and angry, and I can barely keep up, but God knows I’m trying valiantly. I press my finger to his entrance and slip inside him up to my first knuckle.
His ensuing roar is majestic. His body is shaking with its need for release. I take, and I suck, and I probe, and he goes perfectly still before convulsing, driving into me over and over with long, jerky movements and filling my mouth with his hot seed. I work him at his pace until he’s spent and he extracts his dick gently before his hands leave the sides of my head.
He bows his body, curling over me, stroking my shoulder. I remove my hands from their stations and place them flat on his thighs, letting my forehead drop to his stomach as I recover from that pretty fucking vigorous activity. And something warm and bright swells in my chest as he places a palm over mine, squeezing my hand tightly.
We’re still for a moment under the cascade of water as we catch our breath, me on my knees and him standing over me. Until he says the words I’ve been dying to hear.
‘Go get the hand-held and turn it on.’
