Page 10 of His Master

“God, you’re a natural,” Victor said, his voice strangled, as he continued to thrust.

I was certain he would come down my throat, but he surprised me by pulling out. I glanced up at him with glassy, tear-filled eyes as I sucked in air, a little hurt that he wouldn’t take his pleasure in my throat.

Victor had other things in mind, though. I could tell I’d ignited something in him by the way he looked down at me with lust and craving in his eyes.

He didn’t say anything when he grabbed me under one arm and wrenched me unsteadily to my feet. I sensed he was beyond words as he dragged me over to the curving, leather sex couch, pushing me forward over it.

“Not what I had planned,” he whispered harshly, mostly to himself, like a few words of what he was thinking slipped out of him.

I was tumbled forward over the couch, ass high in the air, my position too awkward to move. I didn’t want to move. I went completely pliable as Victor shoved my legs apart, opening my obscenely wet hole to him. I didn’t make a single move to protect myself or to escape as he moved behind me, grasping my hips, and guiding his cock to my hole.

I cried out when he thrust into me, hard. It was sudden and fierce, like he just wanted to fuck something and didn’t carewho or what I was. I wasn’t in heat, so my hole wasn’t as loose and open as it could have been. The thickness and aggression of his cock felt like it was splitting me open. I stretched painfully, feeling violated and dirty as he pumped deeper and deeper into me, rearranging my insides.

I wept uncontrollably as he fucked me like he was going for a record. We hadn’t been in his apartment for more than ten minutes, and already I was being used like a sex toy. It hurt a little, but felt so, so good. I was folded over in a humiliating position, not really a part of Victor’s pleasure.

I loved it so much. It was everything I’d dreamed of and more. My tears were tears of joy as Victor thrust and grunted, gripping my hips to the point of bruising. My hard cock rubbed against the leather of the couch, but I willed myself not to come. And when Victor grunted as he started to come, I cried even more, feeling as though I’d finally,finallyfound my place in the world.

When Victor’s orgasm faded, he slumped over me for a moment, panting. I also thought he was breathing my scent in. His cock remained inside me, and I mourned the fact that we weren’t knotted. I wanted to give my master my heat, let him knot me, and give him as many breeding orgasms as he could handle. He was my master. Those things were his to have.

I felt bereft when he pulled out. I didn’t move. He hadn’t told me to. I just lay where I was, panting with the painful need to come, but willing myself not to.

As if he could sense my efforts, Victor pulled my hips back enough so that my rigid cock stood out from my body, pressed against the black of the couch as it dripped.

“Good, good, boy,” Victor panted, trying to find his breath. “Still hard and wanting.”

As if to test my resolve, he stroked the underside of my cock. I moaned at the pleasure, but fought not to come even a little bit.

Victor pushed my legs farther apart, then took a few steps back. He was silent for a moment, but I knew what he was doing. He was looking at me as my hole dripped slick and his cum, and as my cock dripped onto the floor under me. I could feel the tickle of liquid running slowly down my inner thighs.

“A work of art,” Victor said, repeating his earlier statement. “I think I’ll call it ‘Slutty Slave’. I should have known you’d be a perfect, submissive whore when I picked you out to be mine.”

His words were absolutely designed to shame and humiliate me, and they did. They also made me feel so, so good in a way I’d only dreamed of. I was a perfect, submissive whore, even though I cringed at that word. My master could use me however he liked, and I would relish it.

“I’m just going to look at my handiwork while I have refreshments,” Victor said.

I heard him move into the kitchen. The sink ran for a minute, making me think he was cleaning himself up, then the fridge opened and closed. I listened to him fix some sort of snack, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, fill a tea kettle so he could make tea.

I was relatively certain he was deliberately taking his time while I lay limp over the sex couch, hole still dripping, cock still hard. Yes, still hard, because showing subservience to my master by remaining perfectly still and debauched aroused me so much I thought I might lose my mind with need.

After a few minutes, I heard Victor bring a chair around, then sit about six feet behind me. He hummed with pleasure, then sipped whatever drink he’d made before saying, “Beautiful.”

I could only imagine what I looked like, spread the way I was. I could feel rivulets of my slick and his cum all the way down my thighs to my calves now, which was mostly because my hole was still producing slick like I was desperate to be fucked again. Because I was. My cock was still painfully hard, and I imagined my hole was red and stretched and fucked-out.

“Do you want to come?” Victor asked after a few minutes.

“Yes, Master,” I panted, feeling like I could if he gave the order.

He hummed, then said, “Yes, you look like you do. But not yet. I want you to come with my cock in you, so I can feel it, and I’m not quite ready to go again yet.”

“Yes, Master,” I moaned, letting my disappointment and desperation show in my voice.

I couldn’t say why, but I knew he liked that.

“I have some work to do right now, but I’ll allow you to hold my cock while I get it done,” he said.

“Thank you, Master,” I said.

I heard him catch his breath slightly. I worried that I’d poured it on too thickly, that I was getting way over-involved in the fantasy. Were people supposed to go all-in when they played this way? I’d always gotten the impression that Hayden had played with a wink and a nudge, not truly serious about his scenes, even when he’d met Mason through a fantasy. Was I doing it wrong by throwing myself completely into my slave role?

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