Good Little Sex Slave
It’s Friday morning, and I’m sitting at my desk, slaving over a spreadsheet when the phone rings.
“Hello,” a voice replies with a chuckle, “and how’s my little sex slave today?”
Instantly, I put down my calculator and adjust my posture so I’m sitting ramrod straight with my shoulders back and my breasts thrust forward.
“Hello, Master,” I reply. “Your little sex slave is pleased to hear from you.” It’s the response he wants. If I weren’t alone in my office, or rushing to meet a deadline, I would tell him, and he would understand. Master is extremely considerate.
As I listen to his voice, my heart begins to pound. I can feel my nipples swell with arousal, and there’s a sweet tension gathering in my pussy.
“Yes, Master,” I respond when he has finished. “Your little sex slave understands and will obey.”
The rest of the day is a dead loss. I’m too wrought up to work. I’m constantly fighting the impulse to go into the bathroom, find an empty stall and jill off.
Eventually I remember that I already had plans for the evening. I was going out to dinner with my boyfriend Scott.
“Sorry, darling,” I say when I finally call him. “I have to work late. A client presentation has just been moved up. I may even have to come into the office Saturday and Sunday.”
“I understand,” he says. The obvious disappointment in his voice pleases me. He really is a good boyfriend, so trusting and honorable. I should feel guilty about deceiving him. Instead, I put a sexy lilt into my voice and say, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, too. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’m planning a very special surprise.”
“Oh,” he says, perking up. “A surprise.”
I picture myself opening the door to let him into my apartment. I’m wearing towering heels and a lacy little body suit, so snug he can see my nipples and snatch through the gauzy fabric.
When he steps inside, I move into his embrace, pressing my tits into his chest. His hands clasp my ass cheeks and delve into my cleft. We fuck right there on the living room carpet. Eventually he carries little me into the bedroom, throws me on the bed and ravishes me repeatedly. By the time he’s finished, I’m covered in cum, and there’s a big smile plastered on my face.
The image is so vivid that for a moment I lose track of the conversation. With a shudder, I force myself back to reality. “Scott, honey,” I say, “I really must get back to work. I’ll call you when things settle down.”
“Well, all right,” he says, clearly reluctant to break the connection. “I’m looking forward to your surprise.”
As I get off the phone, I think about how proud Master would be. Before I met him, I was a real cock tease. Now, I guess you could call me a cock please. Scott doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to join a growing legion of men I’ve picked up and fucked in anonymous hotel rooms and cars, one time in a back alley behind a bar and another time in a supermarket parking lot. But like Master says, you can’t be a good sex slave if you don’t practice.
Five o’clock finally comes around. After thinking about cock all day, I leave work right on time. I mustn’t be late.
Master lives across town about forty minutes away. I first visited his house about six months ago. I was jogging in the park when this incredibly gross looking middle-aged man came up alongside me. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and was incredibly hairy. His belly hung over the waistband of his shorts and bounced up and down as he huffed and puffed, struggling to keep pace with me.
I was about to race away when he reached out and swatted me on the ass. I felt a sharp stinging sensation where he touched me, and the next thing I knew I was lying on the ground. A handsome, muscular guy with chiseled abs stood over me, looking down with anxious concern.
“Thank you, Master, you saved me,” I said, still dazed. “You made that horrible man go away.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “It finally worked.”
I thought he would lift me up, enfold me in his muscular arms and carry me off. Instead, he grabbed me under my armpits and hoisted me to my feet, guiding me to his car, a roomy old Buick sedan with torn upholstery.
I spent the entire weekend at his house, wearing a frilly white apron and towering heels, cooking and cleaning for Master and being fucked. Once he even took me at the kitchen sink, bending me forward and penetrating me from behind while I scrubbed the pots and pans.
Master finished with a grunt. Leaning forward, his hand scooped up some soapy dishwater and splashed it on my tits. “Come for me,” he said, and tweaked my nipples hard.
My orgasm was so intense I would have collapsed onto the linoleum floor if Master’s strong arms hadn’t held me to him. Just remembering it now makes me tingle all over. It’s all I can do to restrain myself from pulling off the road and playing with myself.
Master lives in an old industrial suburb next to a boarded up factory. As I pull up, I’m glad to see he’s left the garage door open. The last time I parked in the driveway someone stole my tires.
The moment I walk in the door, I undress, shed the dull shapeless clothing I’ve worn all day. My tits emerge first. They’re large, with big, hungry nipples just begging to be sucked.
Then I step out of my skirt and remove all my undergarments that insulate my cunt from the world. My pussy is already moist, and the lips are slightly parted in anticipation.
Naked at last, I get down on my hands and knees and crawl across the carpet, taking care to keep my ass raised in the air as I’ve been taught. Like the bitch in heat I am, my holes are fully exposed.
I cross the threshold into the bedroom and wait, trembling. Master’s seated on a high-backed wicker chair and wearing a long, green robe. He’s tall and muscular and incredibly virile, and there’s a cruel smile on his face as he orders me to get on my belly and crawl.
Instantly, I do his bidding. I drop to the floor so my breasts, belly and thighs press into the thick carpet. Thrusting my pelvis and shoulders from side to side, I undulate like a serpent. The nap scratches my skin, and I can feel my breasts and cunt growing so inflamed I can barely stand it.
Finally, I reach his feet, with my forehead pressed up against his toes. For what feels like an eternity, my world is nothing but the heavy pounding of my heart and the throbbing of my cunt. Then he orders me to rise to my knees.
My breasts hang out in front of me, heavy and swollen with lust, and the nipples are as large and dark as bing cherries waiting to be devoured.
“Why are you here?” he demands.
“Because I’m a sex slave who has to be punished,” I tell him. “I want to fuck every man I see.”
“Silence,” he roars, standing up and letting his robe fall behind him.
He’s so hard and muscular, I can’t stand it. His cock is like a steel rod.
“Begin,” he commands, and I place my mouth on his foot and tongue the length of it, completely covering him with saliva, making sure I get the cracks between each of his toes.
After a while my jaw muscles ache, but it’s a good honest pain. The more I lick the more the saliva flows. I’m like a fountain. My cunt is so wet, the juices are running down my leg.
Eventually, I work my way up to his stomach. I’m proud of how thorough I’ve been. Naturally, I don’t touch his cock. That requires special permission, although I would give anything right now to take it in my mouth and feel its hardness scrapping my throat.
Instead, he turns around and gives me his ass. Bitch that I am, I immediately bury my face in it, licking and nuzzling the cheeks, delving into the cleft and probing with my tongue. If I were permitted, I would do far more.
Finally, he turns to face me once more. Still on my knees before him, I look up at him through glassy eyes. My tongue hangs from my mouth, lolling like a dog’s.
“Lindsay,” he thunders, and my heart almost stops when Master calls me by my other name. It’s so unexpected and yet so obvious. Lindsay and Little Sex Slave are one and the same. My two identities have fused into one. From now on, when someone calls me Lindsay, they’re talking to my cunt.
Master puts his foot on the top of my head and pushes me down until my forehead is pressed to the carpet. I don’t dare look up, but I hear him moving behind me. I don’t know if he intends to fuck me or flog me.
My master is kind. He fucks me. His cock slips into my wet cunt, and he rams all the way in. I can’t resist. I moan like a bitch, and within three strokes, I’ve climaxed. It’s so intense I see sparks before my eyes.
But Master doesn’t care. He keeps the fuck rhythm going. His hands clench the flesh of my buttocks, grabbing handfuls as he runs his cock in and out. I come again. I’m helpless, a mere rag doll impaled on his rigid pole.
But then he pulls out, and almost immediately I feel his cock jab against my asshole, searing the flesh as it penetrates. I know better than to cry out or squirm, and after a few moments the pain eases, replaced by a pleasure that grips my bowels and suffuses me.
I’m so primed, I come again, shaking and spasming to the very core of my being. I want to cry tears of gratitude. But we are far from done. I feel my head being lifted to the level of his groin, and he presses his massive rod to my face. At last! I don’t need to be told what to do.
My lips form around his massive cockhead as I capture his raging glory between my breasts and squeeze them together around his massive member. My nipples are so swollen, they look like they’re ready to burst.
Up and down, I tit and mouth-fuck his massive dick. I can feel the tension growing and taste the salty pre-cum.
Then he explodes. A cannon shot of hot goo hits my face and splatters on my breasts, reeling me into yet another climax.
I fall back, and for a while I just lie there with my legs spread and my arms loose at my side, oblivious to everything around me.
“Lindsay,” I hear my master’s voice from somewhere overhead. “What are you thinking about?
“Master,” I say, looking up with adoration. “I’m thinking about your cock.”