Sir has decided that I am to come to him this evening. He was terse on the phone: “You know what I like you in. Wear it. I expect you to walk through the front door promptly at nine.” And then he hung up. But even with those few words, his voice created electrical currents in me, fingers of desire coursing under my skin, my nipples puckering and my pussy throbbing.
Sir wanted me in pvc. Sir desired me in leather. Sir loved me in latex. And of course I always made certain that whatever Sir wanted, Sir got. In spades.
I took care in what I chose to wear for him, wanting to please him totally. First the latex stockings, one on each leg, a second skin stretching up each thigh. Then the matching latex garter belt, clipped to each stocking. No panties this time, I decided, letting my inner slut guide me on that choice. I shimmied into a form-fitting leather skirt and then a matching lace up corset which pushed my breasts high and together. Into my cleavage I dabbed his favourite perfume, a sweet mixture reminiscent of champagne and chocolate he never failed to compliment. I slipped my feet into shiny black stilettos and then pulled on opera length latex gloves. The last item was my collar: simple black leather without decoration.
And as he ordered, I arrived at his home within a minute of nine 0′clock, opening the heavy front door just as his clock was chiming the hour.
My heart beat quickly and my breathing was shallow for I could see him in the front room, stretched back lazily in his favourite chair, running one hand back and forth though the strings of a flogger. Quickly I removed the cloak which had hidden me from the prying eyes of his neighbors, hung it up, and waited for his command, eyes downcast to show my submission.
“Crawl.” That was all he said, just loud enough for me to hear it, and my pussy became even wetter. As gracefully as I could, I lowered myself to my hands and knees and slowly, slowly began to crawl to my Master. The leather swished around me, caressing me, and I heard his breath quicken as he watched. I moved my hips back and forth deliberately, like a cat, exaggerating my movements so that he could see how I had dressed for him.
At his feet, I stopped. He placed one booted foot on my back and pressed me down to the wooden floor. I did not resist him. And then I felt him lean over me and clip something to my collar, a leash, and he hauled me up roughly by it.
“Please me, slut,” he ordered. “Lift your skirt.”
I leaned over, caught the hem, and pulled it up over my hips, revealing my naked pussy to him.
“No panties,” he observed dryly. “Why am I not surprised, slut?”
“Because I am a whore, Sir,” I whisper. I can feel the moisture pooling between my thighs, feel the wetness dripping downwards. He reaches forward and shoves two fingers into the slick folds of my pussy lips, pinches my hard clit, and proceeds to shove the fingers up into my cunt. I gasp at how good it feels. He snorts derisively.
“You most certainly are, ” he agrees. “I think whores need a firm hand to bring them under control, don’t you?”
I nod, my cheeks flushing with shame and desire. He withdraws his fingers and brings them to my face, softly caressing my lips with them, before shoving them into my mouth. I lick them, tasting me, tasting his skin. With his other hand he pushes me back down to my knees, one leather clad leg between them. I can feel the smooth leather just beneath my streaming pussy, and push down so that my cunt rests on his shin. With a moan, I move back and forth, just a little, teasing my clit, and licking his fingers.
I did not think he noticed but I was wrong. He let me continue a minute more before he withdrew his fingers and then shoved my head down to his leg where my cunt had been. The leather was slick and shiny with my juices.
“Look what you’ve done, slut.” His tone was low and casual, a warning to me. “Clean it up.” He grabs me by the ears and moves my face into the wetness. This has caught me by surprise and I whimper a bit.
“I. Said. Clean. It. Up!” His tone is still casual but the enunciated words indicate he is losing patience with me and whatever punishment he has in store for me will be worse now. He grabs my hair, winding it tightly around his fingers, hurting me, pushing my face into the leather. I run my tongue and lips over it, tasting myself, cleaning as best I can. I do not stop until he orders it.
Still holding the hair at the back of my head, he pulls me upward with him, to our feet. “Who do you belong to?”
“You, Sir,” I pant. He is hurting me but it feels so good.
“You’re my fucking slut, aren’t you?” He demands.
“Yes, oh yes,” I whimper.
“You are my slut and my whore. You belong to me.” This time it is a statement. “And I am going to punish you for what you just did.”
He lets go of my hair and I stumble a bit. He pushes me towards the arm of his leather couch and this time I do trip, falling onto it. My skirt is still above my waist and now my ass is sticking up in the air. He has quickly moved to grasp my wrists and place cold steel handcuffs on them. I look up to see that the cuffs are attached to a rope tied elsewhere. As I realise that I cannot move my arms back, I feel him at my ankles, securing them to the legs of the couch. I am immobile and I am helpless.
And then he stuffs a ball gag into my mouth and fastens it behind my head. I had not expected a gag. We had talked about it before but had never tried it. I am scared by this but also excited. I have absolutely no control; it is all his.
And then the flogger hits my bare ass, lightly to begin with and then building in speed and intensity. The warmth changes. He stops momentarily and then strikes hard with a paddle. I shriek at that, but cannot move, cannot do anything. He keeps the intensity up, and I am crying, sobbing into the gag, saliva pouring out of my mouth around it. Just when I think I can’t take it a moment more, he stops. I wonder what he is going to hit me with next. My ass cheeks feel like they are on fire. I hear the zip of his pants and then feel the length of his hard thick cock pushing roughly into my streaming cunt. He slams in and out of me, grabbing my hips to firmly control me, his fingers biting into my skin.
“You fucking slut,” he pants hoarsely, “you are mine and I can do what ever I want with you.”
I moan in agreement, feeling his cock thick and hard, pulsing. My cunt walls try to grab him, to keep him deep within me. The harder he pushes, the more he hurts me, the better it feels.
“Cum for me, slut,” he orders. “NOW.”
And I do, spasms racing through me, delightful, wonderful spasms. And then I feel him cum, too, deep hard warm spurts of cum joining with the cum already streaming over his cock. He falls atop of me panting, kissing and nipping at my neck, running his hands up and down my arms, caressing the latex and the woman he loves so much.
