I drip with anticipation. He doesn't disappoint. He comes in fast, holds my waist and smacks me hard, again and again, not stopping until I beg for mercy.
When he gets tired of using his hand, he gets a spatula and starts in all over again. I am groaning by the time he's done. But my thighs are slick and wet from my desire.
"Don't move,” he orders, leaving me bent over the counter.
"What are you doing?” I sniffle as he goes into my cupboard.
He ignores me.
"Are you looking for something?” I persist.
"You'll see.” Brian finds a bowl and sets it on the counter. My stomach does a little flip as I see him open the spigot of the orange juice and pour the contents. He fills the bowl half way.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting you your orange juice."
"What is that, some kind of joke?” I demand as he takes it and sets it down on the floor, right smack in the middle of the linoleum.
He smiles slantedly. I want to smack it off his face, it is so freaking … male. “You seem to have a little trouble with cups."
My mouth hangs open. “You can't be serious."
"I'm very serious, Caroline. I want you down on all fours, with your face in that bowl, lapping like a little kitten."
"No way,” I say, though with my ass burning like it is I am not in a bargaining position. “I changed my mind. I'm not thirsty."
His hand reaches for the spatula. He doesn't need to say a word. I am skating on the thin edge of another whipping. I feel hot and queasy inside. I want to fight, I want to wrestle with things but the other part of me wins out and I go down on to my knees on my own kitchen floor.
His hand is still on the buckle. I regard him, not man, but Master.
"May I tie back my hair?"
"If you have something on you."
I have rubber bands in one of the kitchen drawers. I pull my tousled hair back into a pony tail. My scalp is sore from the hair pulling, though it's something I am sure to ask for again and again.
I drop down to all fours. All I can see is his feet.
"That's it, girl, crawl.” His voice is husky. I want to look up and see if he's aroused. I wait until I get to the bowl and look over my shoulder. He has his cock in his hand.
"Head down,” he orders. “I want slurping."
I do as he tells me. My cunt aches. The juice goes down my throat.
"Good pet,” he praises. “Know what I'm doing."
I can guess.
"I have my cock in my hand. I'm masturbating. That's how much this turns me on. And I know you like it, too. You have this wild side. Come on,” he taunts, “show me. Finish up that juice, get your nose all the way down."
I hear him groan.
I slurp like a good pet. I keep licking at the bowl, not daring to stop until he tells me. I can hear him grunting.
"I'm gonna come,” he says. “All over your back."
"Yes,” I sputter. “Do it, please."
I feel his semen spray on me, on my ass, my back and in my hair. He squeezes out every drop. I feel so incredibly alive.
"Wow, baby.” He yanks me to my feet. His big, sandpaper tongue licks across my face, licking the juice. I spasm deep in my bare pussy. Damn it if I don't have a little tiny orgasm, without even being touched.
There is juice on my breast. He bends his head and consumes it-the juice and the breast. I am in heaven, but I want more.
I hear Thomas telling me to go for it. You can't get what you don't ask for.
"Go down on me?” I whisper. “Please?"
Brian kneels without hesitation. His tongue and mouth know my pussy. They know exactly where to go, like they have been at it a life time.
He works me to fever pitch and then he whispers hot in my ear. “Come, my slut, come for your Master."
I fall against him, shuddering, a silent slow motion scream, invisible weeping, my teeth dug into his shoulder, my crotch exploding, a million mini meltdowns over his hand. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god.
He lets me down easy.
"What are you?” He strokes my hair, hand at the small of my back.
"Your slut."
"What are you going to do for your Master?"
"Obey…"
It's a no brainer at the moment, though it won't last. Never does.
* * * *
Brian carries me from the kitchen, a very sated slave. He cleans me up in the shower and then we go back to bed, clean and dry. I fall instantly to sleep. It's somewhere in this sleep that I have the nightmare.
Thomas is drowning, in a retention pond at one of his own housing developments. I am trying to help him, but there are too many people around, everyone he knows, including Monica. They are all talking about how no one can save him because they have to be one of his registered sex partners, whatever that is.
Monica is telling everyone that she isn't registered in this state.
Brian is there and he hands me my driver's license that he took at the motel. “Read it,” he says.
I look down and see that it's a registered sex partner card and it authorizes me to sleep with Thomas because I am apparently practiced at it. I shake my head at Brian, not wanting Monica to know about this.
"Then you will watch him die,” Brian says.
"It's not fair,” I tell him. “I'm not the one pushed him in."
"But you made him hold all the weight from your past, it's pulling him down like a rock."
I forget about caution and try to help him, but Monica stops me, calling me a whore and demanding I explain myself. I just keep crying about Thomas drowning.
In the end I wake up screaming, in a cold sweat, Brian comforting me.
I am not sure if it's just the dream or the combination of that and the feel of his arms around me, but I come to a decision.
"I need to tell her, Brian."
"Tell who?"
"You know who. I need to tell Monica about Thomas and me."
"You sure you want to do that? At this point in the game?"
"I have to."
"Is this for her?” he asks the same difficult question that is on my mind. “Or for you?"
"Both of us I hope."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Don't let me chicken out."
He gives me a leer and a wink. “That's right up my alley, slave girl."
I roll my eyes. “I should have known better. God, am I always giving you ammunition for dominating me?"
"So far."
"Remind me to stop."
"Don't count on it."
"Didn't think so."
Not that I want him to stop…
CHAPTER VII
A week has passed and I am actually going through with it. I have gotten here, with Brian's help, to Monica's condo and I have told her what I need to about me and her husband, everything.
Monica's not at all where I expected her to be mentally. Her reaction is light years from what I could have predicted.
We are sitting in Thomas’ old den. She's in one of the red leather arm chairs, I'm in the other, she has a pants suit on and I have my familiar jeans and t-shirt.
My bottom is sore. Predictably, I did try and chicken out at the last minute, inducing Brian to give me some incentive. Five blows of his belt. And after that we fucked. The fucking was my idea, to relieve tension.
I wonder if the poor boy knows how badly I am using him.
He doesn't seem to mind, though.
The chairs are turned to face each other, like Point Counter Point. The walls are covered with books. I'm not smoking, although Monica made the offer, pretty graciously, since she doesn't smoke.
The whole thing comes out in a jumble. I forget to stop and breathe at points. Lots of quick stops and starts.
"The thing is,” I say at one point-or remember saying because it all just passes mostly in a blur, “Thomas never … he never meant it to be this way, I'm pretty sure I forced it, well not force, but I know he must have pitied me and it kind of just got a life of its own … oh, god, I wish you could have heard him talk about you, this tore him up, Monica, he loved you, do you know how jealous I got-not because I saw the two of us married-yes, I fantasized, but we're too different from each other, we were too different, I mean…"