A Christmas Present for Karen

He climbed onto the bed and stood with his feet either side of her body. Holding his cock in his left hand, he pointed to it with his right and said,

"You see that?" She nodded. "From now on this is to your god, your reason for living and everything you do will be guided by the need for you to pay homage to and satisfy its needs. Do you understand?"

He was aware his words were at the outer limits of hyperbole, his cock wasn't a god and she wouldn't be expected to treat it as such, but at that moment, standing over her vulnerable body, he was feeling powerful and if a little hyperbole would serve to establish the nature of their relationship, he was prepared to use some.

"I do."

Still standing, he leant down and pulled back the covers; once more leaving her totally exposed. Without thinking, she crossed her hands over her exposed cunt, only to have them roughly pulled away.

"Don't do that. Don't you realise I'm your master and you have to comply, without objection, with whatever I tell you to do? You are not allowed to cover yourself. From this moment on you have to provide me full access, at all times, to your mouth, cunt and tits. Do you understand?"

It wasn't what she had expected, but it was she who had introduced the subject and if he was to be her master and she his slave, she had to agree.

"Yes, I do, Chris. I do."

"Good, I'm glad that's settled."

He looked at her; he knew she hadn't thought too deeply about the consequences of the master-slave relationship and what it would entail, but he had and he needed to set the ground rules as quickly as possible.

"In future whenever we're at home, with the exception of a dress, you have to be completely naked and available. Do you understand?"

She nodded; it was a surprise to be met with a demand which had obviously been inspired by the 'Story of O', but if being available meant being fucked by him, she had no objection. He watched her closely, she was nodding, but it was clear she was still trying to assess the situation.

"Take off that corset thing you're wearing."

"It's called a bustier."

"Bustier, then."

She sat up and removed the bustier, undoing the laces which ran down the front of the garment and as it dropped, crossing her arms under her tits in an effort to support them, worried the inevitable sag would destroy the illusion.

"What did I tell you? Drop your arms."

She complied and felt her tits settle against her chest. She looked down at them; wishing they didn't droop as much; and then at his face, searching for evidence of his disappointment.

"Lie on the bed, face down."

Pleased he hadn't remarked on her tits; she turned over and waited in position for fifteen to twenty seconds; wanting to look at him, but determined to obey his instructions.

Whack. He hit her bum, not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to sting and hard enough to raise a red wheal the shape of a hand. She hadn't expected it and her first reaction was to turn and confront him, but before she did, she realised he was testing her and if she was not going to fail the test at the first hurdle, she had to remain silent.

The next thing she felt was cool air blowing over the wheal; followed by a wet tongue and then a series of kisses all centred on the now stinging area of her bum.

"You know, you've got a beautiful bum, it's a real woman's bum, wide and plump. Do you know why I think it's beautiful?"

She didn't know. Since puberty she had worried about her weight; worried her bum was too big, too fat and now she was being told it was beautiful.

"It's because it gives women, for want of a better word, their 'womanness'. You've got what my grandfather used to call 'child-bearing hips'."

A size fourteen going on sixteen, she was much fatter than conventional ideals, but not so fat she would have been out of place in a Renaissance painting. He had loved his size six wife, but, over time, had come to realise what really excited him were curvaceous women, not obese women, but women with big tits, big bums and small waists. If he'd had to choose a woman who embodied his ideal it would be a woman like his mother or sister or the woman lying on the bed. For Karen his change in attitude was welcome, for the last thirty minutes he'd been brusque, now he was being nice and she liked nice, but why his attitude had changed, had perplexed her.

He caressed her bum, stroking it, gently squeezing and massaging it with his fingers and the palms of his hands. It wasn't a lie; she did have a beautiful bum and sooner or later he would violate it, but for now he was content to play with and even praise it.

"Play with yourself."

It was a command and although issued in a milder tone than he had used previously, she realised it was another test and both knew, if she obeyed him without demurring, she would have ceded control and he would truly be her master. She didn't know how to respond; she'd done it many times before; even played with herself while fucking; but had never done it on command and had never performed in front of a third party whose only role was that of a spectator.

"But....."

"No 'buts'; I told you to do it."

She wasn't sure she could, but if she was ever to fulfil her fantasy, it was essential she obeyed him. She licked her fingers, parted her nether lips and started to play with her clit.

"Not like that. I want to see everything. Prop yourself up against the bedhead and bend your knees and spread your legs."

Slowly and deliberately, she pulled herself to the head of the bed, her mind working feverously as she tried to reconcile her conflicting emotions. By the time she had worked her way to her destination, she had accepted being the star of a one-woman show; the excitement she would get from having him watch her play with her clit and work her fingers in and out of her cunt far outweighing her reservations.

He watched, waiting until she was in position, before he issued his command.

"Open your legs and show me your cunt."

Smiling, she complied, sitting upright on her bum, her legs akimbo and her cunt totally exposed. Using both hands, she parted her labia, exposing the pink, inner sanctum. It was glistening; providing him with clear evidence of her state of excitement and mirroring the feelings he was experiencing.

"Put your fingers in your cunt and fuck yourself."

It wasn't what she usually did when she played with herself, she usually played with and teased her clit before inserting a finger and most times she didn't even do that, preferring to use her friend, with his whirring, rotating motion and his

tiny, vibrating fingers, but he had issued an order and in theory at least, she was bound to obey it. She was happy to comply, but she wanted to have some fun of her own, merely sticking her finger into her cunt would excite her, but her involvement would be passive and she wanted to interact with him.

Watching him intently, her eyes indicating an underlying amusement, she inserted a finger into her mouth, wrapped her lips around it so that her lips formed a circle and slowly slid the finger in and out of her mouth. It took only a few seconds for his face to indicate her performance was turning him on. Satisfied she'd shown him that, although she'd agreed to be his slave, it didn't mean she wasn't going to take an active, albeit limited, role in their sex games, she removed the saliva coated finger from her mouth, slid it into her cunt and started to finger-fuck herself.

If her performance had aroused him it had also aroused her and it didn't take long for her to reach the point where the solitary finger wasn't enough and in response, she inserted an additional finger and then a second. She liked a feeling of fullness in her cunt and at one time, she had entertained the notion of emulating Rachel, who had been able to insert all five fingers, but the most she'd managed to accommodate was four and then it had been Rachel's slim fingers rather than hers. It had been exciting watching Rachel's fingers disappear into her void and later in the relationship, she had found it even more exiting when, encouraged by her Rachel, she had managed to insert all five of her fingers into her lover's cunt, but when pleasuring herself, she preferred to use two or three.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, watching and listening to the sounds of fingers playing in a pre-cum soaked cunt, Chris was enjoying himself. Watching a woman masturbate turned him on; he'd watched his last lover, a closet exhibitionist do it many times, including a number of occasions when she'd pleasured herself as they'd driven along the free-way, and while it had always been exciting it hadn't been the most erotic incident he'd experienced. Early in their marriage, he'd secretly watched his wife as she'd played with herself while lying on the living room floor and watching a pornographic video. Watching Karen do it to his command, her face contorted as she worked to reach her climax, matched or even exceeded the thrill he had experienced watching his wife.

He wanted Karen to cum; he wanted to hear and see her replicate the sights and sounds his wife had made as she'd experienced nirvana; the ragged breathing, the stomach muscles contracting, the eyes closed and at the moment of climax, the shivering thighs, the face contorted as if in pain and the high pitched cries of 'yes, 'yes, yes' as her body stiffened in her final throes. Watching his wife had excited him so much had almost cum in his jeans; but he knew he couldn't allow Karen to cum, that it didn't fit his plans for her.

"Stop."

His words carried the weight of a peremptory decree and she stopped. Once again she had been seconds away from her climax and she wanted to ignore him, she wanted to continue, she wanted cum – but he was her master.

"Get up."

Once again there was no 'please' or 'thank you'; just instructions. She got up from the bed and stood as if awaiting further orders; her arms by her side and her face impassive. He said nothing, but left the bed and walked over to her; his hard cock pointing at almost ninety degrees to the horizontal and glistening with pre-cum. She wanted to reach down, grab it, play with it and stuff it in her cunt. She'd enjoyed his mouth and her fingers, even if she hadn't cum, but now she needed his cock and in her cunt.

He reached for her tits and tweaked a nipple. It hurt, but for some reason she found it exciting. He lifted her left tit, released it, let it fall and then repeated the exercise with the other.

"Not much bounce in those."

It was true, but mean. Her tits weren't pert, but they didn't really droop down her body – at least not too far. She knew men found them attractive, particularly when they were supported by her bra and offering the illusion of youth and he certainly hadn't objected when he'd held them the first time.

He paused and for the first time, critically assessed her body. He liked her tits, but wasn't prepared to tell her again; he'd told her once and that was enough. They were womanly and real; he'd seen plastic tits in porn movies and on the stage at the local strip-club and hadn't been impressed; what other men saw in them, he couldn't fathom. Her tits fitted her body; most women with fake tits looked out of proportion and when the owner moved quickly, there was nothing more ridiculous, when compared with the real thing, than the way they hardly moved; their amplitude of motion restricted by their bulk.

If he liked her tits, he thought her nipples were magnificent. He had already admired and lusted after them through her blouse and bra, but in the flesh they were outstanding. He smiled to himself; he hadn't meant to make a joke and one day when he was feeling so disposed, he would repeat the joke to her – but now was not the time.

He reached out and held a nipple, pulling on it and stretching it slightly.

"From now on these are mine."

Doesn't he realise I'm passed child-bearing age, she thought.

"In fact your body is mine to do with as I wish. Do you understand?"

She nodded and averted her gaze, leaving him to contemplate what he would do with her agreement. The situation was new to him, but almost instantly, he had developed a list of uses to which to put her body and the longer he thought about it, the more bizarre and erotic they became. He decided to share one with her.

"You and your body are mine and I've just had a thought about how I'm going to ensure you really understand you're mine. I'm going to have you tattooed. As soon as we can, we're going into Bangor to find a tattoo parlour and I'm going to have you tattooed with my name, either on your tits – from what I can see there will certainly be enough space - or, perhaps, just above your cunt."

He paused, picturing the results and watching her face. Perhaps he would have 'Chris' tattooed on the right tit and 'Marsh' on the left and just high enough for some of the tattoo to show above the top of her swimsuit or bra. He would enjoy having her wear a low cut swimsuit and watching her reaction to the faces of her friends when they saw it. How she would explain it to her friends he didn't know; he was certain she wouldn't tell them the whole truth, but whatever she did was going to be amusing.

She ought to have been horrified by his pronouncement as she'd always thought tattoos irrational, the sort of the thing only seen on stone-age tribesmen and sailors and one step removed from a bone through the nose. When Rachel, who had sported mementos of previous love affairs in the form of a butterfly on her bum and a rose on her ankle, had tried to talk her into having one, she'd refused. Now her master; a man she had just met; was proposing a tattoo which, wherever it was placed, could, at best, be described as vulgar. Her first reaction was to object, but the tingling in her cunt and nipples told her that her body was finding the prospect exciting. He continued,

"I was thinking of having my name emblazoned on your tits, but the more I think about it, the more I'm considering making it an arrow which is pointing at your cunt and which is accompanied by words to the effect of 'For the exclusive use of Chris Marsh'." He laughed at the prospect and then continued, "It's much more tasteful than 'Hands off; Chris Marsh's cunt', don't you think? At the moment I can't decide whether it should be on the inside of your thigh or just above your cunt, although I'm leaning towards the latter."

She wasn't sure, whatever he decided it was likely to be painful, but he had the right. She had accepted his dominion over her and her body was now his to do with as he pleased, but if she had her choice, she would prefer his seal of ownership to be emblazoned on tits rather than her belly.

"And what, Sir, shall be the colour of the arrow?"

He hadn't considered the detail, he was still excited by the thought of his mark of ownership, but his extemporaneous reply emphasised, even for an engineer, he was better read than she thought.

"It will have to be red, as befits a scarlet woman.... and with Royal purple lettering to indicate my sovereignty over you. My other demands I will convey to you over time, but right now we are going to fuck or, to put it more accurately, I am going to fuck you."

He reached over, grabbed her left nipple and holding it between his finger and thumb, led her to the bed.

"Lie face down and don't move." He watched as she lay down on the bed – she really did have a great bum. "Where do you keep your scarves and belts?"

"There are two or three belts in the bottom two drawers of the dresser and my scarves are in the closet."

For a couple of minutes she waited as he opened the closet door and then rifled through her dresser; from the sounds apparently opening and shutting all the drawers, and then, silence. She wanted to look, but had clear orders to keep her face down. The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps as he approached the bed.

"Spread your arms and legs."

She complied and flinched when his hand brushed against her bum and his fingers found her clit. She felt his index and second finger slip into her cunt and slowly start to finger-fuck her. She realised she was wet; far wetter than she would have expected at this juncture, and which was being confirmed by the liquid sound his fingers were making as they worked their way in and out of her cunt.

It didn't take long before she was relishing the feel of his fingers; she would have preferred his cock, but if he wanted her to cum in this manner, she was content. As her excitement started to build, she started to rub her clit against the bed clothes; something she'd learned to do in high school when she'd hugged her pillow and brought herself to a climax by rubbing her clit against her pink, chenille bedspread.

The memory of her youthful sexuality aroused her further; her first experiments with her own sexuality had been precious and the results had been far more satisfactory than any she had achieved during sex with her husband and in a bid to reproduce the feelings of her youth, she increased the downward pressure of her clit on the bedclothes.

Just as she was about to cum, he stopped and removed his fingers; leaving her, for the third time, just seconds away from her climax. Frustrated, she tried to bring herself off, frantically rubbing her clit against the bedspread, but ceased her exertions when he slapped her bum with some force and ordered her to stop. She didn't want to; she needed to come; she was certain all she needed was to rub her clit another four or five times against the cover and she would be there.

He got up from the bed, took her hair in his hand, pulled up her head and with his other hand, laid one of the scarves on the bedspread. Releasing her hair and allowing her head to fall back onto the scarf, he took hold of both ends of the scarf and used it to blindfold her, tying the knot tightly behind her head. When he picked her wrists up and started to tie a belt around them, she suddenly realised what he was about to do. It wasn't an unpleasant thought, her gang rape fantasy involved being tied and spread-eagled and he was obviously planning the same.

When he had finished tying her hands to the bedhead, he slapped her bum again and got off the bed. She heard a drawer open, followed by the familiar whirring sound of her rabbit, which he must have found while searching her dresser. She waited in anticipation, she liked her rabbit and if he was going to use it to make her cum she wouldn't object.

"Ever been fucked in the ass?"

She had; but not by a man. Her lesbian lover was the only person with whom she'd indulged in anal sex and in spite the offer she'd made to David, when Rachel had first suggested it she had been unsure of her response, but under intense cajoling, had finally agreed.

Her lover had been gentle; introducing her with care into the joys of what she had laughed and called the 'Hershey Highway'. Initially she had been ambivalent about the experience. It hadn't been unpleasant, the purple strap-on dildo Rachel had used to violate her bum hadn't hurt, but she hadn't found it exciting and had been unable to understand why Ann had waxed lyrical about the experience, both for sexual pleasure and as a fool-proof method of birth control.

Ultimately, she had come to enjoy the experience, particularly when, towards the end of their relationship, Rachel had forsaken the strap-on, using a vibrator to penetrate her bum and eating her at the same time, but had always felt the exercise was not about giving her pleasure, but satisfying her lover's needs.

Her belief had been confirmed just before their affair had ended when her lover, inebriated as the result of a three hour sojourn in a local bar with two of her lesbian friends, had come to her house, persuaded her to go to bed and using the strap-on, had taken her in the bum far more violently than usual. It had hurt, but not as much as the words of her lover who, as she'd pounded her, had called for her 'to take it, bitch, take my cock in your ass'.