For His Amusement

She was thankful it was still spring and not summer, since it meant she had worn a light jacket to his place earlier that evening. Now, she pulled it tighter around her chest, not to ward off the chilly night air, but to cover herself. She was keenly aware that her nipples were still rock hard, and, braless, that they could be seen through the skimpy blouse she was wearing. It was her thoughts and memories of what had just occurred that was causing her current state. As she strode quickly towards her car, her mind returned over and over to those recent memories and she knew she needed to do something about the wetness between her legs. But she could not.

It was late – early morning, actually – so traffic was light and she had time to re-play the evening's scenes as she slid into her driver's seat and started on her way home. It had begun with his words, as it always did. His words, she considered, had some unknown power to them; the ability to make her weak and desperate and willing to do whatever it took to have more of them. And so, when he had quite plainly called her a slut yet again, and told her it was time for her to face him as one, she had given in with little resistance. She had, after all, begun to accept that he was right; that it was time to accept her nature and desires. As usual, he had made her feel controlled and forced, and yet willing and eager at the same time. And so, she had done as he'd commanded.

Beneath her clothes, she had dressed as he had requested and seen in one of her photos; a black bra and thong panties. Over top, he had simply said, "Dress in what you think might please me. Wear what a fuck slut like you should wear." She had groaned inwardly at this, both in pleasure and in shame, and had chosen her clothing carefully. Although not entirely comfortable in it, she knew the fact of her obvious discomfort would amuse him, and this aroused her further.

She had looked in her full-length bedroom mirror before leaving and had seen someone not quite herself; someone wearing a very short black skirt and an almost sheer black blouse, several buttons undone to display her ample cleavage. Her legs were bare, save the silver bracelet on her left ankle, and her accessories were more silver; high-heeled mules which added several inches to her height and forced her body to display itself, and a few simple pieces of jewellery. To complete the effect, she added a brief spritz of perfume and applied a little more makeup than she would normally wear – she felt this would complete the image he wished to see.

When he had opened his door to her, she had sensed the very briefest sensation of his approval. His eyes had scanned her quickly, and a slight upturn at one corner of his mouth had given him away in that second... but then it was gone and his eyes were boring into hers. She, of course, was the first to drop her gaze. She heard the power in his voice as her eyelids fluttered downwards and he spoke, "That's better, slut. You are to keep your gaze lowered and your voice silenced unless I request you to do otherwise. You are here for my amusement. Do you understand?" She nodded, and he spoke again, "Say it. Tell me you're a fuck slut who came here for my amusement."

Every logical wiring in her brain was screaming at her to curse him and storm away, but she knew, as did he, that she would not. That she could not. Her desire was too evident; her submission had been offered even before she had arrived at his door. And so, the words fell from her mouth, all slippery and wet; "I'm a fuck slut who came here for your amusement." He moved his hand to her chin to raise her eyes to his again. His were steady and hard, and his words made her stomach flip; "Good little bitch."

He motioned for her to follow him and her heels clicked against the hardwood as she focused on placing one foot ahead of the other. He led her to what appeared to be the living room, on the floor of which was a small pillow sitting squarely in the middle of the room. It was impossible for her attention not to focus on it immediately, for it seemed out of place in an otherwise tidy and neatly-arranged space.

His eyes watched hers; he knew she was attempting to make sense of everything, and he enjoyed her mild confusion. He smiled to himself and spoke again.

"The pillow? Yes, it may end up yours. For now, it is only a marker, not an accessory to assist your comfort. If you earn it, you may kneel on it some day. At the moment, however..." Here, he bent down and lifted the pillow from its spot, "At the moment, you will happily take its place. On your knees, where you belong, slut."

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she obeyed silently. She knelt carefully, sitting back on her heels. His voice came again.

"Good girl. But... it's not quite what I wanted. Yet. Raise your arms, slut." Every time she heard this word, she resented the warm feeling that travelled below her tummy. She lifted her arms, however, and heard him step forward. He reached to her waist – to the hem of her blouse – and pulled it up and off of her, tossing it aside. She bit her bottom lip, feeling immediately exposed and uncertain. His hand moved to the back of her neck, where she felt slight pressure pushing her forward, down. She resisted a moment, then remembered her place and gave in to his push. She placed her hands to the floor and, within little time, found her forehead against the cool hardwood, back bent inwards, ass in the air. The pounding of her heart had moved to fill her entire head, and her skin felt both hot and cold. The loss of sight, having her head to the floor, further disoriented her, and she swallowed dryly.

One of his hands was at her ass, and she realized he was going to lift her skirt... but then he seemed to reconsider and drew his hand away. His voice came again, from behind her.

"I was going to do this myself, but I think I want you to do it for me, slut. I want you to do it, because I think you want to. In fact, I know you do. Now, reach back and raise your skirt for me. I want you to be a good toy and show me your ass." She could hear the taunting tone in his voice, as well as the confidence. She reached and did as she was told, concentrating on not allowing him to see her trembling hands. Her skirt was up around her waist, and her ass was held high. He reached and pulled at her thong tightly, making it look like it was splitting her in two. She held her breath as she heard him step back.

"Much better, slut. Now, tell me how you feel. How does it feel to know that you chose to come here? That you are giving in to what you really want? That you are my slutty little toy, with your face to the floor and your ass in the air? Hmm? Tell me."

Her mouth felt filled with sand, but she licked her lips once in an attempt to combat this and found her voice. It sounded as if it were coming from outside of her.

"I feel ... I feel humiliated and embarrassed and... and desperate and willing and... I ... feel like I can't control my own actions... and..." Her voice trailed off.

"Good slut. You're not in control. I am. Tell me again, that you're a fuck slut who came here for my amusement." She heard the smile in his voice again, and she also heard and felt the floor creak as he stepped towards her.

She repeated; "I'm a fuck slut who came here for your amusement."

She heard his brief laughter, indicating he was enjoying her desperate obedience. "I bet your pussy is wet, isn't it, slut? Tell me." A mumbled 'yes' came from the floor.

"Pardon me? Try again."

"Yes," she said. "Yes, it's wet."

"Aw, of course it is. You're a slut. You can't help it. You're just a stupid slut who's ruled by her wet slut pussy. Isn't that right?"

"Yes," she whimpered. She struggled not to wriggle on the floor. Her pussy was tingling, and she knew her thong was soaked through. She ached and wondered when he would touch her. She soon found out.

"I'll let you know when you can move. For now, you may touch yourself, because you're a dirty little fuck slut who needs to stay wet. But don't you DARE cum, do you understand? And you must keep your panties on."

She nodded her understanding but couldn't bring herself to put her hand between her damp legs. She heard him moving about his place, having a drink, making phonecalls, and she was embarrassed that he would expect her to touch herself, displayed this way, when he didn't even seem to care to pay attention to her. After what felt like an eternity, she heard him stop, in front of her this time. He cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Oh, no, is the wet little whore having a problem touching herself, hm?" She nodded.

"Aw, poor little bitch. Don't you want to touch your pussy? I think you do. Tell me that you do."

"I want to touch my pussy," she mumbled.

"Say it again. Properly. Say you're a dirty slut who wants very badly to play with her pussy."

She gasped, exhaled, and spoke; "I'm a dirty slut who wants very badly to play with her pussy."

"Again."

"I'm a dirty slut who wants very badly to play with her pussy."

"Again. Louder."

"I'm a dirty slut who wants very badly to play with her pussy!"

Bending down, he yanked her head up by the hair and commanded her, "Again."

She spoke to his face, her own scarlet with shame; "I'm a dirty slut who wants very badly to play with her pussy!" Her mouth went slack this time and her hand slid eagerly to her soaked thong. Her fingers slipped under it to find her swollen clit. She didn't care, anymore, about how she looked. She only wanted her own touch, if he wasn't going to touch her himself. He nodded and whispered, "Good little bitch."

He held onto her hair tightly while he raised himself to a standing position again. It was then she noticed that his cock was out of his unzipped pants; it was half-hard. A look of surprise crossed her face and he noticed.

"You are here for my amusement, after all, fuck slut. Now, open your fuck slut mouth, take my cock in it, and show me how a good fuck slut like you shows her appreciation of being allowed to touch herself. And when I'm finished, you're going to remove your bra, your panties, put them in your purse, put the rest of your clothes on, and then go home like a content little sub who has done as she's told."

He pulled on her hair again to clarify his intent, and pushed his cock fully into her mouth when she opened it. It was clear that her mouth was being used; that his fulfillment was his only goal; that his only intent with her was to make her submit and know her place. When he dumped his cum into her mouth, he growled at her to swallow it all, like a good girl, and she did, struggling not to sputter and gag. He pulled out of her and walked away with a sigh. She hesitated, feeling her humiliation now begin to intensify as she removed her sticky panties and unhooked her bra to stuff both into her purse. She felt entirely ill at ease as she pulled her blouse back over her head, reached for her jacket, and began to head for the door. As she put her hand on the doorknob, she heard him behind her again, and the command came harshly; "Before you go, turn around and face me."

She did, eyes lowered.

"Tell me how you feel right now, slut."

So difficult, now. So utterly overwhelmed and aroused and desperate she was feeling. And yet, the words tumbled out.

"I feel like a used, wet, naughty slut. I feel like a whore. I feel like a messy little fucktoy, mouth opened for your enjoyment."

The pleased look crossed his face again. And then his damned words; "Good slut. Now remember; don't cum." He turned from her and walked away.

She turned back to the door and let herself out. Her heels clicked more slowly than they had upon her arrival. She descended to her car.