Thankful Abandon Ch. 02byAngelick77©
He crawled on his hands and knees towards her. She was lying on her back with her legs spread open, the glistening sex inviting him to taste its musky depths. He lowered his head to catch the folds in his mouth, sucking them before spearing his tongue within to find her swollen clit. He circled it slowly, caught it with his lips and lapped at it again. She moaned, lifting her hips to his mouth.
The sting of the riding crop against his backside refocused his attention to the woman standing behind him as the chain attached to his collar jerked his head back.
"That's enough!" Mistress Jasmine wrapped the chain around her fist so that he was forced to retreat from his wife who was bound by her wrists and attached to the legs of their four poster bed by lengths of thick, black rope.
He looked up at the Asian woman standing over him. Her stiletto heels sank into the thick carpeting of the bedroom and the muscles of her nylon-clad thighs flexed as she walked around him. When she crouched to tip his chin up with the handle of her crop, he could hear the leather of her corset creak.
"Before you can fully learn to pleasure a woman, you must understand what it means to be one." Her lips curled into a sinister smile and her exotic eyes narrowed. "You have to know what it means to be penetrated, to be violated. Only then can you approach a woman with the empathy that you need to truly be able to give her what she desires."
He heard his wife moan. She knew exactly what Mistress Jasmine meant to do, and the idea of it never ceased to excite her. Nothing was more arousing to her than having her husband made into another woman's bitch. Even now, just seeing him on his hands and knees before a leather-clad woman, her fist holding him in tight control by the metal chain attached to his studded collar... her hips twisted upwards and her arms pulled at the rope that bound her wrists together above her head.
Mistress Jasmine turned to look at the woman sprawled on the floor. She reached out with her crop and lightly tapped her wet, pouting slit with the leather tongue. "Patience, Kitty. Your Mistress must train her stud so that he will service you properly. And you like watching your Mistress train her bitch, don't you."
She nodded, watching the dominatrix use the handle of her crop to push her long, black hair over her shoulder as she stood up to lead her husband by his leash back between her thighs.
"Do not touch her." She unraveled the chain from her fist and attached it to one of the wooden columns at the foot of the bed. She took another chain that hung from the other column and latched that to his collar. "Do not even look at her. You will keep your eyes down and your hands to yourself or I will flay the skin from your back."
He heard the leather of her corset creak again as she leaned in close to his ear. The scent of jasmine enveloped him and a wisp of her silken hair fell over his shoulder. She hissed. "Do you understand me?"
He remained on his hand and knees between his wife's legs, not daring to move a muscle. They could feel the heat of each others' bodies, only inches away but unable to touch. His turgid cock hovered between his legs, a bead of fluid collecting at the tip. She could feel the warmth of his breath waft over the hair of her mound and she quelled the urge to raise herself to his mouth.
He heard the muffled steps of Mistress Jasmine as she walked away from him. There was a rustling behind him and then the wet sound of something being squeezed from a tube. In a moment, the Mistress' hand appeared in front of his face holding a black dildo, gleaming with lube.
"Are you ready for this?" Her voice whispered into his ear. "Every night, your wife has to lie back and take this from you. And now, it's your turn."
His wife watched the slender Asian woman attach the dildo to the harness strapped around her hips, snapping the base into place. She tightened the straps at her waist and thighs, and gave the black phallus a tug to test its fit.
"Put your cock against her pussy."
He crawled forward and began to press his cock into his wife, pushing into the parting folds when his collar jerked him back again. The Mistress had hooked her fingers through it, cutting off his air and his wife whimpered at the frustration of feeling him pressed just outside her slit, the head of his shaft barely brushing the entrance of her sex.
"I said against her pussy, not in it you fucking moron!" Her palm came down on his ass, leaving the stinging red imprints of her fingers on his white skin. The muscles of his buttocks tightened, but he held rigidly still, obeying his Mistress' command to remain unsheathed, though his cock trembled with the desire to plunge into his wife.
She positioned herself between his legs behind him, her hands on his hips as the silicone head that bobbed between her legs prodded the back of his balls. Gripping the base, she guided it up to the dark valley that separated the pale globes of his bottom and slowly pressed inwards until she hit the hidden dark, pink star.
She pushed and he felt his asshole stretch open to accept her tool. His hips moved forward with the pressure of hers and he felt his wife's cunt begin to splay open around the head of his cock, when the sudden grip on his hips pulled him back while spearing him more securely onto the dildo.
"You do not get to fuck her until I give you permission." She pinched his thigh just under the curve of a buttock, and thrust into him viciously so that her cock was fully buried and his asshole was stretched wide around the thick silicone shaft. "Is that understood, you little bitch?"
He was in agony. He cock ached for the embrace of his wife's cunt. It lay open and waiting right there in front of him, so close that the moisture that leaked from the tip of his dick rubbed and mixed with the wetness that coated her pussy lips. He stared down at her breasts, her nipples puckered to pinpoints of arousal. He could feel the fullness in his ass and the weight of his Mistress' cock inside him. He was her bitch and he reveled in the denial of his pleasure in lieu of her own.
She pulled her hips back and slowly slid them forward again, the head of her cock pressing into his prostate as she filled his tight hole. She stabbed into him, keeping a firm hold on his waist to prevent him from fulfilling his longing to bury himself into his wife. He groaned, his face flushed.
Looking down at the woman beneath him, he saw that her eyes weren't on him at all, but focused behind him. She watched as the leather-clad woman thrust against her husband, the white, flat surface of her stomach below the corset advancing and retreating every time she plunged against him. Her almond eyes were half-closed and the black curtain of her hair fell about her shoulders, the ends of the strands resting on the upper curve of her constricted breasts. With every other hunch of her hips, she would give him a flat-palmed smack on his reddening ass, propelling his hips forward so that his cock pressed against the opening of his wife's sex before it pulled back again to tease and rub against her outer lips.
"Please Mistress Jasmine!" She was rocking her hips so that the head of her husband's cock slid up and down her slit, brushing just over her clit before retreating to hover outside her wet hole. She tried to shift her body down, to get closer to his straining member, but the ropes held her fast.
Mistress Jasmine looked at her. "Do you want his cock?"
"Yes Mistress, please!"
"I want his cock! I want him to fuck me, please!"
The dominatrix drew her hips back. "Fuck her, you little bitch!" She struck his buttocks with the full force of her hand, pressing down and forcing her dick into him so that he fell forward and his cock drove into his wife's hungry cunt.
He buried his face against her neck, his shouts muffled as his plunged against her. With each forward thrust, the lips of his wife's pussy eagerly swallowed his shaft into a slick, hot vise of sensation, and with every retreat he was impaled on his Mistress' tool, his ass yielding to her invasion..
She began punching her hips into his, sending him deeper into his wife's cunt. He knew that it wasn't him fucking his wife. He was Mistress Jasmine's toy; he was the only thing that separated her from his wife, and it was his Mistress' cock that was fucking her through him. He slowed his own movements, allowing the Asian woman's momentum to swing his body against his wife and grind his groin against her sex. His asshole engulfed the dildo, causing a sliver of tingling sensation to run through his balls and up the underside of his cock. The blood rushed to his member, adding to the thickness so that his wife gasped and clutched at her ropes, and when he felt the sporadic spasms of her vaginal muscles, signaling the imminent arrival of her orgasm, his head began to swim.
He grunted when he felt Mistress Jasmine quicken her pace and reached up to grab his wife's swaying breasts, holding on as he pinched at the hard, pink nubs. Her legs came up to wrap around him and what had started as a whimpering at the back of her throat soon crescendoed into a full throated wail. His wife's body bowed with the force of her release and the convulsions of her pussy around his cock sucked him deeper and deeper in, until it seemed that she was reaching right into his balls to seize and rip his orgasm from him.
His buttocks rippled with the force of the Mistress' thrusts and his asshole clenched as shivers danced over him. It was just as his wife's shouts began to ebb that his began, the punishing shock of Mistress Jasmine's palm striking his ass sending him over the edge. His hands dropped to his wife's waist and he howled as he held her tight against him, rigidly shuddering as he shot jets of white, hot cum into her womb.
They lay in a heap, husband and wife, breathing in the scent of the other's sweat with their eyes closed in contentment. Mistress Jasmine stood up and silently left the room.
Rose stepped off the bus. She was wearing jeans under her black pea coat and had washed the make-up from her face so that she looked once more like a college student returning from a late night studying. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her almond-shaped eyes were hidden behind thick, dark-rimmed glasses.
She hefted her duffel bag over her shoulder and looked around. The street was empty, the darkness broken only by the intermittent pools of light cast by the street lamps. Row after row of plain-faced buildings looked back at her, the empty windows like staring eyes. She walked to the one with the dark green awning and pressed the doorbell, pulling the door open at the sound of the buzzer.
The silent ride up the elevator ended when the doors slid open. She saw a group of four women at the end of the carpeted hallway. They were standing around a naked, hooded man and were taking turning paddling him as he crawled around, frenzied. It looked like he was trying to press his lips to all of their bare feet at once, but failing miserably as the blows rained down on his bright, red bottom.
"So, has Mistress Jasmine struck again?"
Rose turned around and smiled at the short, buxom woman standing in the doorway behind her. "I guess you could say that. They were a nice couple."
"I wouldn't have let you go on an outcall if I didn't think so too. Now, then." The woman pulled a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles from the tangled, grey hair she had pinned up on top of her head. "Put your things away and let's get you paid so you can go home."
Rose walked to her locker in the room adjacent to the office, taking out her backpack and replacing it with the duffel bag where she had her equipment neatly folded. She locked up and returned to where the grey-haired woman was counting out stacks of bills. Looking up at Rose over the top of her glasses, she waved a small roll of twenties.
"Make sure it's all there."
Rose took the roll and counted out the money. She nodded. Three hundred dollars was certainly going to help with tuition, not to mention Christmas gifts this year.
"Looks good. Thanks." She slung her backpack over her shoulder and gave the woman a wave before walking into the hallway, nearly tripping over the naked slave who had crawled down the corridor, his dick sticking out from under his belly like a little, red sausage as the abusive women hurled insults at him and spat on his tiny member.
One of them turned to her, smirking. "He's paying eight hundred bucks for us to kick his sorry ass up and down the hallway."
Rose laughed and looked down at the fat, little man cowering on the floor.
"Get the fuck out of my way, pig!" She kicked him, grinding the tread of her sneaker into his ass, and then turned to press the button. He tried to kiss her foot and she slapped him away.
"Thank you, my Asian Goddess!" he called after her, the shouting of the ladies fading as the doors closed behind her and the elevator returned her to the silent lobby.
She was Chinese, and that meant that she was supposed to be a doctor or a lawyer. Maybe even a concert pianist or violinist would have been all right, but a dancer?
Her father had shaken his head and declared dishonor on the family when Rose announced her decision. Dancers jumped around half-naked, shamefully revealing their bodies. Dancers did drugs to stay thin. Dancers had no future.
"Don't expect me to support you," her father had said. "If you do this, you're doing it on your own." Despite her mother's protests, he insisted that Rose be out of the house by the end of the year and to "take your disgrace with you."
She found a job as a waitress to make some money and enrolled for classes at the community college where tuition was cheaper. She saved what she could, and one day, while looking for apartments, she stumbled across the ad in the paper.
***DUNGEON LOOKING FOR DOMINATRIX***
WILL TRAIN! FLEXIBLE HOURS!
Since school hadn't started yet, she was able to go in for an interview that same day. Four months later, Mistress Jasmine was a regular favorite at Madame Severa's House of Domination. It was a virtually unheard of rise to underground stardom, but because she was an Asian in a largely Caucasian town, her lean dancer's body combined with her exotic features and her natural glee in dealing out punishment and humiliation gave her an undeniable edge.
Rose kept her alter-ego a closely guarded secret. She told her parents she worked the night shift at a local warehouse. She kept her gear hidden in her locker at Mistress Severa's, and she maintained an innocent public persona, hiding behind her glasses like a modern day Clark Kent to prevent recognition.
The only person who knew was Maddy, her best friend. The two girls kept nothing from each other. Maddy knew about Mistress Jasmine, and Rose was the only person who knew about the affair Maddy had begun with her step father, Mr. Lawson.
Rose blushed, thinking about what happened on Thanksgiving. Maddy had told her about the wrist restraints and floggers she found in his bedroom and wanted Rose to show her how to use them. She hoped that by learning about something he was clearly interested in, she might please and surprise her step father. What happened afterwards was a surprise to them all.
Rose could still remember the way it felt when his massive cock speared into her, splitting her tight, little pussy while she lay helpless, her wrists attached to the headboard of his bed. Rose thrilled to the idea of being overpowered by an authority figure. She had seen enough groveling men to know the taste of power, and while she loved it, she also wanted to know what it would feel like to have that control stripped and taken from her.
She shook her head, ignoring the tingle between her thighs. This was not the time. She was moving into a new apartment this week, a full month before the deadline her father had set, letting him know that she didn't need his approval or support to accomplish her goals. It hurt her that he didn't seem to care either way. He hadn't even asked her to at least stay through Christmas, but now that she had made her stand, she couldn't back down.
She didn't want to spend the holidays alone, but worrying about that wasn't going to pay for rent and tuition, and with no one to help her, there was just too much to do.
Rose turned when she heard her name. It was Keiichi, one of the professors in the English department who was teaching her class while the regular teacher was on vacation. Keiichi was half Japanese and ten years older than most of the students in the classes he taught, but sometimes acted like he was barely in his twenties. He saw no reason to be formal, insisting that the students call him by his first name, and often joking that, "Mr. Williams is my father's name."
Rose side stepped the other students and made her way towards him. He was sitting, rifling through stacks of papers. When she finally stood by the desk, he held an essay she had written a week ago.
"Hi, Rose." He smiled, revealing straight white teeth with a crooked one on the side that made him look younger than he was. "Listen, I read your essay a few nights ago, and I was just curious about why you decided to choose this particular novel."
Rose shrugged. "The assignment was to write about a strong, female character. I thought Venus in Furs would be appropriate."
He nodded. "Yes, and I like what you wrote, but have you read the book by his wife, The Confessions of Wanda von Sacher-Masoch?"
"No, I haven't heard of that one."
"You really should." Keiichi stood up from the desk. He was surprisingly tall and Rose guessed that his height must be from his father's side. "Venus is a fictionalized story of Sacher-Masoch's fantasies, but Confessions is by his wife, his real life wife, about what it is to live them."
She tilted her head, surprised that she had never noticed the color of his eyes. They were a pale, golden brown and it was startling to see them combined with the subtle tilt of his lids. "I, uh... I'll look into it. Though, money's a little tight right now and..."
He picked up a pen from the desk and bent down to write on her paper.
"You know what? Don't worry about buying it. I have a copy of it at home. You should base your next assignment on it. Your regular teacher loves this stuff." He held the paper out to her. "Here's my address. Why don't you stop by and we can discuss it?"
She tucked the essay into one of her books. "Um, thanks."
"I finish teaching my last class today at five, so I should be home by six."
"All right. I'm done at the studio right around then. I can stop by afterwards."
"Great." He smiled again. "I'll see you then."
Rose knocked at the door. She heard a clatter and then the sound of cursing. The door swung open and Keiichi was wiping his shirt with a kitchen towel.
"I'm sorry." She looked down at the light, brown stain on his white t-shirt and back up at him. "You said after six or so, right?"
"No, don't apologize, you're right. I was just making coffee." He swiped again at his shirt and grinned sheepishly. "It's been a rough day."
He stepped back from the door and waved her in. "Please," he said. "No point in you standing out there while I clean myself up."
Rose was still wearing her black leotard from the dance studio. The heat she had generated from the physically intensive class insulated her from the cold. She wore a red skirt over her grey tights and fur-lined boots kept her feet warm, but her coat and scarf were draped over her arm, leaving her shoulders bare, save for her backpack. She never wore a bra because of how small she was, so when the chill of the November wind stiffened her nipples, it wasn't difficult for Keiichi to notice the hard, round dents protruding from the elastic material of her top.