A Slave to Pleasure Pt. 03

I woke up in my bed disoriented and sore after a restless, fitful nap. The deep dark of a late night peeked through the shades of my window—how long had I slept? I hadn't managed to rest well because my new Daddy had forced me to orgasm three times back-to-back with his powerful massage wand earlier that afternoon. The residual tingling and pleasant numbness between my legs kept me in a semi-aroused state that made it impossible to fall asleep.

I tossed an arm over to grab my phone out of my purse, which I had dropped carelessly onto the floor in my hurry for a post-coital nap. My battery was almost dead, but I had several missed messages from my bombshell best friend, Kelli:

2:04pm: where tf are you?? I didn't see u in physics today

3:47pm: k so am I gunna have to go get my nails done alone?

4:51pm: did I do something?? was that weird at the frat house the other night?

9:32pm: I'm sorry I know the video has been going around... I should've asked before I did that to you in front of all those people. you know how I get when I'm drunk but it's not ok

I did know how Kelli got when she was drunk: the night before, she had gotten me wasted at a frat house and ended up sucking my nipple in front of a room full of guys. In the last few months, she'd made a habit of touching and kissing me when there were men around to watch, but my birthday celebration had been a whole new level of erotic intimacy. Someone took a video that made its way through the internet and got me into a whole lot of trouble with my Daddy next door: my sore, quivering pussy was, in a way, all Kelli's fault. He had tied me down and punished me mercilessly for being such a slut in public.

My pussy clenched unintentionally at the memory of my afternoon with Mr. Robertson, my elderly next-door neighbor who was training me into his newest sex slave. I checked my phone again: 1:39am. My parents would be deep asleep by this point and there was no point in trying to get up and start my day. Despite the multiple orgasms forced on me earlier in the day, my nipples stiffened against the fabric of my shirt and I absentmindedly stroked at one with my fingers. One touch led to another, and before long, I was mounting my trusty memory foam pillow to grind myself to climax. The clitoral orgasms had been intense and erotic, but I felt a deep craving in my belly that I sensed could only be satisfied with a thick cock.

As I positioned myself atop my makeshift grinding board, I became acutely aware that the hidden cameras in my room may be actively monitored by my Daddy next door. He'd listened in to conversations and observed me getting ready over the last two days—what was to say he wasn't watching me right now? Turned on even more by the awareness of Mr. Robertson's eyes on me, I rubbed and bounced on the bumpy surface of the firm pillow, putting on a show for the undetectable cameras. I ran my hands slowly up my body, lingering over my tits and eventually bringing them to rest in my hair as I threw back my head and softly murmured:

"I need your cock, Daddy. I need you to fill me up and use me like the filthy slut I am. I know you want to, Daddy..."

The dirty talk trailed off into breathy moans as my core tightened with the first spasms of climax. I fell onto all fours and attempted to muffle my cries of ecstasy, hips still instinctually grinding my clit into the stimulating bumps of the memory foam. I shuddered and quaked in near-silence, riding the waves of my orgasm until I settled into a warm, sleepy calm. I flipped onto my back and fell asleep almost instantly, finally settling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I awoke several hours later to the sounds of commotion in the kitchen and the smell of bacon. Ahh—must be Saturday, so Dad would be frying bacon while Mom does the crosswords. I got up, threw on a pair of semi-clean grey sweatpants, and nearly bolted to the kitchen: after a 48-hour marathon of sex and alcohol, I was ready to devour every last bit of the bacon waiting for me on the stove. I went into the kitchen and found my bacon on its customary blue plate, but was surprised to see my parents bustling about with bags and suitcases on the dining room table. My Dad turned to greet me, grinning with his usual morning time pep:

"Shea! About time we saw you—it's nearly noon. You almost missed us."

I rubbed my eyes, still half-asleep as I blinked dumbly at my father's words and replied:

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Sweetheart, we told you weeks ago and I texted you our schedule on Monday," my Mom cut in. "I have a conference upstate through next weekend and your father is coming with me so we don't have to spend our anniversary apart. We need you to watch the house, remember?"

I did remember—I had put it in my calendar a couple weeks back, but my sex-addled brain had completely lost track of the days. I tried to play it off and conceal my excitement at the unexpected good luck of having the house to myself for over a week. It would give me plenty of freedom to explore my new relationship with Mr. Robertson.

"Yeah, duh, of course. And please, spare me the lecture: no parties, no boys, no guests except for Kelli." I preemptively rattled off the standard pre-departure mandates to avoid further questions. Even at 19, my parents made sure that I had as little fun as possible, but I knew better than to openly disrespect the rules under their roof.

Dad smiled at my retort as he continued readying his bags, but Mom screwed up her mouth in an look of frustration and leveled an accusatory finger at my chest:

"I only want the best for you, young lady. You're getting older and being independent and that's fine, but don't mock me for caring."

My mother's face softened and she cupped my cheek with the accusing hand before she continued, "Please just be careful. Make good choices."

I smiled back at her, glad that she had softened the verbal blow. Mom was an honest and straightforward woman who would often drop a hard truth cushioned by a caring touch or sentimental statement tacked on at the end. I'd grown to appreciate this gesture because I knew it was purely for my and Dad's benefit: she had learned it over the years to spare our sensitive hearts from her more abrasive statements.

The rest of the morning passed without issue, and by 1pm, I found myself alone in an empty house. I sighed deeply and curled my toes into the thick brown carpet of our living room. I was finally alone—away from prying eyes and questioning parents and confusing mixed signals from my best friend.

My eyes shot open as I realized Kelli's texts had gone unanswered all night: I'd gotten distracted with fantasies of my session with Mr. Robertson and had completely forgotten to reply to her apology. Truthfully, I didn't know what to say to her: I'd come out to her as bisexual when I was 12 and admitted in high school that I found her attractive. Kelli insisted she was straight so I'd buried those feelings years ago, but her behavior over the last few months had confused me and brought back a crush I thought was long resolved. Resolving myself to face the situation, I walked to my bedroom and retrieved my phone, which I'd managed to plug in before masturbating myself to sleep the night before.

Before I could go back to Kelli's messages, I was distracted by a series of rapid-fire notifications from Mr. Robertson's private number:

1:07pm: Finaly yu look at your phone.

1:07pm: Shower nd come over imeediately

1:07pm: I saw yu last night you little whorew , didn't Daddy tell you t o respect rules?

1:08pm: Wash th cum off yrself and get youre ass ovr here NOW you stupid slut

1:08pm: Every minute you delay will be another mark I leave on your body starting now. It is 1:08, your time is ticking.

My hands trembled as I scrolled through the messages. So I was caught. The dirty old pervert had watched me violate his rules yet again last night. Despite the uncharacteristic spelling errors and aggressive tone of his messages, I found myself smiling and taking my time as I washed my body and prepared to walk next door. I even took a moment to brush on some waterproof mascara and a dab of pink blush. I checked my phone casually: 1:23pm.

Still taking my time, I perused my closet and settled on a pair of pink terry cloth shorts and a matching tank top that clung to my curves and left very little to the imagination. I didn't bother with a bra or underwear knowing I would inevitably be naked for my master. I took a few more minutes to adjust my high ponytail in the mirror before heading for the front door. I checked my phone one more time before abandoning it on the coffee table: 1:30pm.

I nearly skipped the 50 yards over to Mr. Robertson's house: my body vibrated with excitement knowing that I would enter the house a girl and likely leave a woman. After our last two sessions, I was shocked Mr. Robertson hadn't taken my virginity yet. His self control and focus on my sexual discipline were wildly erotic, but I knew he could only last for so long without claiming my pussy for his own. I had pushed his boundaries last night and now I was looking forward to facing the consequences.

As I approached the door, I noticed that my neighbor's familiar silhouette was not visible through the entryway's windows. I knocked coyly, but to no reply. I rapped my knuckles against the door again, harder this time, and still he made me wait. I began to worry that my dallying had truly bothered Mr. Robertson and I chastised myself for leaving my phone back at home. I had no way of knowing how many seconds or minutes crawled by while I stood their, barely clothed but still sweating in the afternoon heat. I sorely regretted my lack of shoes as I hopped back and forth on the balls of my feet to avoid the scorching pavers of the porch.

The pain on my feet made the wait feel like an eternity, but eventually, the green, cracked door swung open to reveal Mr. Robertson's hulking form. I was surprised to see him in a well-fitted black suit with a slim black tie. His face was more serious than I had ever seen it, and he glared down at me through wild, silvery brows. I smiled back warmly at his grimace and barely suppressed the urge to stick out my tongue before he growled:

"Why, exactly, did you wander about for 24 minutes when I expressly told you to hurry?"

The smile died on my face when I heard the barely-contained rage in his voice. Oh, shit.

"Get your stupid, ignorant ass in here."

I wilted under his admonishments but followed him through the entryway without a second thought. The old man paced agitatedly into the living room then whirled to face me, and I saw a whole other side of the nasty old man I'd come to expect:

"24 minutes. I told you exactly what the consequences would be, and you still took 24 minutes. Do you think I'll let you off easy like last time? Did you think those clothes pins were the worst I could do to you? I didn't even leave a mark."

I trembled and watched the man closely as he paced like a wild cat around the living room, stopping every now and then to shoot me a look of pure disgust before resuming his predatory circle around me. I sensed a new and dangerous edge to the man I thought I knew. This version of my master was vicious, almost cruel, and willing to hurt me brutally if it meant keeping his word. He sat down heavily on the leather chaise lounge where he first played with my body and commanded:

"Get down on all fours and crawl to me like the bitch you are."

Hypnotized like a doe before a mountain lion, I knelt slowly to the floor and crawled on my hands and knees towards the old man. When I reached the space between his shins, I looked up expectantly for my next command. Mr. Robertson maintained eye contact as he slowly stood and unhooked his belt, drawing it sharply through the loops with a loud 'crack.' His gaze smoldered down into me as he gripped my ponytail and hauled me roughly over his knee with one swift and powerful motion. I cried out at the unexpected pressure on my scalp, but screamed in earnest when the thick leather belt came down hard on my still-clothed ass. Even through the fabric of my shorts, I could feel that the belt had drawn blood across the soft flesh of my asscheek. The old man roughly yanked down my shorts and cocked back his arm for another powerful swing, this time aimed at the unmarked side of my ass. The leather cracked across my skin like a white-hot bolt of lightning. I howled and struggled against my captor, cursing and demanding he let me go. One of my arms managed to catch him across the face, and he swore sharply before hissing:

"Fine, you want it that way..."

He ripped the tie from around his neck and deftly pinned my arms behind my back. Since I was still slung over his knee like a naughty schoolgirl, he had the advantage and quickly secured my flailing limbs with just one of his massive hands. Mr. Robertson used his tie to secure my wrists horizontally so my fists sat snugly against my lower back, leaving my ass vulnerable to his sadistic lashing.

Once my hands were tied, he began to beat me without mercy. Powerful blows landed across my ass and upper thighs, the occasional stroke even grazing the lips of my pussy, and I could not stop the frantic sobs that ripped from my chest as I felt my skin tear and bruise beneath his belt. I counted eight lashes before blacking out, but when I came to, the beating had ended and the old man was gently tallying the bloody welts spread across my backside:

"22, 23, and 24. I told you, my dear. I am a patient man, but I am also a man of my word. If I say there will be consequences then, by God, you will fear them."

He slapped the ruined skin of my ass and I wailed at the stinging, burning pain that shot across the network of welts and still-forming bruises that now adorned me. Mr. Robertson grabbed me roughly and dropped me onto my knees, my hands still bound tightly behind my back with his necktie. I looked up into his face again, unsure what to expect from this new Master.

He looked down on me with a shockingly cool demeanor. The violent light had gone out of his eyes and was replaced by a sharp, pointed determination. The old man's voice was even and unnervingly quiet as he calmly delivered his plans:

"I wanted to take my time with you but I just can't wait any longer. It took every ounce of my willpower not to fuck you yesterday while you mewled and leaked cum all over my bed. I saved my seed and didn't even jack off afterwards: I was that determined to maintain control, for you sake as well as mine. I take pride in control and structure, but you... challenge me."

His cool grey eyes analyzed me as I knelt before him, tits heaving beneath my shirt and shorts still bunched around my ankles.

"I have decided that I will use your body for my own needs now. I might have been able to hold off for a few more weeks had you resisted the urge to pleasure yourself last night. I don't need to tell you at this point that I'm always watching, so why did you do it? The only answer I could come up with is that you are an incorrigible, insatiable little slut. Your desire for my cock must be driving you out of your mind to have you behaving this way. If you insist on putting yourself through this much punishment, it is my responsibility to give you what you ask for and take your virginity right here and now."

I stared up reverently into Mr. Robertson's face. The urge to surrender myself fully to my master overtook me, and suddenly, I was back in the familiar headspace of serving my Daddy without hesitation or complaint. His pleasure alone was the reason for my existence, and it was a privilege that I was chosen to service his masculine desires.

My Master grabbed me beneath the arms and pulled me up into a standing position. He left me there, shaking and bruised, while he walked to the nearby kitchen and rummaged through a junk drawer. He returned to my side and I felt cold metal slide beneath the strap of my top before it was snipped cleanly away. The other strap followed, and then the old man used the scissors to cut a straight line downward from between my breasts so he could peel the top away from my body without releasing my restraints. Once my shirt was cut away, he knelt and collected the shorts from between my feet before discarding the handful of torn pink cloth haphazardly over his shoulder.

Once I was bare before him, my Master grabbed my shoulders and shoved me roughly down onto the black leather of the chaise lounge. With my hands pinned beneath me, I was immobilized with my legs spread wide and my tits pointing proudly towards the ceiling. Mr. Robertson knelt down to position his face between my knees, and he began to kiss and trail his tongue along the delicate skin of my inner thigh. He looked up suddenly, pausing to explain his thought process once again:

"I'm going to eat your pussy now. It is not for your pleasure—I need to prepare you for my cock. Even my more experienced pets struggle with the size, so it's best for you to be wet and ready. Then, I'll take your virginity nice and slow."

He lowered his hungry gaze back to my pussy and abruptly dragged his wide, strong tongue across the moist slit of my cunt. It was not enough pressure to part the lips to my entrance, but I was overcome with need and bucked up suddenly under my master's touch. I'd never had my pussy eaten before, and yet here I was, tied, beaten, and being feasted upon by my horny old neighbor.

His tongue began to work its way into me, flicking and rubbing gently over my engorged clit. Mr. Robertson's arms circled around my ass, his hands coming to rest palm-down on my belly to hold my restless hips in place. He pinned me down firmly while he licked and sucked my pussy, trailing his tongue up and down my slit with tantalizing strokes. I moaned and threw my head back when his tongue finally penetrated me, thrusting inward with a force and thickness that had me thinking of his pulsing cock.

The old man buried his face into my pussy, nuzzling and nipping between long, slow strokes across my clit. His mouth moved and pulsed over my cunt, making me buck and squeal beneath his unrelenting advance. He worked over me for what felt like hours, torturing and teasing my clit until I approached orgasm and then letting me down unsatisfied every time. His hands occasionally trailed up to twist my nipples, which swayed and jiggled helplessly with my hands pinned beneath my body.

Mr. Robertson finally removed his face from my soaked cunt, lapping my juices wetly from his beard as he raised himself to meet my eye. He calmly undressed with slow, precise movements while I quivered helplessly on the couch before him. He freed his enormous cock from his underwear and stroked it firmly, never taking his eyes from my terrified face. It was time: I could feel it. He was finally going to claim my virginity.

My face betrayed my thoughts and he chuckled unfeelingly at the realization that dawned across my features:

"That's right, little one. It's time for you to feel it. I'll be gentle while I break your hymen, don't worry: then I'll eat your pussy again to get you ready for the full length. It's best to take it slow when you've got a cock like mine."

Tears of humiliation and fear spilled from the corners of my eyes as he positioned himself between my legs. The hot, smooth skin of his cock dragged across my pussy and I glanced down to watch him lubricate himself with the juices that coated my inner thighs. He rubbed his shaft back and forth across my cunt, which drew a lusty moan from deep within my chest. There was something instinctively arousing about being bared open before such a powerful male. I watched his impossibly huge cock slide against my pussy and wondered at how it could fit inside me. Need overcame logic as I watched his cock glisten with my juices: I didn't care if it hurt, I needed it inside me now. I bucked my hips gently in an attempt to nudge the engorged tip of his cock into my needy slit. Mr. Robertson responded in kind with a bout of soft swearing: