Collar Me Ch. 04

Chapter 4: To Serve My Master

Master ploughed into me, shoving me forward, but then he grabbed my hips and hauled me back onto him. My breasts flopped back and forth underneath me as he shoved and dragged. He fucked me like a rabbit, fast and hard. But he was grunting like a donkey, and loud enough that it almost masked my screams. Still, I haven't had a man come in me so fast since school—not long after that auction, I got desperate to try the real thing and let one of the basketball players undress me in the back seat of his car. He was oh-so-cool and cocky, and he seemed to know his way around the game. But, when it came time to go for the slam-dunk, he couldn't find the basket with both hands! And when he did, it was basketball all over: dribble, dribble, shoot.

Master came with one last shove and a loud "unnnghhh!," spurting into me. He collapsed, half on his elbows and half on me. He lay there panting, until with a big sigh, he slid out of me and pushed himself back onto his feet.

I didn't move, but he grabbed my left wrist and there was a sharp "click" as the cuff popped open. A few more seconds, another "click," and the other cuff fell away too. I rolled my wrists to relieve the strain but otherwise tried to hold still. I was getting used to eternal waits that were really but a few seconds. Terror makes time flow differently—who was it who said that knowing you're to be hanged focuses the mind? I knew the night was just beginning, that it was likely to be rough, and that not only could I not avoid it, but that I had to welcome it with open arms—and legs. So I waited, feeling his cum dripping down my thigh.

"Turn over," he said, the growl mostly gone from his voice. It was back to a voice I would date.

I rolled over, but I didn't know where to put my hands—certainly not to cover myself. Maybe behind my head, but would that look too blasé and in control? Instead I left them by my sides and let my legs fall apart to allow master to see "his" pussy, then said in a voice that I tried to cast low and sexy "How may I serve my Master?"

He was scanning my body, from the black hair strewn across the bed, down my long neck and shoulders, pausing momentarily on flattened breasts, before scanning down my belly to my oozing sex. He eyes locked back on mine, his face still and serious. Was he contemplating his next move or feeling buyer's remorse?

I gazed up at him, trying to look inviting and inquiring. I focused on his mouth, those plump lips, and found myself hoping that he would order me to kiss him. I'd offered "The sweetness of my lips to please his taste," and hoped it would.

I licked my lips and said "Let me pleasure you, Master?" I said, hoping to break the impasse.

"Hush," He said, "I am enjoying the first of your offerings: your beauty."

With that, he returned to scrutinizing my body. I imagined a butterfly in a display case; pinned by his gaze and being analyzed by this stranger who looked a little ridiculous with shirt-tails draping his flaccid cock and pants entangling his ankles. But, despite having come twice, I was far from fulfilled—my body needed a cock planted inside. I was glad it wasn't buyer's remorse. My hips began to roll gently.

I let my hands scale my thighs and ski down the insides, stroking as they framed my sex. With my thumbs, I played with my hair while my fingers toyed with my lips. I slid them into me and opened myself to my master's view. When a fingernail scraped my clit, almost accidentally, I gasped and shuddered. His breath caught and he swallowed hard—but his eyes stayed locked on my hands. I dragged my hands away from my sex and sent them creeping like spiders up my belly to my breasts. I cupped them and pulled them up onto my chest, squeezing up and together, lightly rubbing my nipples. My breathing got shallow and my belly heaved. I let my hands continue their journey across the flat planes below my throat up to my neck; they lingered on my collar. I stroked it softly before working my way up to my ears and through my hair, splaying it out as I slid my hands past my head. I crossed my wrists and let them lay palms up and open. I wriggled. A slight lift of the left hip, roll it down; lift my right shoulder and then float my chest up. Lift my knee and then let it fall slowly out and back. Subtle movements. We went on this way for long minutes, him still, me moving. A flush rose in my breasts; my breath deepened, and my lips parted. His face remained still, but finally his cock started filling and rising.

Without letting his eyes leave my body, he reached down and slid his shoes, socks and pants off, then fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He got about half of them undone before he just grabbed and dragged it up around his neck. He took a long gaze at my mouth and then abruptly pulled his shirt over his head before relatching his gaze on me. His shoulders had some nice ripple to them, though he had little love handles at his waist.

"Stand up and place your hands behind your head," He said.

I did as he said; with my legs spread and my arms raised, all my vulnerable spots were exposed to him. Cunt lips puffy, underarms open to his touch, breasts lifted. He gazed at me for a moment, stepped to the side and motioned me forward. Then he stepped behind me and his hands began exploring my back muscles and caressing my ass. He reached between my legs and raised me higher, almost to my toes. A quick flick of his finger drew a quiet gasp. Then his hands snaked around to stroke my belly and up to cradle my breasts. He weighed them in his hands and with his thumbs stroked my nipples into life. One hand continued to play with my left breast while the other dropped back to my sex. His lips were soft as they nuzzled the nape of my neck, occasionally tickling with the tip of his tongue. I was shaking and desperate to spin and plant my mouth on his. Long seconds while his hands played upon me, and when he left my neck to nibble on my ear I nearly came again. I was about to break when he let go and stepped away from me.

"Now go over to the wall, pick out a flogger, and stand by the stock."

I couldn't move. I was still locked in place just trying to hold my position.

"You heard me," he said.

Oh shit, I thought as I forced my brain to shift from pleasure to pain. I forced my knees to unlock, unwove my fingers, turned, and walked to the wall. I gulped as I considered the array. Fuck. For me, hurting just hurt. I didn't like to hurt. I didn't get off on it. Fuck, why had I tried so hard to entice this guy? I was going to pay for it now.

I contemplated the beautifully tooled leather in front of me and wondered how many cows had died for it. Would their lost spirits moo in delight and cheer him on for the last hamburger I'd eaten as he whipped me? I looked at the crops and paddles but then grabbed a cat-o-nine-tails. The buttery leather looked too soft to do much damage. I took it down from the wall, walked to the stock, and held it out, trying to hold steady.

"Place yourself in the stock." He said. His voice hadn't really changed, but now instead of sounding warm, it was back to sinister.

I looked at the open stock—notched bars like teeth in a hungry mouth, and it forced you to kneel, making your ass a perfect target. In a move tougher than any my Pilates instructor had pushed me through on her most evil days, I knelt on the padded blocks, placed my wrists in the side notches, took a deep breath, swallowed, leaned over, and lay my neck in the middle notch. He lowered the top bar, its leather padding locking down around my neck and wrists. The catch clicked closed. I whimpered.

Images of Marie Antoinette flashed through my mind. In my head I knew he was just going to hit me and hurt me, but in my gut I was sure I was in the Guillotine. Tears welled in my eyes and dribbled down my nose, my stomach muscles clenched, and my legs trembled. Shit, no; we're not having fun.

"Shall I whip you now?" He asked.

Sadistic bastard. But I guess that's the way it works in B&D stories. The victim has to beg for it and then say thank you. This wasn't my idea of pleasure, but still, "All that I am..."

I swallowed hard and said "If the music of my cries will give my master pleasure, then I give it freely" and I tried to stretch my ass into the air to offer it to him.

He chuckled—a low rumble in his throat—and if it had been his neck on the block right then, I would have happily pulled the lever. The leather of the cat touched my ass and I flinched. The tails flowed over my skin, caressing, and one slipped down and stroked my pussy lips. It would have had me squirming with pleasure just a few minutes ago, but with the coming pain I was no longer aroused. I was scared and angry. I tried to extend my ass to offer it to him, but it was beyond me. As he touched me again, I cringed away from the coming blow.

He laughed, but more of a short snort, and said quietly, under his breath. "You hate this, yet you offer. I really did buy all of you. Wow."

What the fuck?! Was he going to beat me or not? Was this just a test? I wanted to yell "Please stop and just start—whip me or fuck me, I don't care which." Instead I whimpered again.

He stepped around to the front and looked down at me. He said, louder, "You offer cries, but what do you want?"

I craned my head up and met his eyes, green glaring against hazel. I asked "May your slave speak honestly?"

"Yes," he said.

Looking at his plump lips, I said "I want to kiss you, Master."

He chuckled again, less sinister, whispered "certainly," and stepped close in front of me. The stock made more than just my ass a target. He was aiming at me, although his cock had sagged a little. I was relieved that scaring the shit out of me hadn't aroused him. He lifted it to my mouth and I was momentarily tempted to bite the fucking thing off. But when he had closed the stock's jaws on me, he hadn't bitten. I wanted his mouth, but he wanted mine.

I opened my mouth and let him slide across my lips. I raised my tongue to feel the soft skin on the bottom of his cock, pressing his head against my palate as he pushed deeper. He was still only partially firm, about the consistency of an uncooked sausage. I chuckled—I'd cook him. I'd cook him till he was well done, where his cock was like finely turned wood cushioned in velvet. He was lightly marinated with a fusion of his semen and my juices. His salt, my sweetness. Exquisite.

He fit perfectly, filling my mouth without strain as he swelled. He gently fucked my face for a few minutes as he grew to full size, but then he pulled out. His cock bobbed just barely in reach of my lips. I wanted to hold it but my hands were snapping on air. So I stuck my tongue out and licked. He dodged back slightly to keep me straining. Then he shoved forward, filling my mouth and tickling my tonsils before backing off so that I could comfortably suck for a few seconds. He wasn't so much fucking my face as fishing it. Reeling in, letting run, reeling in a little closer; when was he going to gaff me and haul me in?

I glanced upward and saw a crooked smile on his face as he toyed with my mouth. The bastard was having a good time playing with me and I couldn't do shit about it. My pussy was warming up again as I recovered from my fright. I began to understand the appeal of bondage—frustration, teasing, delayed satisfaction. I thought about how I would torment him if our positions were reversed. Just leave the goddamned whips on the wall!

He pulled out of my mouth entirely and walked around behind me. He slammed into me hard enough to jam my shoulders against the stock. I yelped. Last time he fucked me like a bunny; this time it was more like a horse—he pounded. The stock shuddered. I was caught between the proverbial unstoppable force and the immovable object. I gasped and yelped alternately as I got hammered from both ends. I was grunting out "Unnngh, oof, unnngh, oof" as first his hips slammed into me and then my shoulders slammed into the stock. At one end it felt great, on the other it hurt. His breathing was getting more and more ragged and I could feel him growing as he came closer and closer to coming. I was sure he was on the edge when he pulled away again. We were both gasping while he clutched my hips and tried to breathe. I tried to push back—sore shoulders or not, I'd been enjoying him, but I couldn't reach.

He caught his breath for a minute, and then walked to the side, unlatched the stock and swung the bar up. I didn't wait—I launched myself like he'd pulled the trigger on a crossbow; slamming into him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted my mouth on his. I needed his kiss, to feel his mouth, to taste him. Instead, I almost killed him. I crashed into him so hard, he stumbled and had to scramble to grab the stock to avoiding falling over with me on top of him. I lost the kiss and clutched to keep him from going over.

There we were, him hanging onto the stock, me pawing at him, gazing into each other's eyes, both of us momentarily nonplussed. He slowly straightened without dropping eye contact—was he scared I might attack him again when he wasn't looking? I took a quarter step back, let my arms fall to my sides, dropped my eyes to his still fully erect cock, and said, trying to sound repentant, "I'm sorry Master. But may I kiss you?"

He chuckled and asked "Is it safe?"

I locked my gaze on my target, and I'd been right—with a little of my gloss smeared on them, his lips were scrumptious. This time, I eased forward, right arm slithering around his neck, left around his side and back and, mouth opening, went in. Lips to lips, breasts to chest, mons to cock. My tongue drove into his mouth, sliding and swirling. I was consuming and inflaming him, both of our breathing getting heavier and raspier, until he managed to get his hands on my shoulders and levered me away enough to gasp "bed." Then he dove back in while his hands reached down and around, grabbed my ass and pulled me up. I lifted my legs, wrapped them around him, and bored in, while he stumbled forwards carrying me toward the bed. He shifted his weight and leaned forward slightly; I unwrapped just enough to let him lower me to the bed.

I settled onto my back and spread my legs to invite him in. As he slid into me, I groaned. He felt so good, big enough to stretch and fill, but fitting so easily. He fucked me for a few minutes like that, feet on the floor and lips locked to mine. Then he pushed me forward so that he could get fully on top. As I slid away from him, I lifted my head, gazed at him, and just had time to whimper, "Fuck me, Master, please fuck me" before he clambered up, pushed fully in, and locked his mouth on mine. Silk caressed my back, his cock caressed my insides, his arms held me while mine clung back, his lips were hard against mine. I was lost and wanton, in thrall to my senses—and to the collar fixed around my throat. I came, bucking and screaming "Master, Master, Master."

He held still and let me ride it out. As I came down from my orgasm and became aware of the world again, I could feel that his leg and gut muscles were tight and clenched as he tried to hold off coming himself. I wondered vaguely why he didn't let go. But then he said "roll up, I want to watch you as I come."

I rolled onto my knees and looked down at him—strong chest and pretty mouth. As I rode him, gently squeezing, raising and lowering, his eyes roamed. Starting at my face, down to my breasts, lower still to watch as he slid into me, then up again. But at each cycle he paused to take in my collar.

I squeezed him particularly hard and asked "Do I please my Master? I'm sure I look a sweaty mess."

"Shut up slave" he said, but there was no harshness in his voice. No command even. I thought he was just enjoying calling me slave so I replied, "As Master wishes" and dove down to kiss him again. As I rose back up so that I could get him deep within me, he said "I love watching you." He gulped to catch his breath, and then added "your neck in a collar is the sexiest thing I've ever seen. Now, slave, stop playing with me or I may remember where the whips are. I want to watch you come while you ride me and I'm almost ready. So ride."

I was still hot and charged, but I wasn't sure whether I could come again quickly. I thought about faking but then about where I was and what I was doing. I wasn't just having sex and I wasn't just fucking him because I wanted to. I was fucking him because he had bought me—all that I am—and he had ordered me to come for him. His collar weighed on my neck and was warm on my skin. I'd gotten off many times on the harem fantasy that flowered—or is
"deflowered" the right word—in school. And now I was living it. My master had ordered me to come for him. My Master. I leaned forward once more, took his hands in mine, and continued down, pinning him as I rubbed my breasts against his chest and kissed him again. I whispered "All that I am is to serve my Master's pleasure" and drew his hands to my breasts. Then I raised myself up and leaning back, drove down upon him. Drawing up and slamming down, fucking him ferociously. I closed my eyes, threw back my head, and reveled in it all—his hands on my breasts, his cock pounding into me, the power of riding a man, and the knowledge that I was under his command. I quickly climbed the slope of arousal; as I reached the edge I stopped momentarily, holding him just within me, met his eyes, and then slammed down one last time. It pushed me over and I screamed, spasming and shuddering. Tears poured from my eyes and I felt him shove deeply into me as he stiffened and pulsed in his orgasm. I collapsed on him, gasping for breath as my cunt walls continued to quiver and milk him.

We lay there briefly, just breathing at each other, until he heaved, flipping me over so that he was once again on top. Now he took my arms, drew them above my head and pinned them. He reared up so that he could look at me without pulling out, and gazed across my body, noting my flush, distended nipples, and heaving belly. He smiled and dropped down for another brief kiss. "Thank you Master" I said and he replied, once again, "Shut up slave." He lay there for a few more minutes as he softened and then slipped from within me. Finally he pushed himself up, flopped over next to me and stared up at the ceiling, panting softly.

"I need a drink," he said, "I wonder when Dan is going to bring that champagne?"

Oh crap—I'd completely forgotten master's friends.

"I'm going to go track down something to drink—don't go anywhere." With that, he placed my wrists in shackles that hung from the bedposts. He left my legs free but with my arms cuffed, he didn't have much to worry about. He trailed his fingers across my breasts and stroked my belly lightly. I squirmed in my bonds to put on a little show for him, but I'm not actually very ticklish there. He was standing and admiring the view when there was a knock and the door opened. I looked over and saw the other people he had been sitting with in the entryway.

The big man was in the lead with an uncorked champagne bottle held up. "I hope we're interrupting ssssomething." From the slight slur and his flushed face, it was clear he hadn't wasted the last hour—I suspected that wasn't the first bottle they'd worked through.

Master said "I was just going to go look for you, I need a drink." He took the bottle from the man I assumed was Dan and raised it to take a quick swig. He had to tip the bottle pretty far. Then he came over to me, sat down next to me, and said "You must be thirsty." He put his hand behind my head to help raise me up and put the bottle to my lips. There wasn't much left but it tasted lovely. I swished it around to clear out my mouth and then master upended the bottle to give me the last dregs.