High Heels and a Pretty Smile Ch. 03

I am Master

It felt good laying there. Amazing. I was naked on the padded bench with my cock and balls hanging through the neat round hole in line with my groin.

Below, Sara was softly sucking on my crown. Her delightful lips caressed me as her tongue played around my ever-so-sensitive tip.

Sara was so fucking cute to look at. She was a second-generation Korean American. Slender with small tits and tiny nipples that always seemed to be hard. She was the first girl I'd owned who still had a bush. Nothing wild. Just a neatly trimmed patch that sat above her pussy. And what a pussy it was. A lovely pink affair that contrasted with her Asian tones. Neat, even lips that protruded just enough to be visible and accessible to a playful tongue.

Right now I couldn't see any of this. All my concentration was focused only on her lips as they wrapped over my hard, hot cock. It felt euphoric to have her warm, tight mouth around me. To feel the vacuum of her suck. The cooling of her spittle on my flesh as she pulled back to the tip. When it came to blowing me off, Sara was majestic. Such patience and care.

"Uuhmmm."

Her fingers played with my balls. They hung in free air, right in front of her face. Unpredictable tugs and squeezes left me gasping. There was something extra arousing about being unable to see her. This was a glory hole where my cock was the only point of pleasure.

I was high on the chemicals in my brain, brought on by the friction of delectable lips rubbing tightly, back and forth over my smooth crown. The times she took me all the way in were amazing. To feel the back of her throat before those lips glided back along my shaft to caress my sensitive crown once again.

"Fuck." I gasped.

I pressed my groin down hard against the circular opening as though my cock would grow several inches to ease the throbbing pressure.

When I shot my load it felt like a mixture of jacking off and fucking a wet pussy. That Sara continued to suck as I pulsated and filled her comforting mouth was intense.

"Fuuck." I gasped again only with a sensation of total relief that relaxed my whole body.

Instantly I felt my cock soften in Sara's mouth. I sensed the slight movement of her head as she swallowed back my seed then the continuing massage of my dying member.

Three things made my life what it was. Financial success built on dedication and hard work, my looks, and an ability to manipulate people. Young girls in particular. Looks and charm could get me a fuck easily and had done since college. But when all three were combined, they achieved something beyond mere sex.

They brought me control. Domination. Girls who would sell their souls to please me. The first to tease this talent from me had been a girl in college. She'd unwittingly released the control freak that hid inside me.

Ella has been a sweet virgin desperate to have me cure her of what she viewed as an affliction. And I had. On a Friday after drinks in the bar, I'd taken her back to my rooms and deflowered her. Slow, sensual foreplay and a gentle introduction to the world of sex how all inexperienced girls imagined it to be before fucking her to orgasm.

Where previous girls had left after we'd fucked, Ella had been in my thrall and I found myself capitulated by the beautiful little thing. Not love or a need for a relationship. It was more like wanting to own a painting.

I'd convinced her with mere talk to remain naked in my rooms for the weekend. To be an artwork that only I could look at.

By the end of the Saturday, I'd had her on a collar and leash fashioned from my belt and crawling around on all fours like a puppy. For a whole two days, she'd been a willing captive. Fucked until she could hardly walk at lectures on the Monday.

My liking for dominance had been discovered. And so had my sexual stamina. From there I'd gone from strength to strength as my career had given me more opportunities.

I wasn't evil. A sexual narcissist maybe. I didn't have a lot of empathy for my sub-missives. Not in the conventional sense. I never loved them or had romantic inclinations. They were objects to be possessed and used for my gratification. But I also never harmed them. Indeed, once I became able, I rewarded them well for meeting my unusual requirements. And all of them seemed happy to do so. It was a business contact to me. Nothing more, nothing less.

I was Master. That's all any of them knew me as. Obviously, I had a real name. Outside of my home, I was Stuart Monroe. Dr Stuart Monroe. A successful psychologist with a large Practice serving the rich and famous who made their lives in Florida. But not one of my girls, excluding the earliest of my forays into this hobby, had or would ever know that. It wasn't that I was hiding. It was just part of the mystery. An illusion.

All they knew was what Sara knew. That I had a cock. That their sole purpose in this part of their life was to serve it with each and every part of their body. As I saw fit. And at the end of the contract, they would leave financially well rewarded.

"Did I please you Master?"

Sara asked from below as I sat up and swung my feet to the floor.

"Yes, Sara. You did."

Sara was childlike. More willing than most to be subservient. Almost delighting in waiting for instruction and using the term Master more freely than those who'd gone before her.

"But I'm not done yet.

Now go lay on the bed."

Sara withdrew herself fully from under the milking bench and obediently went to the four-poster bondage bed.

She lay back smiling. Willingly waiting for me to do whatever I chose to do next. It would be my choice. For Sara, it would end in being fucked. That was where our pleasure would meet for mutual satisfaction.

That childlike innocent smile continued as she put her arms up to grasp the bars above her head. She knew the routine. Wide leather straps hung from the frame patiently waiting to secure her wrists. I buckled them tightly before turning to her feet.

I lifted each one in turn, caressing her slender ankle before placing it in the outer cut-out of the stocks that reached across the base of the bed between the two heavy foot posts. Then I lowered the upper half of the oak structure, securing her feet in place.

Sara was restrained totally, with her legs pulled wide to expose her sweet pussy to me. It was wet, aroused and in need. Just as my cock was coming alive again. Sara's eyes were on it. They were full of desire and hope that I wouldn't deny her.

I sat astride her chest with my cock laying between her little tits. With a bigger girl, I might have pleasured myself there. Sara was too lacking for that. Her tits lay almost flat against her chest when she was on her back, but they were cute all the same, with dark nipples that pointed sharply up.

I stroked her face and let her suck on my fingers. Such want.

"Shall we see if your tight little pussy is wet with its golden nectar?"

"It is Master."

"Let me check."

I turned and lay on her, sliding myself over her body, my legs going on either side of her head so that my cock was at her lips again.

I put my face to her groin, brushing my lips over the trimmed hair of her bush. When she'd first arrived I'd considered insisting she removed it. I was glad now I hadn't. It made her interesting. Different to the others. Allowing her permission to keep it had been a good decision.

Sara twitched and made a gentle moan past my once again hardening cock as it eased its way back into her mouth.

I kissed her pussy, sucking the small flaps of delicate flesh between my lips. Warm ham was the only thing that sprang to mind as a description. Thinly sliced and coated in salted honey.

"Mmm."

Her body squirmed under me as she moaned with pleasure. My cock was fully hard again and filled her mouth. It felt so warm and comfortable with her gentle sucks and the swirl of her tongue. She was as eager to service me a second time as she had been the first.

Her pussy was wet. Filled with sweet juices that I lapped away while exciting her hot eager flesh and teasing the ticklish nerves of her inner thighs.

I attacked her pleasure button, sucking it proud and tormenting it with my tongue. Sara was going wild, desperate but unable to close her legs. I could see her knees waving and feel her tugging at the restraints on her wrists. More deep-throated moans vibrated around my cock.

I tightened my thighs around her head, gripping it in place. Then I pumped her mouth, treating it as I would a pussy.

Sara came on my face. Delicious warm love juice gushed onto my tongue and swallowed it back.

"Mmmm."

She was on fire. Unable to escape me. Choking on my cock as it pressed deep into the back of her throat.

"Uhh."

Again my balls exploded, pumping salty cream up my shaft to exit into her mouth. I felt her swallowing my cum while I pressed my groin hard against her face. She was struggling, fighting to breathe.

I rolled away to recover. Next to me, I could hear her gasping lungfuls of air.

"Fuck." She gasped.

"I thought I was going to drown."

"You liked it though, didn't you."

The act had momentarily slipped. This was the genuine Sara I could hear.

"Ha.

Yeah."

I rolled back onto the sweating girl. Her body heat excited me. This time, I fucked her. A long, drawn-out affair that had her cuming several times before I could manage it a third time.

"Fuck. I'm exhausted." Sara gasped as I released her.

She looked tired as I released the restraints. She sat up, her skin glistening with sweat that matted her hair. I licked her shoulder, tasting its saltiness and breathed in her smell laden with the sweetness of youth. She looked tired.

"Let's take a shower." I said.

"Yes Master."

The act was back. Obedient and respectful. Submissive.

I watched as she walked ahead. Her legs were slender and toned. The heels she wore kept them straight and made her butt sway gently with each step. She was a slight girl with a slender back. Long, dark hair topped her head and reached between her shoulder blades. It had just a hint of red in its near blackness when caught right in the light. Gathered up, it made a perfect rein with which to pull her head up sharply when I fucked her from behind.

Sara was a natural in heels. Hers were the highest I'd selected for anyone. She'd worn similar when I'd first seen her working in a boutique. She hadn't seen me then. The girls never saw me until I was ready. I was discrete. I watched from a distance and searched their social media accounts. I formed profiles so that I could perfectly predict their reactions. By the time I confronted a girl I knew her better than she knew herself.

I'd approached Sara in the Bay Area. Sara was a runner. Early evenings after her work were spent jogging along the front in shorts and a tee shirt. It was there I'd chosen my moment, striking up a conversation as she rested.

With knowledge, a few psychological skills and whatever magic I possessed, I'd captured her attention. Slowly talking her into revealing even more of her secrets. Manipulating her towards wanting me.

Sara's run had been forgotten and she'd sat for hours as the sun went down and we talked under the bay lights. On the surface, she was a resilient person. Able to negotiate the world and interact with people confidently. I'd peeled away that veneer like the layers of an onion and exposed her vulnerability. I played with her insecurities, her need for a father figure and her lack of a boyfriend. She wanted someone who would take control and lift the burdensome worries of life from her shoulders. And someone who would fuck her senseless.

By late evening she'd been squirming with desire and transfixed by the financial offer she'd laughed at when first mentioned.

By the end, Sara had been like so many others. Intrigued, almost hypnotised. She hadn't come with me right away as Poppy had. But the next morning after securing her little apartment, she'd climbed into my car without question. One million dollars is a very powerful aphrodisiac. When coupled with the overwhelming need to feel worshipped, and to fuck, it becomes irresistible.

My profession gave me the skill and my financial success supplied the money. The rest was more a genetic blessing. A disarming personality and natural pheromones that worked on a subconscious level. I didn't think I was the best looking guy ever to bless the Earth. I was fairly normal in that respect. But girls aren't as impressed with muscles and chiselled jawlines as the movies would have you think. It's the inner person that captures them. Strength, humour and mystery. Then even the most average man looks handsome.

While my expertise lay with the mind, I don't think we as a species fully appreciate just how much we are driven by our senses. We're not something special. We're animals.

At a base level, we operate on instinct just like the lion or the antelope. After survival, there is nothing more basic than the desire to fuck. Ensure the first and trigger the second and any girl becomes a plaything. Only a thin layer of civilisation makes us think any differently. Understanding how that trigger worked gave me immense power.

Obsession

Home was a sexual fantasy played out from the moment I arrived back at the house in the evening until I departed the following morning. And often in between through the use of modern technology.

In the day I was a respectable Dr running a psychology practice servicing wealthy clients. I didn't hold sessions much myself anymore, choosing to leave that to my team. Instead, I'd morphed into a businessman and lecturer to visiting investors, law enforcement officers and other experts in the psychological world.

My role was raising awareness of the business to future wealthy clients and giving insightful presentations to interested organisations.

But even here my urges were never far from the surface. As I stood and spoke, my mind was split in two. One, the professional doctor who talked about the ills of the mind. The second, an instinct-driven hunter. A sex-obsessed mind that filtered the audience, dismissing the men and less attractive women as though they didn't exist.

As I gave my lectures or plied my sales pitch I was subconsciously assessing any attractive females in the audience for sexual potential. I saw their legs crossing and uncrossing. The alertness of their eyes, the different sizes of their tits enclosed in secure bras and hidden beneath blouses. Their pheromones in the room that I sensed at a subconscious level made me see them as larger-than-life characters against a flat, out-of-focus backdrop of nonentities.

Or was it that what appeared to be the conventional behaviour came from my subconscious while my awake brain lived in the alternative world of a predator? A fascinating question. How else could I operate amongst my colleagues if not on autopilot? How else could I concentrate when driven to despair by the absence of sex for even a few hours?

Today I was talking about a subject close to my heart. Dominant character traits, and how they play in the criminal world.

"Mania and narcissism combine. They create an inflated opinion of self in the dominant character. The same mechanisms at work make a submissive feel a lack of self-worth.

Where the submissive character looks for a person to give approval. To command. The dominant person will believe only they are capable of making worthwhile decisions. He or she will not doubt their judgement. Nor will they expect to be questioned. They thrive on winning and success. They're assertive and decisive.

The submissive mind is attracted to that. It appreciates the control and readily believes the infallibility of their dominant master."

From the audience, I was picking out the character types. Dividing the room. Looking for females that didn't fall so easily into the dominant category of my subject matter.

It didn't escape my notice that I was partly describing myself in all this. I wasn't a criminal, but the character description was of myself in many ways.

I moved on to the subsets of the dominating character.

"The dominant Conscientious. They're the overachievers in life. They focus on challenges and results. They're poor team workers, but make good managers, lawyers and doctors. They're also excellent criminal masterminds."

As I spoke, a ginger-haired girl captured my attention. In her early twenties, she was dressed to impress. In my head, I could hear the rustle of her clothes and smell her perfume. I could taste the flesh of her slender neck and see the gentle lift of her neat breasts as she breathed. All of it in the slow-motion vision of heightened senses.

My voice was still echoing around the room. Clear and concise. But my eyes were on hers. On the tremble in her lips as she breathed and the gulp in her throat when she swallowed. I saw into her soul.

She was pretty. Slim and petite. I could feel her weakness as though it were tangible. She moved in a world of law enforcement where strength of character was needed. A trainee for a role that required self-assurance. But she was also a fake. I sensed it as surely as I sensed the rousing in my trousers.

"In society the dominant character traits enable these people to rise in their careers. They're generally very charismatic and lead those with submissive traits."

The women in this audience were married and had children. Outside of their work, they lived normal lives of school runs and satisfying their boring husbands occasionally with vanilla sex. They worked in roles that involved psychology in some way and they would be considered dominant characters. Even the ginger-haired girl who I knew to be living a lie. Her character was a fabricated image to hide her true self. With the opportunity, I could tear that away and reveal her true nature. It's what I did to girls.

Most of this audience were happy with their lives and confident in who they were. They weren't the kind I sought. The ginger-haired one was. I hoped I'd find her again in the future when I had a vacancy.

My entire waking moments were filled with the hunger of wanting to bury myself balls deep in any and every attractive woman who showed weakness. And nature had blessed me with a set that could pump out cum near continuously. Sure I needed a little recovery time between sessions. I wasn't superhuman. But as a whole, I never tired. I never relented in my quest to have my cock hard and comforted by a wet hole of one description or another.

I was a psychologist by trade, but any onlooker who knew my inner thoughts would have said I was more in need of one for treatment.

Some of these women were doctors themselves. Professional people who would be horrified at how my private life was arranged. No doubt they would want to sit me down and analyse me, and who knows, perhaps that was what I needed.

Occasionally, I came across other professionals who were up for a little extra curriculum fun. None of them truly held my attention. They weren't like Sara, Poppy, or Maria. They might want an afternoon with me in a hotel and sometimes I obliged. Between girls, I sought relief wherever I could find it. But none of them wanted to give themselves wholeheartedly twenty-four-seven to me. None wanted a Master.

Only one woman had led me to deviate from my pattern. A particularly attractive doctor that worked in my practice. She was approaching forty and had the most glorious tits. Not massive, but a nice size in proportion to her body.

She reminded me a little of a young Barbara Walters. Not just for her name. She had the same body and facial shape. Whether by design or accident, even her hairstyle held similarities. She always dressed conservatively and had a seventies vibe about her that just added to the illusion. I could imagine her as a news anchor from that era as easily as she fitted the image of a psychologist.