Making Master Z's Whore

Tis storming out, the wind is howling, the rain pelting. It's not yet evening but the day has grown dark, the clouds above menacing. Her struggles with her umbrella, her slow progressive walk into the wind, her fight with nature stir the beast within Him as He watches from the luxury of His chauffeur driven car with its warm leather seats and dark tinted windows.

He taps the glass that always divides Him from the driver and the car pulls to the curb. His ever-humble servant opens the door for Master and holds the umbrella above his head, not batting an eye at the drenching he is receiving; his only concern is that his Master stays dry and safe. He takes the umbrella from His servant and calls out to the girl fighting the elements.

She is desperately trying to get home. The storm, the likes of which, she hasn't seen so fierce in a long time, has her exhausted after battling five long blocks. She only has one block to go and her umbrella is trying to turn inside out. She wants to toss it to the wind, but is thankful at the same time for the small shield it is creating against the wind that she is leaning into.

She is soaked to the bone from the pouring rain, her long hair, normally tied so neatly, hangs in loose strands that blow into her face; her long black skirt is completely moulded to her skin. Her blouse is transparent. Her four hundred-dollar leather shoes are ruined, her feet slush and slide around inside them. The squeaking with each step she takes puts her in a foul mood, the thought of what her feet will look like when she pulls her stockings off, makes her despondent.

Deciding she has had enough, she stops to discard her beautiful Italian leather mules and walk the distance home barefoot. One shoe still remaining, she hears a voice calling; she turns towards the voice and finds a dignified man walking purposely towards her.

"Excuse Me?" He calls to her in a lightly accented voice.

She frowns at him and looks to the sky; the ever-menacing clouds thicken further as day turns to night while she looks on in frustration. The wind whips her hair harshly, tossing it around stinging her face and eyes, distracting her momentarily from the man walking towards her.

Her already bad mood escalates when she notices his umbrella is in perfect condition. She reaches up, shoves at her hair and puts a false smile on her face. 'Bastard, at least someone's dry', she hisses to herself before yelling out to him, over the wind.

"I can't hear you. Sorry what did you say?"

He motions to her with his hand cupped to his ear and continues with his purposeful stride. She interprets the gesture as a sign that he can't hear her either. Releasing a pent up breath slowly through almost blue lips, she hops on one foot as she reaches down to pull off her shoe. Her bag slips from her shoulder and she almost stumbles while trying to push it back up, at the same time he reaches out to steady her.

He quickly thrusts out a hand for her to hold, which she gratefully takes and looks up at him with a dazzling smile, the first real smile she has had since leaving the office. He holds her hand tightly, pulling her slightly towards him; she espies a handkerchief as his other hand reaches for her face. A repugnant smell slaps her in the face as the kerchief is brought heavily down on her nose, sending her senses reeling and opening a cold pit of blackness. Before losing consciousness, she hears him growl;

"That won't be the last time you reach for me slut!" as she falls into his arms.

*****

She starts to awaken. Her head is groggy, her mind lazy. She tries to recall what had happened and where she was, but nothing makes sense. The rain, she remembers, yes the rain. She knows her eyes are open but she cannot see. She attempts to wipe her face, but finds that she cannot move her hands, they are not free. An ache in her arms, annoying and uncomfortable, has her more confused then scared. Her skirt feels unusually tight and her ankles are apart. She tries to move her legs, but she cannot. With a sigh of exhaustion, she hangs her head and drifts again into blackness; it's too much to think about, the blackness is welcomed.

He watches the girl across from him, as he has watched her many times before. She is 25 years old, not too late to be trained for the purpose He wants her for. He has done all sorts of things to this girl already. He has organized and orchestrated so much in her life, without her knowledge. For the last year she has unwillingly and unknowingly been prepared for his use. A use he now feels she is ready to par-take in, a job, one that He believes she is ready to fill.

From all the reports he has seen, from the many men he has employed to enter her life so fleetingly, he is most pleased with the results. The last report showed that she is fed up; she has had enough of men and their uncaring ways. She seems desperate to believe that He is out there, that one perfect mate. She wants to chance it one more time, but fears her instincts are failing her.

Her fears are real and rightly so. The men He chose for her were all stage playing a script that he had written for his own design. These men were actors who were paid a small fortune to put her in a specific frame of mind; a frame of mind that guaranteed she would be unhappy, unsatisfied and full of self-doubt. Exactly where he wanted her.

He could see the desperation in her eyes when she daydreamed in the park at lunch times. In the way her eyes scan, searching, when she thinks no one is looking. She is searching for Him, the man that will see her; she just never seems to look in the right direction.

He enjoys the sadness that enters her eyes when her search finds no one. He laughs at her disappointment, for He knows that someone has noticed her. He sees her need to fill and be fulfilled by the desires she hides behind and maybe unconsciously so, with her polished look, manicured nails, and made up face.

He knows these desires burn, deep within her stomach with every aching disappointment of another dream unfulfilled. He wants her that way; aching and desperate to prove her worth to someone, to Him.

She has never seen Him, never looked in His direction. For that He will make her pay. She will pay for her self-absorption in not seeing him, not seeing the satisfaction that he could bring her. The price will be her complete and total obedience, surrender and submission. She will be His whore; His own personal whore, to use as He sees fit. He will offer her nothing and take all in return.

His cock hardens with the pleasure these thoughts bring Him. Watching with a lecherous grin on his face, He thinks of the look in her eyes to come, the look she will finally bestow upon Him. He knows there is a fire behind the demure appearance and relishes the coming fight, the fight with her for her.

*****

With brutal hands, He ruthlessly rips her blouse open, exposing her white bra. He grabs a knife and cuts the bra from her chest with one quick twist. He reaches for His assortment of tools laying on the seat next to him.

He picks up the first of two clamps, perfect for her long nipples. He pinches and twists with the pink buds until they are hard. He attaches the first clamp, then the other. With this done, He loops a chain through the clamps.

He sits back and watches as the pain inflicted lifts her head. The scene before him sees her hands extended outwards, bound to the hand straps strategically placed along the roof of the car for just this purpose, her ass wedged into the seat and her head tilted back into the drivers screen. With this sight before him, His cock thickens further.

Her eyes are hidden behind a blindfold. He smirks cruelly at the clamps hanging off of her nipples, the red line already extending up her cream white skin. Her ankles are parted wide with his favourite spreader. The one he spent hours creating just for her. He smiles in pleasure as she finally regains consciousness.

She awakens with her sense of direction misplaced and her mind even more confused then before. She realises that she has been blindfolded and frantically attempts to tear the blindfold from her eyes but finds her arms are locked in place and will not allow it. Not knowing where she is or what is about to happen, panic sets in and the fear overwhelms her as she hears a clinking, a rustling, signifying that she is not alone. She can feel someone watching her. She suddenly remembers a man, a smell, and the comment. "It won't be the last time you reach for me slut!"

Her mind rushes around for answers but the pounding in her head and the accelerated beat in her chest has her so overwhelmed that she can not think of anything but fear; Fear of the unknown and the man with the umbrella.

She begins to feel a burning, stinging sensation on her chest, one that will not go away and increases with every passing second. A pain that has her screaming out in fear.

"Ahhh! What the fuck!?" She cries out as she feels her nipples being pulled away from her body. She screams louder. In a deeply detached voice, she hears him speak softly but firmly,

"It's a chain my slut. Whenever you say something disagreeable you will feel it"

"I don't understand. Let me see, you bast..." She cries as he viciously pulls again. "Agrrrhhhhhh! Stop!"

"Shut the fuck up bitch. You have no rights but the ones I give you." He responds in a cold, calm manner.

She sits frozen in silence, deeply afraid for the first time in her life of speaking, moving and even breathing. Her heart beats rapidly as her fear begins to manifest into something that she vaguely recognises growing within her. With the loss of movement she becomes aware of her body and the arousal it is beginning to feel. She is mortified by her response and afraid to acknowledge that behind the fear there is also an underlaying thrilling sensation.

He laughs in a low pitch that is in part humour and part disgust at the fear He can feel coming from her. She senses His disgust in her and unwelcomely it forces her to raise her shoulders and straighten her spine, refusing to give in to the fear, at least outwardly so.

"That's it toy, show me what your made of." He sneers as He pulls on the chain.

His taunts act simultaneously with the jolting motion of the car. When her back presses into the seat, He pulls forward on her nipples. When she comes forward, He lets go. It's a nightmare. If she stays still she is pulled forward with a quick hard tug. She can feel a tingling between her legs that never had she before associated with the tug on her nipples. She forgets the pain for a moment and lets the nerve reach from nipple to clit, another sharp tug from him and a laugh cures her of her newfound knowledge.

"That's it my girl, turn the pain into pleasure." He watches the girl, His girl and He notes the surprise in her posture, in the way her body pauses and absorbs the feeling of pleasure.

He looks to her legs and smiles as He sees her thighs pressed tightly together. From the knees down her legs are spread, her wet skirt cocoon's her thighs. He reaches a hand up and places it on her leg.

She reacts instinctively by flinching away and yelling, "Get your fucking hands off me." He pulls on the chain and taunts her again. She moans and bites on the inside of her lip to try and stifle the sound.

"If you can't say anything nice slut... Then you can't say anything at all." He warned.

She cries out as He grabs her nose and holds her nostrils painfully. She holds her breath when He twists her nose sharply. He forces her head into the back of the screen, making her cry out again in pain. Tears that had formed in her eyes drip freely down her face. It hurt, oh god did it hurt. Her nose, her head, her nipples all burn with the need to be free of His cruel touch, to be free to move, to run and escape this man. Her mouth opens, to drag in much needed air to fill her nearly bursting lungs. But in doing so, something large and intruding is stuffed in her mouth causing her to gag unmercifully and choke on her own breath.

She feels dizzy and faint; her hands strain desperately at her bonds trying to break free. She tries to spit it out but she feels it being tied in place. Hot tears run rapidly down her face as she thinks 'this is it, this is how I shall die.'

When she accepts her fate, she starts to think Paul, the last wanker she was with, and how he used to hold her down on his cock. What did he say 'relax, relax and breathe through your nose.' Focusing completely on her breathing and nothing else, she begins to relax now as she did back then and finds that she can successfully breathe through her nose once more.

She hears a sound; a rustling, she is sure she knows what it is but is too afraid to link the obvious in her mind.

"It's plastic bitch." She listens intently to the taunt voice of her captor, re-affirming her fears "the kind that is used in shallow graves."

She feels her body shaking; little shudders that consume her at the imagery his words create. Horrid scenes of being slashed to pieces, of being buried alive, flood her mind. Struggling uselessly against her bonds; she can hear the crunching of the plastic as he brings it to her ear and slides it over the skin on her cheeks.

"It's what is used to wrap a body in, so the smell of decaying flesh isn't so noticeable."

She does not want to listen but she is horrifyingly fascinated by his words. Then she hears the grating of metal on metal and the, swoosh, that only one thing she knows of can make; the sliding of a knife from its sheath. Her imagination jumps from one scenario to the next. Her fear of cuts and blood, of doctors and hospitals start to take a hold of her and a silent scream is unleashed in her mind. She starts to tune out, to hide within herself where she can be safe from the imagery of that knife and his words.

In her purposeful daze, she hears a blurred noise; recognising it is Him calling her back to the here and now. She feels a slap to her face, the sting only briefly registering in her mind. She feels firm fingers on her shoulders, shaking her, dragging her out of her place; the only place she knows she can hide, her safe place.

"What I have planned for you is not death, my little bitch."

Pure panic rushes through her as He teases her with the sound of metal on metal as he hones the edge of his blade. She starts to plan, to think. She tests her legs, her bonds. She will find a way out, that she is sure of, it is just timing. Then she will run free of this mad insane man. This is her promise to herself, she will be free.

She's pulled from her thoughts as the fabric of her skirt tightens. It is pulled up and away from her. Her legs shake, the feel of cool steel brushes her inner thighs and she tries to clamp her legs together. She feels the knife nicking her soft skin as it slowly slices upward towards her cunt, the fabric and her protection giving way easily to His sharpened blade.

She mumbles behind the gag, her hands move in the straps desperately. Freedom and escape her only thought. Her arse inches back until her back is pressed tightly in the seat. She tries to turn her legs sideways; the blade's edge stops her. She feels the prick to her skin and shakily keeps still.

"Spread them wider as I cut. I know, you know how to spread those soft creamy thighs"

She shakes her head no and a rough hand squeezes hard above her knee. She shakes her head no again, but her legs spread in fear of the knife that she can feel so sharply pressing into the soft skin on her inner thigh.

She spreads her legs as He draws the blade up, slicing cleanly, opening the skirt to the waistband. She sits trembling, her skirt opened and laying around her, her black stockings digging into her upper thigh.

She feels a strap passed behind her thigh where His hand has just bruised her flesh. The shaking within her gets stronger and she consciously makes the decision that she will not show more fear. She doesn't want to feed Him and knows that she does by being coward by him. She realises that if He was going to kill her, He would have done so by now. Her fate however she was certain of, but refused to think upon. She feels the fastening of a buckle biting just above her knee. She refuses to groan and she's glad He can't see her eyes when it's done. She feels the same done to her other leg. He handles her roughly, uncaringly. She is afraid but she is not weak, not now, not anymore. She sets her mind to storing all her strength, the strength she needs to win her freedom.

The sensation of cold metal, a pole she thinks, slides behind her knees as she starts to imagine all sorts of things in her mind. It's when the pleading in her head begins; what's He doing? Oh god someone save me from this madman.

Two snaps and she can't close her legs, leaving her prone, vulnerable and wide open for his inspection. She sucks in deeply through her nose as the muscles in her thighs stretch quickly and without warning, almost burning the muscles of her thighs.

She didn't so much hear Him but felt the atmosphere in the car change. There was a shift then a sound, one she couldn't be sure she was hearing. It sounded like a fridge door sucking open, but she wasn't really sure.

The sound of glass banging on glass was the next thing she heard. Her head tilted to one side, her hearing acute now picked up every little detail. She wonders what He is doing, and then the stinging, freezing cold between her thighs as a bottle is laid between them tells her all she needs to know. He eases it forward; pressing the crown against her white covering and she jolts automatically. With a smile He says,

"Champagne, whore?"

Her head shakes no wildly. He removes his hand and sits back watching the vibration of the car move the bottle. She feels the thrill of the slight pressure it causes against her clit, she can feel the liquid sloshing up and down inside the bottle, as the car moves, and she can feel her clit respond but refuses to acknowledge it. Smiling He regards the slight change in her breathing and the drips of condensation running down the neck of the bottle, wetting her fresh, pure, virgin like underwear. Oh yeah He likes that.

"Yes, I think champagne will do nicely for you whore" He smugly remarks.

Stiffly she sits ignoring the taunting as her core uncontrollably starts to moisten. Every change in her body, every movement, His eyes catch, He misses nothing.

"Yes, whore, you like it."

No, she signals with a shake of her head. With the heel of His boot He presses a little harder on the dimple in the base of the bottle.

"I think you do slut...I can smell your sex."

She involuntarily opens a little wider, her head tilts back slightly; her jaw clenches a little harder. He can see the outline of her mound, the darkening of the white on her panties. She can feel her panties pushing further into her with the pressure of the bottleneck. It's stupid to hide the fact that this is turning her on; she can't find anyway to hide it, the proof is there to be seen.

She feels the pressure spreading her lips. She starts to wish there was no barrier between her and the bottle, but the feel of the cotton, slowly and surly pushing inside her is causing all sorts of sensations to rule over her. He relaxes and flexes his foot, pushing it further into her and enjoying the signs of her unwilling surrender.

Her head falls back, she still shakes no but she finds it harder to deny that she wants to feel more.

"Yes, I thought so, a whore, but a whore's cunt needs cleaning"

Afraid that she doesn't understand, but understands to well what He's going to do, she keeps shaking her head, always no.

Leaning across He pulls the bottle away, resting it beside her. A finger pushes her panties deep, pulling them hard across her clit and deeper into the valley of her perfectly rounded ass; she gasps behind the gag nearly choking in the process. He pulls her panties aside roughly revealing her swollen clit.