Making Master Z's Whore

It weeps for a touch, the feel of skin. To her horror she knows she would have asked for it if she had been able to and thanks whatever god available that she can't utter a word.

She can feel his impersonal staring and it sets her juices to running. He flicks a finger hard against her clit, which causes her to jump and moan automatically. A louder muffled moan is heard as He grabs and twists her clit sharply. He forces His fingers into her hole and coats them with her juice. She feels that pleasurable jolt as He curls his fingers inside her and she's embarrassed because there is so much nectar for Him to play in.

Wiping his fingers under her nose he says, "Smell your body's betrayal my little whore."

He grabs her chin firmly holding her head still, as again she tilts her head away from him.

"Don't deny your a wanton slut by shaking your head no, you want this bottle in your cunt, fucking you, admit it slut."

She turns her head sharply away from the smell of her juice, refusing to acknowledge anything. With a chuckle He lifts the bottle.

"Stubborn bitch, you will learn not to fight me."

It takes a long time for Him to remove the foil around the top of the bottle. She hears it crackle tauntingly, as He slowly removes it. God she wants it, but sits stiffly anyway and then with enjoyable pleasure she hears the wire guard come off. He flicks it at her breasts and she pulls back at His cruelty. Her tits still clamped burn at the brief unwanted touch on her flesh.

Ashamed of her body's betraying wants, she hears with a slow twist, the cork singing of things to come. With its pop and fizz she tries desperately not to think of the excitement building with in her. The excitement mixed with a feeling of self-disgust for seeing where this may lead her and a very real fear she may even enjoy it.

The sound of the bottle being shaken causes her body to involuntarily freeze again. The chill returns to her thigh as his thumb nail presses on her clit; she feels the tingle His cold finger leaves behind as He pushes into her.

"Now for your wash bitch," He laughs. "Let's clean away all those other cocks, slut."

She stiffens her legs to try and clamp them shut but the bar holding her thighs open prevents it. It bites into her thighs; she uselessly lifts herself by her bonded hands trying to get away from Him.

He pulls his thumb away letting the fluid flow into her; she stills her struggles but yells, "Nooo!" behind the gag. Twisting the bottle He works it deeper as she feels the unbelievable force behind the icy cold fluid now shooting up into her and spilling back around the bottle and out of her.

Deeper He shoves and twists; loving every shudder within her, watching her valiant efforts to hide her pleasure.

She tries to fight it, but the pressure, the cold, the twisting, the turning; the tingling and the thrusting inside her are all too much. She holds back, He grabs the bar between her knees pulling her forward, stretching her lips around the neck of the bottle.

"Ahhhh!" She screams behind the gag, her arse dragged forward by His steely hand on the bar. His voice ruff excited, heady, hisses.

"How do you like this my little whore?"

She trashes wildly as much as her bonds will allow. She shakes her head no again but this time she fears it is because she doesn't want it to stop. Pinching her nose He starts to fuck her soaked cunt.

"Oh you want this slut... from the first touch you wanted it," he yells at her almost frantically as He shoves the bottle deeper into her.

Her head explodes as her only way of breathing is cut off... She tries to shake him off. She feels her cunt being pounded hard. She needs to cum but the need to breathe has her fighting for her life. She thrashes, she shifts as much as she can. She twists around to smash her spread feet into his thighs. She hits him hard as she feels herself spinning down, down into the darkness, that so beckons her.

Her respite is only brief as He roars in rage, slapping her breasts again and again. She feels battered and bruised but she thanks god that He's let go of her nose. Her breasts feel, as though they are about to fall off, the pain is unbearable and even behind the gag her screams of agony are heard clearly.

Her screams, though muffled behind the gag, have her yelling obscenities at him, the like she's never said before, things He has no trouble understanding

"Fuck off. You cunt. You prick. Fucking wanker, fuck off."

"You cunt, cunt, cunt." She screams and she cries openly. Not so much afraid to let him see her pain right now as she is scared that she is more upset that He denied her the orgasm. The orgasm she was about to throw herself into instead of the genuine pain she is feeling from His angry blows to the chest. She cries at her confusion, at her wanting, her lack of freedom and loathing of this man.

She weeps as it dawns on her that the burning pain is radiating into something new and different, something she doesn't understand. With this new sensation, realization and clarity of thought follows. How could she lust after a man that treated her like this? How could she do it? How could she still, now as she feels the pain in her breasts from his hard slaps, want only to feel him fuck her? Why does her cunt involuntary open and want Him so desperately inside her. Why did she want him like this? Why did she want his anger? Why does she crave this, this man?

She knows somewhere deep down that He wants her fight and to be rude and anger Him, how does she know it. She doesn't know him. She doesn't know what He looks like or what He's capable of, but so far it appears anything is possible. The biggest question, the one that she is afraid to answer, why does she want more when she's been taught all her life that this is wrong?

She blinks behind the blindfold, she shakes her head to clear it; she takes a huge risk and screams as clearly and loudly as she can "You fucker!" and throws as much of her body against Him as she can.

He doubles over as she hits with a well-aimed knee, his hardened cock and balls. The anger and pain that He feels now is nothing to what she will feel. He straightens and backhands her across the mouth.

"You want pain my bitch," He rasps with tears in his voice.

He unsheathes his knife, slowly so she can hear it; she screams out no. He slices the straps from the gag at her cheek and on a plea she spits it out coughing and choking as it plops out to lie between her thighs. He's glad He has distracted her from what He is about to do. Roughly He pulls the clamps straight from her breast knowing that they will shut and drag over her nipples causing excruciating pain. He waits for what He knows will come.

There is silence, a deathly silence that prevails inside the car; He counts 1, on his in drawn breath, then 2, then 3. He's impressed by 4, and then she lets out the loudest most ear-piercing scream He has ever had the pleasure to hear. Every muscle in her body contracted into a hardened taught bow of pain. He knows that pain and glories in it. Before the whimpering cries begin again, for He knows they will come, He slashes quickly but not to deeply a Z into her right breast as He lets out shakily the breath that was suspended in His own throat. She moves away from it, from the fear and cutting edge of His blade. Her body shakes as she feels the blood dripping over her burning nipple...

"A letter," He explains, as He grabs her hair and pulls her ear to His lips, holding her impossibly still while running his finger down her bloody breast. She hears Him suck His finger from His mouth as He leans in impossibly close whispering in a voice and tone that she can not but doubt to be anything but the utmost truth.

"Z for the last in the alphabet my girl," he pauses, letting that sink in "For I will be your last." He brings her lips around to His; He grinds His will, His power over her into her mouth, devouring her, leaving her feeling incredibly invaded and more afraid of His kiss then the pain she knows He will bare her to take. The door to the car is opened, the chill in the cold night air and a new voice invade the car and more fearfully her mind.

"Master, You are home Sir."

*****

She's glad that the kiss ended when it did for she was alarmed at the response his harshly soft lips had drawn from her. He grabs her chin and says to her very slowly so that she doesn't misunderstand Him in anyway.

"There is no one to hear your screams but Lance and he will not interfere or come to your aid in anyway, there are no neighbours close to us here, we are in the country and far enough away from civilisation that I could have you on my front step screaming your head off and no one would hear you, running here will do you no good, would you like to walk to the house or would you prefer to be carried by Lance?"

She is surprised by his concession and the smoothness in His voice and wonders why exactly he is giving her the option of saving a bit of her dignity. She is not foolish enough to turn him down, her legs and arms are aching but more importantly, she needs to be untied to run free of Him.

"I will not run from you yet..." she says as she tilts her head to one side considering and realises that she doesn't even know his name. "What is your name?"

"My name is Stephen, you will call me Sir from this point on, when your worthy you may call me Master Z, is that understood Samantha?"

She knows she hasn't reviled her name to him and he for stalls her asking just as she opens her mouth to speak.

"There is much I know about you Samantha, how much you will know in time"

With that he ends all conversation by unlocking her feet and her thighs, he pauses when He reaches her hands, then unlocks them too. She shakes her hands and bites down on her plump kiss filled lips to stop the tingling pain from paralysing her hands; His generosity, sarcastically, she thinks, shows no bounds in waiting for her to become accustomed to having hands again before assisting her from the car.

Still blindfolded but standing in only her black stockings and white panties, her skin ripples as the cool night air puckers her painful nipples, her arms come up to cross over her chest trying to prevent the ongoing torture of them, but large strong hands rest on her shoulders while a broad chest is burning into her back. His hands run down her arms forcing them gently to her sides, all the way to her hands. He holds them briefly, the heat from what she presumes to be a large comforting chest sends an uncomfortable shiver down her spine before He draws her hands behind her back, crossing them at the wrists.

"Lance" is all He says and she feels the air move around her still form. "Sorry Princess I will not give you the chance to run" she turns her head in his direction.

"I gave you my word I wouldn't run yet Sirrrr...."

He smiles at her petulant attitude and is inwardly grateful for it, her fighting gives him hope that he can tame her to his hand, outwardly He shoves her in the back slightly and she stumbles a step forward while muttering something about bastards before He holds her still while tying soft rope around her wrists and intricately up her arms to her elbows, insuring there is no way she can wriggle free.

When the task is done He turns her in the direction of the home He has always loathed and loved to the same degree.

His hands hold her by the shoulders once again; this time when He pauses she can feel the tension within Him, for some reason she knows this moment is important to him, she doesn't know how she knows it, she just does.

She is surprised to feel His hands in her hair and feeling Him untie the knot in the back of her blindfold, it leaves her breathless. Before the shield is taken away from her she feels Him lean heavier into her, she tilts her head down and watches as her eyes adjust to the light in the darkness. The first thing she sees is the beauty of the silken blindfold, she stares intently at its graceful fall to the ground, when it lands upon her stocking clad her feet.

She continues to watch it composing herself to what she will see before her when at last she looks up.

She doesn't immediately look up, she gradually raises her eyes and she notices a pebbled drive, which is off to the right of her, she can see bright light beyond it and imagines this is His home. The brightness makes her squint, until her eyes stop stinging and will allow her to look closer at the structure before her.

There is a veranda, with an entrance way, a rather impressive one from what she can see from here, but the rest of the house is not what she pictured it to be, there where wings on either side of it and in the middle was a two maybe three story triangular shape structure, in the top two windows there was soft light shining through. She felt as if one with a moth, that room, that light, she knows is her guide, where she cant resist to be, but knows to well the danger of burning ones wings, if she gets to close.

The house was amazingly beautiful to the eye and she imagined what it would look like on a bright sunny day, however in the night it looked sad, so sad that even the flowers that grew around it could not lift the depression that the house itself felt, she wondered briefly if its owner felt the same way and chided herself for the compassion she was about to express. The house she decided needed happiness, this house, this man, this life all needed happiness. This house, she decided would not hear her laughter though.

"One day you will be mistress of this house," He whispered into her ear with certainty. She whispered back with just as much certainty as He.

"I will promise you one thing Stephen, I will not be mistress here ever and I will escape you."

She sucked in the fresh air through her nose, and closed her eyes filling her lungs with false bravado and waited for god knows what, after delivering what she hoped was a blow to His over inflated ego; she still refused to call Him Sir.

The smell of the roses wafted to her, another time and another way maybe she thinks to herself as she closes her eyes willing herself to do just what she has wanted to do since the moment she watched the blind fold drop to the ground, she turns her head and looks over her shoulder at Him.

He looks directly into her eyes and wonders what it is she has seen in Him that has her frowning, there's a look in her eye, which He is not sure about.

"That was two things," He remarks in that slightly amused British accent.

"What?" she says still frowning way to intensely at Him, then it dawns on her what He is talking about "don't worry, i'm sure the lists of promises I make you will grow" she says in disgust as she turns her head away from the disturbing thought of seeing this man before somewhere.

He laughs, He barks it out and she flinches back at His humility, surprised that the man in the car and this man in front of her seem to be two completely different men. A cold thought rushes through her veins as she wonders how many men occupy the same body and if when the blind fold and restraints are removed, He is softer then when there firmly in place, looking back over her shoulder into his pewter eyes she doesn't think so, as a zealous like shine gleams at her when He says

"oh Yes Samantha you will make me promises and you will keep them of that I am sure" He chuckles to himself as He steers her towards the entrance of His home and her new hell.

*****

He walks her through the front doors and tells her to wait, and like a numb mute fool she stands there trying to take in the grandeur in which she finds herself surrounded, never in her wildest dreams would she imagine any home let alone His looking like this, and Christ she thinks its just the entrance way.

There is a carved wooden coat and hat stand that gives off the impression that it is standing guard over the room from the corner. Big double doors off to the right are closed and through the stained glass she can make out the shape of a grand piano. In front of her is a staircase that twines up through what she presumes, is two floors. Her head tilts as she follows its curved shape to an ornate brightly lite chandelier that hangs like the Sword of Damocles above her. A darkened hallway runs off to the side of it, she imagines to the kitchen at the rear of the house, Lance briefly flutters through her mind.

She turns her head to look to her left. Before any images flash across her line of sight her hair is grabbed and she is spun around, gasping out in shock of the broken silent truce between them, as she feels the corded strength in His arms and hands as his grip bites into her shoulders.

So it starts again, she thinks just before her chest is pushed into the wall next to the front door. Her heart pounding she waits for what will come, she doesn't have long to wait.

"Twice you said my name when I asked you to call me Sir." His voice harsh unbending sends fear singing through her veins, her fear is reaching heights as the threat in His voice crescendos, "Twice Samantha I will not tolerate"

Her body is ridged with fear and waiting for what will happen next, what new torment he will inflict upon her. Her arms scream at her from behind, her breasts hate her, her cheek is flattened against the cold wall. A hand in her hair viciously tugs back stretching her neck until it feels as though it will snap and her mouth falls open and dries with hate pain and uncertainty, her body is forced harder into the wall and she cries out automatically with the harsher contact.

"Say it Samantha"

God she hates him, she really fucking hates him

"Sir" she spits out with contempt and loathing.

Her hair is held tighter and pushed further into the wall, her chin grazing the plaster. He slaps her arse harder then she ever thought anyone could ever hit her.

"Say it Samantha"

She drags in air to her choking lungs and tries to roll some spittle around in her mouth to free her lips from her teeth. With obvious hate and less contempt she says "Sir" again.

"Not good enough Samantha" He says and proceeds to push her throat flat on the wall, while pounding on her arse with his bare hands several times.

She can't move; she's on her toes as it is with her neck stretched her arse burning like a hot poker has scorched her skin. Hatred, deep seeded hatred she is learning all about right now.

"Had enough Samantha?" he asks again as He continues to slap her, tears are streaming down her face and the pain is unbearable, unwittingly a laugh comes from her throat and escapes her mouth before she can stop it, hysteria she thinks is setting in.

"You find it amusing do you" He hisses as He spreads her thighs by kicking her feet apart. He pulls her underwear up so it digs into her clit and lifts her higher off the floor then before, this time with a little less hatred and more fear she responds,

"No Sir" she feels Him shake His head at her and sadly replies

"Still not good enough Sam"

He lets go of her head and her body sages slightly against the wall, still with undies wedged between her crack she hears the knife come from its sheath and feels the tension released as He slices her underwear from her body, she hopes to god he doesn't cut her again and remains motionless, in fear of the knife if not the man at this particular moment.

He spins her around and holds her to the wall, with one hand at her throat, she knows He will choke her, she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks, the struggle for breath, she can feel His fingers controlled but lethal in their warning. The knowledge that with loss of control He could kill her has her terrified, the fear of that knowledge is displayed in her eyes, He is happy that He can see it, more so that she can feel it. With the other hand He slides the blade over her brow and down her cheek.