Master's Favorite Toy Ch. 04

At this point, I'm laying on my back, naked. The first woman approaches and presses her tongue into my mouth. There's no pretending or hesitating, just this gorgeous naked woman, on top of me, pressing her nude body against mine. Her tongue runs over my lips and then explores deeply in my mouth. When she's finally done sticking her tongue down my throat, she pulls back, and there's a thin bead of saliva hanging in the air between us that juuuust breaks before the next girl comes in, just as passionate, just as wet, and just as dirty.

Finally, one of them has had enough and drops her pussy right on my face. I reach up and grab her tits while she straddles my face, and I'm licking all over her pussy, clit, lips, even running my tongue over her thighs and ass. At this point, I just want to lick as much of her backside as I can reach. I feel the other two girls exploring my body. One of them sucks my tits, while the other one slowly works a finger into my pussy. She works in one finger, then two. My legs are spread as wide as I can at this point, and she gives me my first orgasm with her fingers. Then, oral sex, and I think - oooh, yes, the women are definitely double teaming my pussy. I can feel two tongues, and they're not afraid to make tongue contact while they lick my clit. Their cheeks are touching the inside of my thighs - and each other's cheeks. And then the one girl, she's still licking my boobs, and maybe rubbing her wet tits against mine. Yeah, that sounds hot.

When the girl I'm eating orgasms, they rotate - and I don't know, I've probably cum at least once more by this point. I think I'd want to pause a second so I could watch the two girls double team me. I'd run my hands through their hair, one in each hand while they tongue me. I'd pull one girl at a time, making out with her and tasting myself while the other continued to eat me out. Then I'd switch them. I'd do that a couple times.

Okay, when I'm done with the ladies, they leave, and the men come in. Like, four guys. Young guys. All completely clean shaven, no bodily hair, and they're all skinny, smallish twinks with little four inch cocks. They're like boyband guys, super dreamy with wavy hair and boyish good looks. I'll kneel in the middle of all four of them, and they pull their hard little cocks out. I'll suck one for a second and then go to the next one, taking him all the way in mouth. I'll taste them, savoring the flavor of their cocks, rubbing my lips on their balls, and getting spit everywhere, and just generally being nasty. Maybe they're not happy with the ratio of givers to receivers, and one of the guys joins me, kneeling down and sucking their cocks next to me. And occasionally I'd stop and make out with the one sucking their cocks while we jerk them off.

Then I'd stand up and bend over, and one of them would fuck me from behind, pushing right in and starting to fuck quickly. He'd cup my tits while he fucked me, and I'd let another of the guys fuck my throat so I'm being spitroasted. Maybe the other guys are doing sixty-nine while they wait their turn, some place I can see. I'd want to watch. Then I'd switch around and I'd suck one guys cock while another guy fucked him, and I'd be sitting on a guys face while I do this.

I think I'd like it if the girls came back in, and they'd start having sex with the guys too. But not like, exclusively the guys. Like some guys will suck each other's cocks and some girls will eat each other's pussies. They'd all couple up, and I just go from couple to couple, licking whatever I wanted, touching whatever I wanted.

Finally, the guys would call finish on the girls or guys, and I go around licking the cum off of them. Mmm, yeah, that sounds nice,"

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I finished writing with a blush on my face.

"So, uh..." I tried to find the words.

"Did that all make sense?" Kat asked.

"Yeah, sure, I think so," I said, "Just a couple of clarifying questions. You said three women, right? I think..." I checked my notes, "I don't think some of these positions are possible with just three women."

Kat shrugged.

"Yeah, it's whatever," She said.

"And, just, wow, I want to make sure: clean shaven twinks?" I asked.

"With small cocks," She clarified, "Four inches."

"Right, right, four inches. That was... pornographic," I said. Kat smiled at me.

"Well, don't ask the question if you don't want an answer, right? I actually think I might change a few things. Can I put real people in my fantasy? And this is totally unrelated, but what did Winnie tell you for hers? Can I read it? Am I in it?"

Kat's personality can be overwhelming sometimes.

"I don't think so. Thanks for your help!" Mentally, I prepared to move on. I would have, if Kat wasn't so damn smooth.

"Actually, I take all the bisexual orgy stuff back," She said. "I want another night by the fire with you," Kat grasped my hand, smiling warmly.

"You flatterer!" I replied.

It would have been a cheap, corny pick up line coming from anyone else. Kat, however, had the seductive wiles of a golden retriever puppy, and a similar capacity for dishonesty.

I wrapped her in a gentle hug, kissing her. She kissed me back, and we tumbled back onto the bed. I laid on top of her, smiling down at her.

"Well, that makes two of us."

March 4, Morning

Abigail was easy to find. Most mornings, she's up at the ass crack of dawn for a three mile run. She's usually back to the servant's quarters, showered, and eating breakfast before most of us are out of bed.

I decided the best way to get some alone time with her was to wait in the common room bright and early. Rifling through the little kitchen in the old house, I made coffee and microwaved a plate of leftover coffee cake. It was a cold, crispy March morning, so I wrapped up in a blanket and waited for Abigail to return.

She finally came stumbling in a little before 8AM, exhausted. Despite the chilly temperatures, Abigail's lithe, athletic body was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her chest rose and fell beneath the spandex sports bra, and she rested both hands on her hips. I greeted her with a smile.

"Hey Abs!" ('Abs' being both her name and a great feature of hers,) "Have a good run?" I asked.

"Yeah, not bad. You're up early." She replied.

"Well, I thought this would be the best place to talk to you alone," I held out a cup of coffee.

"Join me?" I invited her to sit. Abigail gave me a curious look, and shook her head.

"I don't do caffeine," She replied, dropping down on the common room sofa. "Whatcha want to talk about?" She laid out on the couch, stretching her arms above her head. My eyes were drawn to her slender waist, and I had to look away before she caught me. Although, in all fairness, she probably had already caught me.

Resting the cup on the table beside my seat, I flipped through my notebook.

"Mr. Morgan tasked me with hunting everyone down and recording their ideal sexual encounter. You're up," I clicked my pen nervously, uncomfortable. No matter how many times I did this, it still felt weird.

"What? When did he start caring about what we like?" Abigail asked, her breath slowing. "As far as I know, he's never given any thought to our desires."

"Master bought queer women to have sex with each other, didn't he? Rather than force straight women to do it," I said. I didn't mean to be so contradictory, but it was the truth.

Abigail has a habit of cynicism. I think it's the only thing that annoys me about her.

"No, not rather than - in addition to. I've eaten a lot of pussy for Mr. Morgan. He's never once asked if I enjoyed it." Abigail rolled her eyes.

"Well, maybe not," I conceded, "But that does segue nicely to my point. You don't enjoy women, right? So what do you enjoy?" I clicked my pen again, trying to be as casual as possible about such a personal topic. The older slave laughed, shaking her head.

"Not a damn thing Little Gerry is packing," She said, surprising me with her casual disrespect for Master. Obviously, that was not going into my notes.

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When I think of perfect sex, or when I think about sex at all, I can't help but think back to my first Master, and the first man I ever slept with. I was about your age, maybe twenty or so, when he bought me. It was just the two of us in his estate, deep in the woods, isolated. The log cabin style house was big, the truck he drove was big, and hobbies were all big. Mr. Conrad was a man's man. He was six foot five, but he seemed so much bigger. His face constantly had stubble, no matter how recently he'd shaved (Or had me shave him). Typically, he wore a mustache. A big, bushy, ruddy brown mustache.

His body was... oh wow, his body. Mr. Conrad was a big, big man. He had a chest like a barrel. His forearms were the size of my thighs. He could lay his hand on my stomach - I get butterflies just thinking about it - his fingertips could brush my pubic hair while his thumb rested between my breasts. I was like a toy to him, and I'm not a small woman.

Mr. Conrad had a lust for life that I've never seen in anyone. He was a big game hunter, an obsessive weight lifter, and a lover of wood work. He always had a million different projects in different stages of completion, but never seemed to finish one. Especially when it came to home improvement... But I'm getting off topic now.

Mr. Conrad enjoyed sex the same way he enjoyed work, hobbies, and sport: A lot of it, and very rough.

He required that I share his bed every single night, and that I do it nude. He kept the house very cold, so I was almost forced to be near him at night to keep warm. I don't think he did it on purpose, but he might've. He used to tell me that his favorite feeling in the world was the touch of a woman.

Fucking twice a day was a slow day to him. A typical day would start with a quickie before taking a shower. He didn't cum first thing in the morning. I'd wake up with massive, powerful hands grabbing me, groping my breasts, squeezing my hips and shoulders, wrapping fingers gently around my throat. His giant, bratwurst-sized fingers would force their way between my legs, and he'd rub my cunt slowly, tenderly. With me on my side next to him, he'd wrap a hand under my knee and lift my leg to spread me.

Among other quirks, Mr. Conrad didn't like to use spit for lubrication. He kept a large bottle of lubricant on his bedside table. He'd fill one palm and smear it across my labia, rubbing more and more vigorously, working my clit, forcing his huge fingers deep inside me. He loved foreplay, and he would take as much time as he wanted. Sometimes I'd even orgasm while he fingered me before sex.

Once he was satisfied that I was aroused, lubricated, and ready, he'd enter me from behind. When I say that everything about him was big, I do mean everything. Mr. Conrad's cock was impressive. In length, certainly it was enviable, but the girth of this monster is what would make most men jealous. I could just barely close my hand around him. I was quite fortunate that he didn't care for receiving oral, because I had a serious problem getting my mouth open wide enough for him.

And hairy, dear god every inch of him was hairy, and his junk was no exception. Thick, coarse pubic hair. I loved to run my fingers through it, or If I could, to smell it. I loved his scent. Sometimes I would wake him up in the morning by diving my head under the covers and pressing my face against his crotch. He always wore undershorts to bed, even though he didn't allow me to. I'd press my nose against his bulge, inhaling through the fabric.

Looking back, a lot of my fetishes probably started with him, scent being one of them.

But back to the daily routine, Mr. Conrad would fuck me from behind most mornings, a hand at my throat and an arm around my midriff. We'd both be laying on our sides while he fucked me, but sometimes he'd work an arm under me, grabbing me and rolling onto his back. I'd lay on his chest and belly while held me in place, fucking the shit out of me. It was so good it was unbearable. I've never felt more alive than I did laying on my back, helpless in his muscular arms while he fucking railed me. God, it was incredible.

Mr. Conrad tried not to cum in our morning fuck. He used to tell me that the 'testosterone boost' from sex was better if he didn't finish. And since he worked out first thing in the morning, that was important to him. I don't know how true that was, but he was built like a gorilla, so maybe he was onto something.

Happily, his own choice to abstain from morning orgasms didn't extend to me. I had the best orgasms of my life in the early hours of the morning at Mr. Conrad's house. I'd wriggle and scream while laying back against him, locked securely against the skin of his chest and stomach by his powerful arms. He'd push in and out of my pussy through the whole orgasm, forcing his way through my clenching. The feeling of it was indescribable.

Following this, we'd shower. He was sweet for such a giant, masculine man, and he enjoyed washing my body. He'd slowly soap his hands up, looking me up and down. Gently, he'd work his rough, soapy hands over my whole body, stopping to squeeze my breasts or push a finger into my pussy, sometimes in my ass. This wouldn't escalate to sex. He would just enjoy my body slowly, carefully.

And he'd have me return the favor, which was a lot of fun. It took me a little longer, because of the size of him, but I'd happily lather his muscled, hairy chest. And just like him, I would stop and enjoy my favorite parts of his body. I particularly enjoyed his testes. With soapy hands, I could tenderly massage my master's sac, holding and feeling the weight of it. God, everything I did with him was so erotic.

I did try to slip my fingers into his anus once. He was very clear that I was never to do that again. He may have been a tough, powerful man, but butt play scared him. I always thought he was being silly.

I'd wash him happily several times a day. Yes, several times a day. Usually three. Mr. Conrad sweated like a horse, changed undershirts and underpants three times a day, and showered as often. He had a lovely, musky scent to his body, but if he missed one or two showers, it became... less pleasant. I could tell when he'd been in a room if he missed all three showers.

After his morning workout, he was finally ready to cum, and I was an eager receptacle. I had chores, so I was never idle when he finished. Since he'd be in the gym for hours at a time, I never knew when he'd come barreling out, covered in sweat, horny as all hell. Wherever I was when he found me, He'd waste no time. I'd be thrown to the floor, on my hands and knees, and he'd practically tear my pants off. He -did- tear my pants off a couple of times. He'd start by licking my ass and pussy from behind, and he was enthusiastic.

With me bent over forward, he'd drag his tongue from my clit up over my anus, then switch his attention back and forth. I loved his energetic tongue. I loved how he didn't care where he licked me, he just wanted to lick some part, ANY part of me. When he was satisfied, he'd snatch me up in a bridal carry and take me to his bedroom. While riding in his arms, I'd run my hands over his chest, kissing his neck or mouth. And I'd enjoy the smell of his sweat from the workout, pressing my face against his chest.

Once in the bedroom, with a handful of lube smeared on his cock, he'd fuck me. We tried a variety of positions, but Mr. Conrad favored doggy style more than anything. When he was fucking me from behind, he would grab my hips firmly, squeezing so hard he often left bruises. He would fuck me like a jackhammer, withdrawing his entire length before slamming back into my cunt roughly. And he'd groan, oh, I miss the sounds that man made. Especially when he was finishing, he'd grunt like an animal, squeezing me even tighter and fucking me hard.

When we first fucked, he would gently wrap one of his massive hands around my neck. I awoke something in both of us when I asked him to squeeze one day. After that, he would choke the shit out of me while he railed me. I could feel him slide in and out of me, filling me up, forcing me to cum on his fat cock. I couldn't get enough, and I always asked for more, deeper, rougher. When he was finished, I felt like I'd been mauled by a bear, and I loved every second of it.

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Abigail's eyes were closed, and she rolled her head to the side, breathing in and twitching silently. She had picked up a captive audience throughout her tale. Kat had squeezed in next to me on the recliner. Yvette lifted Abigail's legs off the couch and sat down, covering herself and Abby's legs with a blanket. We all patiently listened to the end of the older slave's story.

"If you don't mind me asking, why did he sell you?" I asked. Abby's eyes popped open, and she paused for a second, remembering where she was. A pillow that had been wrapped tightly in her arms was replaced behind her head.

"Mr. Conrad never did anything halfheartedly. He had a weekly poker game with his friends, and when he thought he had a winning hand, he bet... me." She said sadly.

"Thanks for sharing," I replied with sympathy.

"Wow, Abs, I had no idea you were so gross," Kat said, with nearly 100% less sympathy. I elbowed my tactless friend gently in the arm.

"Kat! Be nice. There is nothing wrong with Abigail's fantasy." I said.

"Except that she likes hairy, smelly, old fat guys," Kat replied with a grimace. She stuck her tongue out and mimed retching. Abigail received the teasing well.

"You really don't have any room to talk." She chided. "I can't even bring up the disgusting things you like. Poor Yvette would be scarred irreversibly." Abigail patted Yvette's shoulder with mock pity.

"You're all disgusting," Yvette confirmed.

"Actually, Yvette, since I've got you here..." I clicked my pen again. It was becoming a nervous tick.

"Oh, gross, do I have to?" Yvette asked.

"You don't have to tell a story like Abigail," I replied, "But it's Master's orders. I have to write something down." Yvette glowered silently for a moment. I was accustomed to Kat breaking into the conversation at silent times like this, but I noticed she and Abigail both were waiting intently for Yvette's answer. They were genuinely curious. I suppose the young woman didn't talk about her sexual preferences often.

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I guess in my ideal sexual fantasy, I mean, there'd have to be something more than just sex. I think I'd have super powers. I like to imagine I'd be part of a cool team of super powered individuals. I don't know what powers we'd have. Maybe each of us would have our own separate abilities. Abilities based on something cool, like star signs or planets or something. Ideally, we'd have some other reason to be connected. Maybe it's set in high school, and we're classmates. I'd have a magical ring or necklace or something that I could use to transform into a super powered form of myself, and I have to save the world from bad gu-

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"That's the plot of Sailor Moon," Kat interrupted.

"Not exactly. We don't have a talking cat," Yvette seemed hurt by Kat's accusation.

"It's not sexual, either," I said. "I mean, I like your story, but Master's orders were to record the ideal sexual encounters of his pleasure slaves." I invoked Master in an attempt to focus Yvette. With a sigh, the young woman relented.

"Fine. I'll skip to the sex."

She did not skip to the sex. Half an hour into her story about a mysterious, tuxedo wearing, masked stranger, I realized I was not getting any sort of a sexual encounter. Kat left fifteen minutes in, asking Abigail to walk with her to the main house for some breakfast. Halfway through a third description of the handsome masked stranger disappearing into the night, I interrupted Yvette.