Memory of the Hound

The district was still under development.

The year had ended, but the winter was not over; so the construction sites were covered in snow.

This time we agreed I would wait in the room, so I arrived early and took a shower.

I don't know if I had been slow or if he had arrived earlier too, but my hair was still wet when I heard knocking.

I wrapped a towel around my body and I rushed to open the door.

He looked at me, practically naked, and on the spur of the moment turned me and pushed me to the floor.

With a hand, he pushed my head, so that my cheek touched the carpet and with the other, he spread my thighs.

Without saying a word he unzipped his trousers, I could feel his cock brushing my offered flesh.

Only now I heard the door clicking - the slut in me was excited that someone could have seen us.

This was the moment I had been longing for: he penetrated my pussy, hard and deep, and only by the end, when he was ready to cum, switched his attention to my anus.

Finally, he had understood that all my holes were his to play, that he could use them freely because he owned them.

Later he tied me to a clothes' rail with nylon cable ties and whipped me. Suddenly he left the room, leaving me attached to the steel frame and unable to free myself.

Why he had left? I imagined he was going to return.

He had taken the room key card and automatically the heating and the light had turned off.

A whitish light was coming from outside - slowly the room was turning cold, or maybe it was just the feeling given by the snow outside.

What if he didn't return? What if a hotel attendant would discover me instead? Would he use me? Would he call his friends to have fun?

More than fear these absurd fantasies thrilled me.

He returned: he had bought a pair of scissors to cut the ties.

He made me thank him for taking care of me by sucking his cock again, and then I ended up as usual at his feet, lapping his penis clean, his faithful and happy dog.

At our fourth meeting the time to say goodbye arrived.

It was a late afternoon and I waited for him at the KFC near my apartment.

As we climbed the stairs, I could feel his hands lowering my panties and grabbing my ass, rapaciously.

Could anybody see us? Maybe, but I found his demands flattering.

I was so happy when, as we stepped inside the apartment, taking my hair, he made me kneel and suck his hard, demanding cock.

It had developed into a routine: his cock needed to assert that he owned my mouth, and every time I looked forward to being allowed to confirm that he owned me.

That was a workday afternoon, so he sat at the desk, turned on the laptop, and had a call conference with colleagues in another country.

I was working too, naked and collared under the table, leash in his left hand, sucking his cock as if my life depended on it.

Didn't I say before I was like his trained dog?

And this time the feeling was stronger than ever.

While he was busy discussing with his overseas colleagues, revising charts, deciding on matters I couldn't understand, as they were speaking in a foreign language, I was driven by the leash to swallow his penis shaft, or by firm, small pulls, I was made to stop, so that I hold it throbbing in my throat...then impatient pulls signaled that he wasn't happy of my services, so I tried switching to licking his swollen, rubbery glans, or his balls...if I didn't get it right the quick sharp pulls strained painfully my neck...but then suddenly I would get it right and I could concentrate on my act, without other thoughts, just servicing him.

The meeting was over. He led me to the sofa, sat down, and pressed my head hard on his crotch, forcing me to keep on sucking.

When he cummed, half of his white cream landed in my mouth, half splashed onto the ground. Needless to say, I scrawled over there and licked the floor clean, my mischievous ass toward him, who lightly parted it, checking my asshole.

When I finished, I turned to him, mouth open, tongue stuck out, and I let him check the content of my throat.

He looked at his seed filling it and nodded. Then I swallowed it like it was the most delicious threat; his acceptance of my unconditional obedience made me proud.

"I will leave for another country for work next month," he said. "I will leave NJ next week. My lord," I replied.

Fate definitely had its way to play with us, but it was not over yet.

In the past, I had bought during a trip in the western provinces a thick, leather whip, which I made unaware people believe it was just a souvenir.

It was still unused; It was like a fine bottle of wine that is kept for a special occasion.

I had often fantasized about it, about the thick marks it would tear through my skin.

It was time I tasted it, as his parting gift to me.

He ordered me to wait on my four, my knees straight. He swung the whip in the air; the whistle made me shiver in fear.

The whip landed on my ass, few times in a row, without letting me rest.

I clinched my feet, and I crouched; I could feel my skin been torn.

"Raise your ass!" He ordered, with the sweetest cruelty.

I obeyed, slowly, and immediately he started again.

I moaned in pain, and then I started to move in the room, still on my four, in a futile attempt to escape the leashes.

He followed me, whipping me mercilessly, while I desperately looked for a place to hide; I couldn't find any.

Then he stopped.

"Turn!" he ordered.

I turned and looked at him, he had returned near the sofa, now we were few meters apart.

"Come here!" he ordered.

I looked at him, crouched in a corner, holding my knees, like an animal in fear l who is being tamed.

The truth is that I loved the pain: on my four, calmly, I returned near him.

I loved the pain, yet I feared it.

I craved for it, yet, under the whip, I wanted desperately to escape.

As soon as I reached him, he started again, and I started to escape again, this time all over the room, frantically, while he pursued me relentlessly.

Now the whip landed not only on my ass but also on my back and thighs, often announced by the vicious whistle.

He stopped, tired, and sat on the sofa.

I trotted toward him and I rested at his feet.

I hoped that showing how he had worked my body would give him pleasure.

He held me and made me moan softly.

And then the time to part came.

Darkness had fallen, and it had begun to rain outside.

I accompanied him to the bus stop.

I remained naked inside, just wearing half-thigh stockings and leather booths, putting a blue down coat on top.

I fixed my hair up and then I walked out of my apartment with him.

Outside, I could smell my blood mixed with the rain's scent, made of dirt and wetness.

The raindrops sparkled for a moment before falling, under the cars' headlights and the street lamps; they reminded me of a popular English rhyme.

Why did I need to wear the coat? Why couldn't I show my marked body in the street, like the owned bitch I was?

Why should people believe I was like any other woman?

I could be so happy to walk naked and collared, on my four, next to him!

Won't other women look at me with envy, wishing to take my place?

He was walking fast on the slippery ground, holding the umbrella.

I held his arm tight, wishing that the road would never end.

At a certain point, he stopped, and turned to me, smiling softly.

"You are an interesting woman."

In the eight months before that moment, I had doubted he saw any value in me; now this single sentence filled my eyes with tears.

I looked at him, surprised and happy, and said: "Is it a compliment, Lord?"

"It IS a compliment. "he emphasized, looking forward.

Those words made the cuts and bruises on my body more authentic, transformed, and redeemed, my pain had acquired a new value.

We waited for a moment at the bus stop, among unaware people.

The bus came, he boarded and turned to me:" See you in SZ."

I nodded smiling, and then I waited for the bus to disappear in the winter evening, the raindrops' dance not over yet.