Next Saturday

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A recurring visit with her Master.
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She hurried from her car, the heels of her black boots echoing off the pavement. Although, for all intents and purposes the boots were His, just like she herself was His. Suddenly, she stopped and began rummaging through her purse. Digging out a small compact and a tube of lipstick she began coloring her lips under the fluorescent glow of the streetlight. Smiling, she remembered His delight in the name of the deep red stain - Carnal. What a perfect word to describe how He made her feel.

A twinge of lust struck her as she took one last look at her face in the small mirror, hair straight and long, minimal make-up with bold red lips and the large silver hoop earrings He favored. With a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, she put the items back in her purse and made her way to the front door.

In answer to her knock, a rather non-descript man of about 65 with a shock of white hair opened the door. He was handsomely dressed, as always.

"He's waiting for you, Miss," he told her, smiling politely.

Every Saturday evening it was the same routine. She wondered if he thought of her as a freak coming here the way she did. She wondered if he knew what went on between her and the man of the house. Making her way down the hallway she approached the familiar ornate wooden door.

Palms sweating, she stood outside and counted to five before entering. The heady aroma of fine bourbon blended nicely with the leather from the furniture and the muskiness of His cologne. Just like every Saturday, try as she might she couldn't quite place the name of His essence. All she knew is it made her smile and her pussy wet.

In the dimly lit room He sat in a shadowed corner watching her, His mind knowing every small detail of her body before His eyes even caught a glimpse of her naked flesh. The small dimple on her chin, the faded crescent moon shaped birthmark on her left hip, the flat brown mole between her breasts. He watched intently knowing she would stand there all night if she had to. She was waiting, waiting for permission, waiting for His permission.

She stood just inside the doorway, eyes closed, breathing in the smell of Him, of this room. It almost made her dizzy, it almost made her cum. Memories of previous encounters flooded her brain as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingering the silver metal bangle on her arm.

Last week had been a momentous one indeed. After months of servitude, she had received the ultimate gift, a name: Veronica. They had celebrated, of course. She was treated to the feel of His stunning cock. Average in size and girth, the hardness of it and knowing she had contributed to it captivated her. Reverently, she had wrapped her hands around him and was permitted the pleasure of jerking Him off until He creamed on her substantial breasts. She shivered, recalling the taste of Him on her fingers after rubbing His cum into her skin.

"Veronica."

She was jolted back to reality by the sound of her name. Her eyes flew open. Meekly, she stared at the floor feeling guilty for becoming aroused without instruction.

"Yes, Master," she addressed Him.

"Have you been a good girl this week, Veronica?" He inquired, lethargically swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

"Yes, Master," she echoed, anticipating this evening's commands.

"As I expected. I was quite captivated by you at the mall," He praised her.

She beamed. To make Him happy was what she lived for. She knew He had been watching her as she made her way from store to store that night. Dressed as He had ordered in a short tight skirt, no hosiery, stiletto heels, a low cut blouse and no panties or bra, she was searching for her prey. A male clerk, someone she would want to have sex with if possible. Her instructions? To entice and toy with him, accidentally show him her uncovered breast, look him directly in the eye and imagine him masturbating and thinking of her that night.

She responded with a courteous, "Thank you, Master," when what she desperately wanted to know was how had she made Him feel that night.

Had He returned to his car and pleasured Himself as she had? Had He pictured her naked on His lap riding His cock as she had numerous times? These questions would go unanswered. She knew her boundaries and would not overstep them.

His next words signaled the small talk was over and it was time to get down to business.

"Present yourself to me, slut," He summoned her, taking a sip of bourbon.

This was His favorite part. The sensuousness with which she moved, the anticipation of exposed skin made His cock twitch. If only she knew how much she titillated Him. Her leather coat was hung from the hook on the door and she stood before Him in tight jeans, high-heeled black leather boots and a skin-tight low cut black sweater. From where He was seated He wasn't sure if she was wearing a bra or not. As she tugged the black material up over her head and gently folded the garment before placing in on a nearby chair, He was rewarded with the sight of her full tits, unrestrained.

Growing harder, He watched as she seductively bent over to remove her boots. The blood seemed to flow to the very ends of her nipples causing them to swell. He enjoyed viewing them from this angle. Thoughts of biting them to the point of drawing blood filtered through His head. After wriggling out of her painted on jeans, she stood, illuminated by the candlelight, in only a teal lace thong.

Quietly and slowly she made her way to His chair. When she was a few feet from Him, she fell to her knees. Naked, except for the thong, she sat back on her heels, spine erect. Her hands in her lap crossed at the wrists palms up, she was named now but still under submission. Gazing at the floor she whispered, "I present myself to you, Master."

Wordlessly, He rose from the supple brown leather wing chair and walked behind her. From the pocket of His pants he withdrew a black blind-fold which he gently placed over her eyes. His fingers lingered on the side of her cheek. She longed to lean into them, kiss them, suck them, but she remained, dutifully, on her knees, posture straight as an arrow, head bowed.

Her senses heightened. She could feel His breath on her skin. The concoction of bourbon and cologne assaulted her nasal passage. She could almost taste Him. She was Veronica the Slave Girl; all thoughts of her life outside these four walls was slowly dissolving into a blurry dream. Her will was His, her body, His. This routine never failed to drain her of any self-control she might have possessed. Lost in her own helpless desire she hadn't noticed He had left her side until now.

Trying hopelessly to control her breathing she heard Him across the room. The sound of wood on wood meant He was searching the drawers of a bureau. She knew there many items in that bureau, items that brought pain and pleasure, both of them erotic. She contemplated what kind of mood He was in tonight; horny was a given. Would the rosy glow of her being named continue into this week or would His dark and brooding side take over?

The strains of O Fortuna started playing and she knew exactly what would be happening tonight. Her heart beat rapidly as a small ember in the core of her being ignited, soon to turn into a blazing pyre. He returned to her.

"Raise your face to me," He demanded. "Let me see those whorish lips, lips painted just for me."

By the sound of His voice she could tell He had moved into a kneeling position directly in front of her. Roughly, His finger smeared the red pigment across her jaw line as He asked, "To whom do you belong, Veronica? Whose good girl are you?"

"You, Master," she responded.

"I couldn't hear you, slave! To whom do you belong?" He asked again, his voice intensifying.

"You, Master. I'm your good girl," she reiterated, this time with more conviction.

His eyes drinking her in, He reached out and touched her naked thigh. She was His, His to tease, His to use. He traced small circles from her knee up to the faint birthmark on her hip. Following the lace of her thong, His fingers made their way around to her fine ass. A few light slaps and He continued His perusal of her body, touching and feeling His way like a blind man.

Her nipples were erect and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. His fingers seared her skin, fanning the ember into an inferno. Her mind screamed, begged Him not to stop, but she knew better. She knew His mood emulated His song choice. He would take her to the brink, the very edge of the chasm then stop, and she could hardly wait. She bit back a scream as he pinched her blush colored nipples between his fingertips. Once more, then she heard the rustle of His clothing; He had returned to his feet.

"Stand," He commanded. He led her to the chaise lounge and sat her down. She could picture His arsenal of weapons laid out atop the bureau, His eyes studying them, debating which one to use first.

"Open your legs, slut," He demanded. She spread her knees wide, very much aware of the small, soaked piece of lace covering her dripping femininity. Suddenly, the hard flap of a riding crop was being lightly smacked against her inner thigh. She almost let out an audible gasp, but was disciplined enough to keep herself in check.

"I see my whore is quite wet this evening. Are you enjoying your slave name, Veronica?" He asked.

"Yes, Master," she answered, with a sharp intake of breath as the crop found the source of her wetness.

Her legs began to tremble as the flap found it's way under her panties and began manipulating her pussy lips. She had a fleeting thought of Him allowing her to cum this way, but knew the night was young and He would have her begging for release before it was over. She smiled at the thought. He noticed and smacked her hard directly over her clit. She let out a yelp of pain.

"Behave, slut."

"Y-y-yes, Master," she stammered, still feeling the sting of the crop, still feeling the wetness soaking her thong.

Again, the crop found it's way inside her panties, this time pushing between her lips and into her wet hole. He slid it in and out, slowly, each time pulling it out and up over her swollen clit. She desperately wanted to move her hips, thrust them against the leather crop, and fuck it like a cock. He read the agony on her face and smiled as he pulled the leather from her cunt and held it just below her nose.

"Who owns you?" He questioned, rubbing the flap, dripping with her juice, onto her parted lips.

"You, Master," she answered.

"Lick it, taste yourself," He demanded.

Her tongue darted from between her lips and sampled the sweetness that was her own. She lapped at the crop savoring each drop knowing how much He was enjoying watching her.

"That's my good girl," He praised.

She licked her lips as He removed the riding crop from her mouth, "Thank you, Master."

Wordlessly, He began alternately circling each nipple with the leather. He enjoyed watching them harden and pucker, the color changing from a light, dusky brown to a deep bronze. His cock was already straining against the zipper of His pants, watching her breasts, hearing her breathing pace increase, knowing she was getting wetter by the minute.

She didn't fail to notice that He was timing His performance to the music. Quiet and subtle the strains of the opera could barely be heard, just like His touch, light, feathery, barely there. Her mind was screaming for Him to play rough. She wanted Him to pinch, twist and bite her nipples.

As if reading her mind He said, "I know you like it rough, slut. Patience, Veronica, patience."

The sweet torture continued - light smacks with the crop, soft caresses from His fingers. She desperately wanted to rip off her thong and shove His face between her legs. Instead, she moaned softly and held her emotions in check, for now. The music became hushed and suddenly He stopped. She could still feel the tingling sensations in her nipples and clit. She heard Him behind her, but not close. She bit her lower lip in anticipation of what was to come.

"Stand and face me, whore," came His instruction.

Hesitantly, she stood, afraid her unsteady legs would give out on her. As she turned to face Him, still blindfolded, she could sense He was close. She felt His hand on her arm as He wordlessly guided her to the dark wooden poster bed at the back of the room. He did not sleep there. The bed was placed in this room solely for the purpose of His enjoyment of her.

"Raise your arms," He commanded.

She felt silk being tied around her wrists and knew He was securing her to the canopy rail of the bed.

"Legs apart, bitch, and keep them that way unless you want the bar," He whispered in her right ear.

His breath sent a visible shudder through her body, which she could not control. She was quickly learning there were many things she couldn't control when it came to Him and their relationship, and she relished the feeling.

Standing with her legs spread and her arms immobilized she felt vulnerable, provocative and dutiful. The music began to build and she knew the real events of the evening were about to commence. He never ceased to amaze her with all of the different scenarios He planned out every Saturday. Rhythmically, she began to sway in time to the music, all the while thinking what would happen next.

He stood a number a few feet away from her, watching, watching as her body moved hypnotically. The curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the perfect shape of her ass; He was captivated. He remembered the first time He saw her sitting alone at a bar, sipping on a glass of red wine. He knew then, as He knew now, she would be His.

Almost forgetting where she was, she was jolted back to the present by something cold and hard pressing against her thigh. He felt her stop moving and saw her head twist to the side as if to look at Him.

"Shhhhh, you know I would never hurt my good girl," He calmed her as she realized the item against her skin was the blade of a knife.

He slowly slid the blade up and down her right thigh, up to her ass cheek and back down to her knee. He could tell she was holding her breath.

He smoothed her hair with His hand and again whispered in her ear, "How wet are you right now?"

She let out a short whimper in response.

His hand left her hair and found it's way between her legs. There was no reason to even reach beneath her thong. He could feel the wetness soaking through the fabric and down her inner thighs.

"I don't think we need these anymore," He breathed into her ear, as the knife toyed with the strap of her thong.

Before she could even say anything in protest or acquiescence, the blade slid under the string of fabric covering her hip. He held it there for a split second, waiting, waiting for the crescendo in the music before the piece of steel easily tore the garment in two. With a small tug, He ripped the underwear from her body and she stood before Him completely naked.

He continued tracing her curves with the blade, the soft roundness of her breast, the modest contour of her stomach. It was no secret she was enjoying the depravity of His game. He could see the visible flush on her skin, the quickening rise and fall of her chest. And He knew if He stuck His hand between her legs her secret would be completely given away.

She trusted Him unconditionally with every fiber of her being. The knife play was new, unnerving and yet irresistible. In all their time together she had never been as frenzied as she was right now. She could feel the heat rising off her naked skin. In contrast, the coolness of the steel blade felt like a rainstorm in the middle of summer. She was lost, lost in the music, lost in the delicious torture going on inside her pussy.

He knew this part of the night would come, the part where His self-control and will power would be tested. How exquisite she looked, naked, blindfolded, trussed, a slave to be used by Him. He gazed at her body, proud of Himself for choosing her. He gently placed the knife on top of the bureau, wanting now to touch her with His bare hands. He slowly and reverently began by brushing His fingertips down the insides of her arms. He watched as her velvety skin broke out in gooseflesh. He could see her body stiffen against the urge to shiver.

Delicately at first, He cupped each of her breasts in His strong hands, feeling the weight of them, the softness. She held her breath, waiting, waiting for the moment when His touch became unrelenting. She knew it was coming -- she listened to the music for a clue. As the crescendo built she tensed. His palms suddenly constricted each breast; His fingers found the hardness of her nipples and pinched them violently. She could feel the current of desire radiate all the way down her spine until it lodged between her legs spilling out more wetness than she ever knew her pussy could hold.

"Keep those legs open, slut," He whispered in her ear, "I want to see your juices dripping down those delectable thighs."

She moaned aloud as His words washed over her, His fingers still pulling and twisting her nipples. She strained to see through the black that covered her eyes. Every Saturday it was the same, there came a point in the evening where she longed for Him to remove the blindfold and allow her a glimpse of His face. She pictured Him in her mind so often she would swear on her life she'd be able to recognize Him in public.

He loved watching her body react to His touch. The way her pussy tightened when He touched her breasts, her ass or her thighs. The way her teeth sweetly bit her lower lips when He lightly brushed her naked flesh with His fingertips. Again His thumb went to her lips, still stained red, still smeared across her lower jaw. He longed to place Himself in her mouth and see that red stain transfer from her lips onto His cock. He roughly pulled His hands away and slapped her harshly on the ass.

She drew in her breath as she felt the sting. She knew Him well enough to know He was angry with her, angry with her for making Him so horny, angry with her, but truly angry with Himself for coming so close to losing control. She smirked, feeling powerful even though she was the one tied up. As His hands tangled themselves in her hair and yanked her head back, she remembered again who was the Master and who was the slave.

"Bitch, I will be untying you for one purpose and one purpose only, to suck My cock," He growled in her ear, "Do you understand?"

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"I didn't hear you, whore. Do you understand Me?"

"Yes, Master," she quietly replied, her mouth watering at the thought of tasting His rigid cock.

She could hear His ragged breathing, felt His strong hands on her wrists as they quickly released her from the silk bindings.

"On your knees, slave," He ordered as she heard the sound of His belt and zipper being undone.

Her stomach was fluttering as she sank to her knees. Her pussy ached like mad to be touched, to be stroked, to be worked by His fingers, a toy, His cock, anything. She licked her lips in anticipation. He was still standing and before they could begin He again secured her wrists this time behind her back.

"You will not cum until you are given permission," He declared.

At the mention of the word 'cum' she felt her pussy tense and a fresh rivulet of cunt-juice run down her leg.

He smiled, and roughly inserted two fingers inside of her. He enjoyed listening to the sounds she made as He took her by surprise and worked her pussy. He also enjoyed the warm tightness that encased His fingers.

She quickly began to feel the initial twinges of orgasm swirl their way through her body. Her pussy clenched around His fingers and a small keening sound came from her throat.

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