Reluctant Bride

"I think I misunderstood the question, Sir. I thought you wanted to know the last time I had been with a man," she replied in the mousiest voice she could muster.

"Ha! Slut, you should know the difference between fucking and 'being with a man,' as you so delicately put it, but since you seem to have difficulties with the English language, let me ask you this way: Would you describe what that man did to you as 'fucking' as in weak kneed, legs turned to jelly, couldn't sit down or walk straight for three days, body broken fucking?" As his description got more graphic, his voice sunk lower and lower with each sinister suggestion to which her breathing had sped up just as incrementally until she was practically panting as the final "fucking" had rolled off his sinful tongue. It took her a few moments for her sex-addled brain to realize that he was actually waiting for her to respond to his question, and then it took a few moments after that for her to remember what exactly he had asked her.

"Honestly, Sir, I don't think I've ever been fucked like that. I mean, I've had other 'masters'—boys really—who've vigorously sexed me up, but I've never been with anyone who's ridden me so hard that I couldn't have gotten out of bed afterwards even if I wanted to." He detected a certain wistfulness in her tone that for some inexplicable reason made him want to cheer her up, made him want to spin her around and kiss her face and let her know that he'd never allow anyone to disappoint her ever again. Instead, he squelched the impulse and merely whispered in her ear, "Well, then it seems we will have to remedy that." With that, he released his hold on her pussy and stepped away from her back, which caused her body to inadvertently shudder at the loss of the extra heat against her back.

He had moved about foot away from her, partially to clear his head and partially to drag out the unnecessary foreplay that much longer because he knew that if he caved in to his true desires to fuck her without any further delay, he wasn't sure that he'd ever be able to properly dominate her again. As the distance between them began to tenuously hold back his raging hormones, his rational self returned and reminded him that before the two of them embarked on any of the fun and games they both so desperately wanted, they needed to establish some ground rules. She quickly turned around when he asked, and they spent the next few minutes running through her safe word—his brother's name—and her limitations. For the most part, she seemed amenable to his interests, and in the areas where she wasn't, she wasn't opposed to them from a voyeuristic stance, so he could still make her watch as he took his pleasure with others. It wasn't perfect, but she was the closest he'd found to providing him with everything he wanted in a slave.

Since she had given up on her darker pleasures years earlier, she no longer had any of her old toys, and since he hadn't expected to get involved in a playdate when he'd gone over to her place, he had neglected to bring any of his own: they were both hungry and resourceful though, and determined to make up for any of their temporary inadequacies of accoutrements. He tried to make use of his cooling libido to think of the best way to approach their predicament, and in doing so, he had absently wandered away from her toward the windowbox seat she'd had installed as a birthday gift to herself the year before. The seat was set back deep into the window, which made up for the fact that anyone taller than five feet couldn't comfortably stretch out length-wise on it. He glanced over his shoulder to look at where she'd dutifully stayed in the middle of the room and looked back at the seat: it looked like she was just short enough to clear the ceiling if she stood on the seat. It was perfect.

"Slut, I want you to bring a chair over here in front of the window, but make sure it's a comfortable one. I want to be able to settle in," he said in the most bored tone he could manage. Upon hearing his request, she scrambled to move the chair she had in front of her vanity over to where he was standing. It was similar to a standard dining room chair except it didn't have any arms and had an extremely overstuffed seat cushion, which made sitting in the chair as relaxing as sitting on a cloud. As she watched him seat himself on the chair, she debated if she should sit or stand and where; however, once he had settled into the chair, he made the decision for her.

"Ok, slave, I want you to stand in the windowbox and dance for me," he continued in his same bored tone. The mundaneness of the request threw her off so that she did not respond as quickly as she otherwise might have. Her momentary pause worked well for him because it gave him the opportunity to inform her of the second part of his instruction: "Oh, and before you get up there, take the thong off. I want an all nude revue." To make up for her earlier slowness, she quickly hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her thong and quickly slipped it off her hips before kicking the scrap of fabric aside. As she looked at the windowbox, she felt a moment of hesitation: she knew no one would see her since the window looked out on her backyard, and she had walked around her room topless frequently enough, but the idea of standing up there completely naked made her feel strangely vulnerable. She swallowed deeply and took a quick centering breath before raising her knee to climb up onto the seat.

As her leg stretched up onto the seat, she felt her passage stretch open allowing the slighter cooler air in the room to flow into her burning core: the sensation caused the walls of her pussy to gently contract, which in turn caused more of her copious nectar to trickle out of her thrumming core. All too soon, it seemed like she was standing in the windowbox, completely exposed to his scrutinizing observation. Even though she had an inkling about how he wanted her to dance, she decided to play it safe: "Sir, is there any particular way you want me to dance?" He knew she knew the answer was obvious, but he inwardly applauded her previous training because it was possible that he could've put her up there just to have her do the Chicken dance; however, he wanted to see just how much he could awaken her sexuality, just how much of her inner whore she'd let out to play—especially since she'd been pretending to be a "good" girl for so long. "Slut, I want you to give me a proper pole dance. Imagine you're one of the showcased platform dancers, and you've talked me into taking you back to a VIP room. I want to see you earn your mark-up, slut. So I better find what you're doing incredibly erotic." He wasn't entirely sure why he'd thrown the last part in there, it wasn't like he was in the habit of not getting turned on by naked women pole dancing less than two feet from his face. The especially wicked part of his mind suggested that he was trying to turn her into some amateur porn star, but he quickly shrugged off the suggestion.

He was hardly prepared for her response. Despite not having any music to keep beat to, she began dancing like she was a stripper, which he was fairly certain she hadn't been. Between her slow gyrations, which endeavored to keep his eyes indelibly glued to her ass, and her split-kneed dips, which left him with an incredibly inviting and unobstructed view of her pink pussy, it took all his will power not to unbutton his jeans right there to take care of his raging hard-on. He was so engrossed in her act that he had somehow missed that she had actually gotten down from the windowbox and was about to begin giving him a real lap dance. Although he knew she needed to be punished for her brazenness as well as for her failure to follow his instructions, he decided to wait until she was finished with her dance before properly reprimanding her.

She hissed through her teeth as she draped one of her toned legs over his lap since the stretching motion had caused her pussy to contract sharper than she expected. As she slid herself more fully into his lap, she began to grind on him keeping her arms on the back of his chair to give her a little bit of leverage in addition to positioning her swollen breasts right in front of his face. Once she had gotten over the initial reluctance of dancing in the window, her body had taken over; however, one of the consequences was that her extremely active imagination kicked in, meaning she imagined him participating in his lap dance far more than he was in real life, which frustrated her. Although she needed to feel his lightly calloused hands running all over her body, she knew she would break through whatever spell was being created by her dance if she simply placed his hands where her body most craved their touch. Instead, she needed to induce him to touch her on his own. In a seemingly effortless move, she flipped herself around in his lap so that she was facing away from him as she continued her slow, steady grind. She arched her back to make her engorged breasts stand out even more invitingly as she let her cascading red hair fall across his chest.

"You know, mister," she began in a breathily suggestive voice, "there aren't any bouncers in the VIP room," letting the thought trail off provocatively.

"That fact had come to my attention," he replied in an oddly dry voice.

"Well, you don't have to keep your hands to yourself, if you don't want to," she continued in the same breathless voice. "It might make the dance even more enjoyable for you," she continued, casting a saucy glance over her shoulder and winking at him.

Even though he knew she was just getting into her submissive headspace by becoming so into the roleplaying situation he'd created, the ease with which she did so shocked him a bit: it was almost as if she'd really been a stripper. Although his dick was aching to pound into her moist depths, he ignored the persistent throbbing in his crotch, in order to play along with her. Besides, he knew he'd fuck her soon enough; there was no need to rush things. In deciding to play along, he further decided to play the role of a hesitant, almost bashful, strip club patron—someone who would need to be lead along by the hand.

"Can I touch you anywhere?" he asked quietly.

"Where would you like to touch me?" she responded coyly.

Instead of answering her verbally, he slowly raised his hand until he cupped the underside of her weighty breast.

"Oh yes," she moaned, "you can definitely touch me there."

"How about this? Can I touch you here?" he asked modestly, as his palm gently grazed her rigid nipple while his hand swept up over her breast to lightly grip it.

"Mmhmm," she mumbled, "That's good too."

"How about if I do this?" squeezing her breast in a crushing grasp as he asked.

She let out a keening moan as she ground herself even harder against his turgid cock, her soaking pussy leaving an clearly evident wet spot on the crotch of his jeans. He relaxed his hold in stages, casually massaging her breast as he did so. He was pleased with how wantonly she threw her body at him; however, she needed to be reprimanded for messing up his jeans by being such a dirty little slut.

Even though he didn't have a lot of height on her, he had enough strength in his legs that when he stood up without warning, the sheer momentum of his action was enough to tumble her out of his lap, and into a jumbled mass of limbs on the floor. Before she had time to get herself sorted out, she felt his firm grip in her hair as her face was practically shoved into his crotch. With her nose practically getting denim-burn from its proximity to his jeans, it was impossible for her not to notice the distinct aroma of arousal that her pussy had deposited on them as she'd ground herself against him during her performance. His grip on her hair failed to ease up as he said, "You've stained my favorite jeans, slut. What are you going to do to fix this?"

There was no rational explanation for what she did in response aside from some innate sense of cheeky sauciness that wanted to get her in trouble: instead of answering him, she got as much of his pussy-drenched, denim-protected crotch in her mouth as she could fit, and began to suck her juices out of the denim. She opened her mouth wider to better accommodate his package, forcing her tongue to undulate along the fly of his jeans as she tried to reclaim as much of her nectar as she could. Although his mind knew that the sight of her sucking on him through his jeans should have been erotic, the sexual potential succumbed to the oddness of the sensation that her flexing, rolling tongue was creating against his denim-clad dick and balls. He gripped her hair tighter as he dragged her away from her impromptu ministrations.

As her mouth was forced to dislodge from his crotch, the slightest of whimpers escaped her lips before she managed to contain herself. The plaintive suggestion of the noise almost made him reconsider what he was going to do next, but he knew he couldn't let her get away with her brazen sauciness. He deftly grabbed her wrist, and pulled her torso across the chair she'd originally given him to sit on, making sure that she grazed her erect, sensitized nipples on the chair's edges. In pulling her body over the chair's seat, he'd left her ass vulnerably exposed by ensuring it was left in a classical presentation style. As he looked at her prone form, he admired the gentle dip at the small of her back where the base of her spine flowed into the plump, enticing swell of her ass. His fingers lightly dragged across the perfect, twin moons of her derriere, temporarily leaving delicate red lines in their wake where his nails occasionally scratched against her skin. He barely raised his voice above a whisper as he said, "Every time you feel my hand against your skin, you will count for me. Do you understand, slut?"

She was unsure whether he wanted her to respond verbally; however, she didn't want to risk his displeasure by assuming he wanted her to speak. Finding that a vigorous head nod had never gotten her in trouble before, she fell back on her old standby. The enthusiasm of her action caused her long hair to whip gracelessly against the floor, which proceeded to give him yet another idea.

He walked over by her shoulder and began gathering up her silky locks. Although he knew it would've been quicker for him just to lean over her prostrated body, he could tell she was on edge and did not want to give her any more reason to disobey him—like accidentally cumming from the feel of his straining cock pressing briefly, yet insistently, against her eager ass. As he closed his fingers around the last of her flowing mane, he began twisting her hair into a smooth, tight coil making sure to leave enough give in her hair that he wasn't pulling her to her knees, while at the same time having a firm enough grip that he could control her head's range of motion. The strain on her hair felt delicious especially given the fact that if he released her too quickly, she would wind up pinching her own erect aching nipples between the edge of the chair and the weight of her torso.

"Remember, count," he whispered.

Even though she knew what he was going to do, the first sharp sting of his hand against her ass caught her off guard. She tried to suppress the involuntary shudder that shivered through her body, with little success—so much so that she forgot to count his first hit. The jerk on her hair was both immediate and painful.

"Do you know why you deserved that, slut?" he hissed violently against her hyperextended neck.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry I displeased you. I was..." she pleaded softly before being abruptly cut off by an even harsher sting against her ass.

"I'm. Not. Interested. In your excuses!" he hissed again.

She knew she needed to do better to please him, lest he find her unworthy of his ministrations, so she breathed out the most appreciative "two" she could muster. Almost immediately, she felt the comforting warmth of his hand as he rubbed her ass in lazy, absent-minded circles. Even though she desperately wanted to relax into his lightly calloused touch, she didn't want to risk angering him again so soon, so instead she kept a tight rein on her inner-most impulses. It seemed like forever until her ass felt the third delicious sting from his hand, but the slow radiating burn quickly ignited her body's long-squelched desire for more.

He began alternating the tempo of his smacks, curious to see how long her concentration could hold out for, finally stopping his spanking barrage when he got to thirty. It was far more than he expected of her, but he was even more pleased that his assessment about her prior training seemed accurate. His hands lay idly against the swell of her ass as he pondered his next move.

The heat from her flushed face matched that resonating from her raw checks, but neither came remotely near the nuclear energy being generated by her desperate pussy. During the course of his ministrations, each slap had caused a subtle change in her nethers—a throbbing ache here, an increased seeping moisture there. Discreetly, she attempted to take a big enough to breath to see if her core's moisture really was permeating the air around them as much as she thought. It seemed like she caught the faintest whiff of sex and longing, but she dared not try for another large breath lest he catch her and be displeased.

His cock was torn. On the one hand, it just wanted to break into her pussy, and feel her slick velvety walls squeezing against it as he fucked her like a rutting animal. On the other hand though, his cock knew that the mouth that had counted out for him in breathless longing sighs would gladly worship it with lips and tongue in eager anticipation of its milky cum. Decisions, decisions.

The anticipation of his next move was killing her, particularly as he was still completely clothed. She dared not presume that she had proven herself worthy enough to be fucked so soon, yet her insides trembled and her pussy ached at the prospect that he might end their encounter prematurely. Even if he only allowed her to worship his cock with her mouth, she would be happy as it would give her another opportunity to display her gratitude. In her mind's eye, she could picture him: clean-shaved and cut with a thickness she'd only be able accommodate from her years of prior self-training. Unconsciously, she licked her lips imagining the faintly pungent odor of sweat and sex as she carefully sucked each of his balls in her mouth, gently massaging them with her tongue. The unbidden thought made her pussy reflexively clench in excitement, and almost brought a wanton yearning moan from her throat, but as much as she wanted to show her heartfelt appreciation for his ministrations, she knew better than to act on her own desires.

In her sexual reverie, she had failed to notice his careful study of her face, otherwise he was certain she would've made a greater effort to conceal the object of her carnal desires. Instead, he had watched as her mouth hesitantly parted; as her delicate pink tongue sensuously moistened her lips before she gently worried her bottom lip with her teeth; as her hooded eyes became unfocused at the thought running from her mind to her pussy. He sensed her suppressed moan through the almost unperceivable swaying of her body and the sound of her slightly frustrated exhalations. Her pussy would learn to be patient as he sought to make proper use of her mouth.

The sex fog in her mind cleared long enough for her to register the distinctive "pop" sound that can only be made by button fly jeans eagerly revealing a thick, turgid cock. Her neck dipped slightly as his grip on her hair loosened allowing the silky locks to fall to across her shoulder. Despite the seeming casualness of his action, she remained alert, awaiting whatever new demand he might make of her. "On your knees, slut," he commanded firmly. She gingerly balanced herself on her knees, acutely aware of her precarious balance on the chair's edge. Even though her head was technically higher, because she steadfastly refused to raise her gaze from the floor, she could not tell whether or not he had simply unbuttoned his jeans or actually taken out his erect member. Her body prayed it was the later, as that would bring her one step closer to having him plunge his quivering need into her equally needy depths.