The Stalker

I'd been enjoying the day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art when I realized that I was being stalked. Yes, stalked. What else do you call it when someone follows you everywhere you go?

Although, as stalkers go, she was very cute. Her eyes, which followed me when her body didn't, were very enticing, what my daddy used to call bedroom eyes. Her face was a picture perfect classical Venus-style face, a regular face that launched a thousand ships face. Yes, I watched my stalker as well that way I'd be able to identify her in a line up later.

I watched the way that her long, single braided hair moved, swayed, against her tight pear-shaped ass as she followed behind me while seemingly taking note or drawing pictures. Her hair was jet black and pin straight but moved as she did and that was slow, sensuously, almost like a panther on the prowl.

We seemingly orbited each other in a quiet, unspoken dance until, as if we were indeed orbiting a black hole; we were inexorably pulled toward the center, toward each other. Her alabaster skin glowed as white close up as her jet black hair did at a distance. For a moment I was at a loss how to respond when, suddenly, she made it imperative.

"What are you gawking at little man," she intoned.

"Little man," I fairly screamed back at her, "honey every part of me weighs more that you do toothpick." (And they probably do. I am 6' tall, 210 lbs, have a 36" waist, rippling muscles and a barrel chest).

"I am sorry," she stammered, "you just look so good I had to sketch you."

With that said I snatched the pad from her before she had time to react. What I saw shocked me! She had sketched me in various positions—all were nudes and all of them showed me penetrating her naked, toned, seemingly sweating with exertion, body. The most imaginative one even showed my cock penetrating her ass and coming out her mouth as she stroked it well with both hands while my balls rested on her chin. As you can imagine my jaw dropped, but only momentarily.

"What is your name," I intoned.

She was slow in answering so I answered for her.

"It is whatever I choose it to be," I said, "We both know that what I am asking currently is for your birth name. So what is it?"

"Cherise, Brenda Cherise Jackson," she said with eyes cast downward. The poses in her drawings were all very submissive in nature so my educated guess—and obviously a correct one—was that she was submissive in nature.

"Well BJ is seems that your parents may have named you properly. Let's see shall we? Follow me," I said.

It was interesting to note how rapidly she fell into step with me, but back behind a step or two and slightly to my right. I began to wonder just how much she had been watching me. Did she know of my D/s lifestyle? My dungeon? What type of woman excited me? Goddess in heaven she was a wet dream come to life.

Without any sort of hesitation I led her out to my car, but she didn't get in it. At least, I didn't let her in it yet.

"Now," I said, "now that we are alone and there is noone nearby tell me why you are here. Don't dare lie to me or it will be all the worse for you."

She immediately went to her knees in front of me, lowered both her eyes and head to me and then reached into the back of her skintight jeans. Taking the folded envelope out of her hands I unsealed it and read it contents. Inside the envelope were two things; the first was a letter of introduction to my new slave and the second was a bill of clean health from a doctor's office.

The letter was addressed directly to me from a friend of my new slave. Basically it said that, as a result of losing a bet to the letter writer, she was now my property to dispose of or use as I please. It also asked that I contact the letter writer at a number to let them know I found slave acceptable so that I could take care of closing all accounts and sealing up loose ends in her life—the one that now belongs to me.

As the letter had said to call anytime I did. It was then that I was pleasantly surprised to learn that all of her assets were to me mine in any form of currency I choose and deposited in my name for my disposal. Her life, her very existence, would be completely erased from every computer on earth. She was mine and noone would ever need know of her existence if I did not wish it.

The call ended I looked back at my new slave and asked her, "What do you do for a living slave, or rather, what did you do for a living?

"I programmed computers Sir," she said most amicably.

"I see," I said thoughtfully, "that could come in handy."

Slowly I pulled her gently to her feet and worked my way around her oh-so-gorgeous body stripping her as I did so. When I got down to her bra and panty set I cut them off with the switchblade knife that was previously concealed in my pocket. The look in her eyes as I did so was a look of absolute abhorrence, absolute horror, absolute shock and absolute lust.

"Kneel," I intoned rather forcefully, "take my cock in your mouth slave and prove that you deserve the initials that you were given."

Naked, she gently reached for my priapus and slowly but surely lowered her mouth upon it until her nose was butting against my belly button. The warm wetness of her mouth moved slowly, agonizingly slowly, up and back upon my cock as the muscles in her throat worked to milk me for every drop she could possibly get. There was no need to force her head upon me at all; she was a natural born cocksucker and an expert fellatrix.

BJ seemed to be humming a tune as she worked my love muscle into a lather. Mercilessly she would bring me to the edge, my pre-cum leaking heavily in her mouth, and then back off—just barely avoiding my imminent release. Too numerous to count was the number of times that she did this. I was so full of my juices, so backed up with them, that it was painful in the extreme.

She smiled mischievously at me, a grin of pure pleasure, pure evil, as she took me to the edge and stopped yet again. The more she did it the more she seemed to enjoy the perverse power she held me in. It was as if she knew that I did not control her but rather that I controlled her only through her lusts which controlled me.

I had to so something to show her that I was indeed in charge—and I knew just what it was going to be. Pulling firmly, but not too firmly, I pulled her into my car and, similarly, through my residence to my large, heavy, oak 4-poster bed and secured her to all fours with her ass high in the air. Separating her legs with a spreader bar that was connected by another bar to a similar spreader bar that separated her arms locked her in the perfect position for what I had in mind. And, not wanting her to know what I had coming I blindfolded her.

Going to my closet and exposing the hidden compartments within it made all of my smaller toys visible. These toys though are not meant for kids. Drawer after drawer was filled with canes, paddles, floggers, cats, gags, dildoes, vibrators, liquid latex, massage oils, clothespins, nipple clips, vibrating eggs, anal plugs, anal beads and more. Picking up a gag from the drawer nearest me I put a phallus-shaped gag into slut's mouth and buckled it in tight.

Intently I watched as slut moaned around the gag, her mouth overflowing with saliva around it, as she worked it deep in her throat by muscle control alone. Then taking a very soft and flexible pussy whip I began to use it for its express purpose. Slut writhed as the falls began to insinuate their way around, over, under and in-between her already moistening and engorged lips of love.

Now an underhanded flogging style is much different than an overhanded one, and requires much more practice, but I have gotten quite good at it over the years. In fact, I've had enough practice at it that I can hit exactly where I wish without looking directly at it. Slut was just beginning to appreciate my expertise, but, already, she was in the process of cumming. And cumming rather hard at that. Her muffled screams of both pain and pleasure were still loud enough to be near deafening.

Once I'd finished with her pussy, which I'd left raw, bruised, engorged and very, very, very wet, I took up my cat and began to work on her ass—and, though I am sure she desired it hard—I did warm her up with my calloused hands first though not as hard as she expected. One hand then another came down on her ass as if I was playing the bongo drums, the rhythm was written in her pain, her pleasure and it wasn't to a Caribbean beat. Spank, massage, spank, pinch, massage, the beat went on and on, changing constantly—exciting her always.

But the spanking, the cat, the flogging that came after both of them, they were just the warm-ups before the main events—my anally taking her hard and fast, which was then to be followed by me marking her as mine permanently. I was considering branding, tattooing, piercing, some type of scarification but had yet to make up mind as to which method. Of course all sluts need to be branded in some way to show others whose property she is—type really is just the personalization of that branding.

Slapping slut's ass to get her attention I climbed up behind her and took up my position ready to thrust hard into her. First I shot hard, and all at once, into her pussy to get some moisture for her anal plundering. Then, when she was really enjoying me taking her hard and fast I pulled all the way out, and, without missing a beat, pushed back in just as hard, fast and deep in her lovely ass. Her screams and moans of pleasure and pain were muffled but definitely noticeable nonetheless. Grabbing her by the hair, after making sure I was in airtight, I began to ride her as if she was a fresh colt to be broken to the saddle—heck, I even considered a bit, but then were would the fun be in that (maybe later).

"So love," I said as I watched her leak fluids from her pussy, ass and mouth, "did you enjoy your birthday present as much as I did?"

She just smiled lasciviously and nodded as if to remind me my birthday was not that far away, then passed out while still cumming around my cock.