The hand on her mouth startled her "Hello Sweetheart" came the guttural whisper in her ear, "now you're gonna play nice aren't you." She nodded in fear, his body pressed close to her, she can feel his other hand unzip his pants and his bulge pressing against her through her flimsy skirt. He starts stroking his flaccid member, she is shaking visibly, tears in her eyes blurring her vision. Hand covering her mouth so she could not scream, body pressed against her so she could not move.
She felt he was hardening, her body tenses, fearing what was to come. "Oh don't fear little one, this is going to be so good." His hand grabs her hair, sharply pulling her head back, simultaneously letting go of her mouth. "How's it going to feel?" he asks. Stuttering, meekly, she replies "good". He pulls her hair again, almost pulling her over with the force. "I can't hear you" he sings. "Good Sir" she stutters, louder, more confident. "Get on your knees and worship me" he commands.
She drops to her knees and takes his hard cock into her mouth. Her lips stretched around him tight, sucking hard. He groan with pleasure as her tongue whips around the thick member, finding the most sensitive spot, gagging as it jumps in her mouth.
He grabs her head and rams himself into her mouth. Building up a rhythm, he fucks her mouth. Regular rhythm building pace. Slamming into her mouth harder and faster. A loud double click is heard, the sound of grating metal.
He stops suddenly and withdraws. She smiles as he turns around hastily to find the source of the noise.
In the doorway was built a powerfully built man, shotgun resting casually over his left arm. "What's going on?", the question was almost a whisper, masking his anger, showing complete control.
There was a pause, the fear was palpable, she dropped to her knees, head hung in shame. The newcomer, her Master nodded approvingly at this action but ignored her, turning his attentions instead to the intruder. "Well?" he asked, authority exuding from his presence.
The intruder stood, hands covering his now flaccid member, shoulders haunched forward, head downcast. Visibly shaking, the feeblest whisper was uttered. "Speak", the Master of the house commanded.
The intruder cleared his throat, and in a clearer voice, still stuttering with fear, he rushed "she's so pretty". The Master was taken aback by this, "go on" he urged guarded. "I watched her, yyou, the other day" he explained.
There was silence as both parties considered what to say next, interrupted only by the occassional sob behind them. "Are you telling me you watched my slave servicing me?" he started quietly, his voice getting rising as he voiced the questions playing in his mind. "Are you telling me that you lurked in the shadows to watch my beautiful.....". He tailed off, realising his voice was raised, speaking with passion and vehemance not befitting of his characteristic demeanor. He looked at the figure cowering in front of him and his slave behind, her body wracked with sobs as she kneeled awaiting instructions.
He sighed, returning to his proud, confident self, uttering one final question, "why?" he asked. For the first time the intruder was proud, he stopped quaking and regained his composure. "Because, Sir", he began, "she asked me to". The atmosphere in the room went from shocked silence to palpable fury, the catalyst being a high pitch squeal of distress emitting from the now prostrate form on the floor. Fire of rage in his eyes he ushered the intruder out of the door with the shotgun. The intruder didnt look back at the locking door as he made haste to his room, his mind only on the next bus out of town. No thought was spared for the slave he had left at her Master's feet.
In the room there was silence, tense silence. Still prone her body shook with silent sobs, he stood with back to her contemplating her fate. This was not an easy decision to make.
Making the shotgun safe and placing it against the wall, "Stand my dear", he instructed, "oh and strip". He heard her bustling behind him, clumsy in her haste ts slightly he unfastens her collar and whispers "you are released from my services".
Turning to leave as she drops to her knees, he walks down a eerily silent corridor as the gloom embraces the kneeling form; so distraught, she is locked in a silent scream.
Amaranth
28 February 2012
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