Mr Stern lay back on his couch.

I stood in front of him in my “conversation spot” – just past his outstretched legs exactly where he can see me. Mr Stern is tall, several inches over six feet by my reckoning, and big. His shoulders are of the sort that, were I given the opportunity, I could not fully wrap my arms around. His inseam is probably longer than my waist to floor measurement, and he wears size thirteen shoes.

I, on the other hand, am comparatively tiny. I barely top five feet in my heels and even then don’t even come up to his shoulder. I wear a clothing size in the single digits and have trouble lifting anything over thirty pounds. I have petite features, delicate hands, and a general look of “cute and cuddly.” I am not in the least bit fierce or intimidating.

The dichotomy between the two of us, physically, contributes to our dynamic. I am scared of Mr Stern’s size and strength. Seeing him sprawled out in front of me reminded me exactly how vulnerable and fragile I am when compared to him.

“I want to hear your thoughts about the other night,” he said.

I nodded and tried to sort through the mass of confused memories flooding my mind. It had been so intense, so out of the ordinary, so humiliating and so fucking hot that everything tended to blur together into one overwhelming feeling. My cunt reacted to the images and remembered sounds that flitted by.

“Is your cunt sore?” he asked. I glanced at him as he spoke and saw the absolute directness of his eyes meeting mine. His expression was firm. There was no room for playing game or being bashful.

“A little, Mr Stern,” I admitted.

“Where? Inside or outside?” he asked.

“Right on the edge,” I said. My eyes dropped to the floor as they usually do when I am embarrassed. Even now, talking about anything sexual, erotic, or intensely personal with Mr Stern is embarrassing. And hotter than hell. I hate revealing myself to him so much that doing it gets me completely worked up.

“Take your skirt off,” he ordered. I complied with no hesitation, draping it over the arm of a nearby chair at his direction.

“Now take your panties off,” he said. I stepped out of them and placed them on the skirt. I was now standing in front of him in my black boots and shirt.

“Touch your cunt and tell me what you remember about the other night,” he said. “And remember, I’m over here.” This is his way of reminding me to look at him when I talk.

My hands were clasped behind my back and I froze. The thought of touching my cunt while he lay on the couch and watched was excruciatingly humiliating. I couldn’t make my hands loosen their grasp.

“Take your right hand, put it between your legs, and touch your cunt,” he ordered again.

Still I didn’t move. A battle was raging inside of me: follow his orders or protect my pride. Waves of adrenaline and humiliation washed over me. I imagined him looking at me as I caressed my most private spot and groaned inwardly.

“Are you having a problem understanding me, slut?” he demanded, glaring at me. My eyes were focused somewhere on the floor to my right but I could see his face out of the corner of my eye. He was not happy with my hesitation.

“No, Mr Stern,” I whispered.

“Then put your fucking hand on your fucking cunt,” he said sternly. His voice was reaching that point where I knew the next time he would not tell me. He would make me. I never know how he will accomplish his goal but I know that I will not enjoy it.

Finally my hand started moving slowly around my body. I lay it flat over my firmly closed cunt as I gasped in air, trying to calm myself down. Watching Mr Stern watching me made me want to turn my body away, hide my nakedness, protect my vulnerability.

“Good. Now, look at me and tell me about the other night,” he said, his voice still hard as steel. His body may have been relaxed and open but his voice was anything but.

My own voice was lost somewhere in the shame of exposing myself to him. I struggled to breathe and knew that talking was going to take even more effort. He waited while I tried to control my breath. My eyes wandered towards him briefly then darted away when he met my gaze.

I could see the image of myself, standing there half naked, playing with my cunt, and it was this self-awareness that set me off. I could not slip into mindless obedience as long as I held that thought in my head. Sometimes I am my own worst enemy, especially when it comes to being humiliated and perverted.

“Spread your legs, slut. I want to see you touch your clit like you’re trying to make yourself come,” Mr Stern said, staring at my hand.

The fact that I am extremely turned on just by looking at Mr Stern made this task perversely harder. I cannot be in the same room with him without feeling those sparks running through my body and into my cunt. But acknowledging how much his presence affects me by using it to get myself aroused was too humiliating.

I rubbed my fingers over my outer labia, hating the fact that I was doing as he said and at the same time loving the fact that I hated it. My cunt was dry from the outside and I didn’t have the nerve to delve any deeper between the folds. I was relieved that I had been able to follow an order to his satisfaction.

“Alright then. Now, what do you remember most about the other night? What was the hottest part for you?” he asked, finally appeased by my compliance.

The night in question was a bleary glow of sex and humiliation. My body still ached from the brutality involved and my mind was still skirting around the actual events. Mr Stern was in top Top form and I was the lucky recipient of his creativity and energy. I was too embarrassed to contemplate the evening as a whole and had tried to ration myself on what I could examine in detail.

It took me two or three tries but finally I spoke.

I described one particular moment when Mr Stern’s domination had left me feeling completely owned and thoroughly degraded. It was not particularly striking from the outside, but I had felt it through and through on the inside.

I think my response caught him off guard. He asked why that particular moment had been so hot for me.

“Partly because I couldn’t breathe but mostly because of the symbolism; how I felt when you did that,” I said. My eyes were mostly closed and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him as I spoke. My shyness comes out at the oddest moments and telling Mr Stern my fantasies and most arousing memories is one of those moments. My hand was wandering mindlessly over my cunt, short, jerky motions out of necessity, not intent.

“I’m over here,” he said once again. My eyes refused to focus on him and remained somewhere off to his left. I knew he wanted me to look him in the eyes but I couldn’t force myself to do it.

“Is your cunt wet now, slut?” he asked. I nodded slightly. With my fingertips I could feel the wetness leaking out of my cunt and starting to soften my touch. I didn’t delve into it, I didn’t want to acknowledge how much my body was betraying my rational mind.

“Look at me and tell me what else you remember,” he ordered.

Baring my body and my soul, telling him with my cunt and my words just how much of an effect he has on me, it was all too much. I couldn’t look him in the eye and let him see into my soul. I fought that same fight again. I wanted to please him but I also wanted to preserve what little dignity and control I had left.

“Fucking look at me,” he ordered.

I could tell his patience was wearing thin and my resistance was getting old. I moaned with my need to protest and my eyes rolled back in my head. My safety in doing slutty and dirty things comes from having my eyes closed. If I can’t see what is happening, or who is watching, I can just be in my imagination.

I sensed Mr Stern’s displeasure as surely as I heard it in his voice. His body was not tensing up and he had not changed positions but I could hear the shift in his intensity and his breathing. I was being disobedient and he wasn’t going to let me get away with it for very much longer.


Faster than I could react Mr Stern sat up, leaned towards me, and slapped my cheek.

Hard. Harder than he has ever hit my face before. Hard enough to rock my head to the side and push my cheek into my teeth. I cried out with the pain and fought back the tears that threatened to start.

“Look at me.” His voice was disturbingly low and even.

I opened my eyes and with what little focus I could muster, looked into his eyes. He looked like he was on the verge of angry.

“What else made your slutty little cunt wet Saturday night?” he asked. “And don’t you dare look away from me or close your eyes.”

I’m sure my mouth opened and closed several times before anything came out.

“I remember the ropes, having my hands tied back,” I finally whispered. I almost didn’t dare blink, his expression was so ferocious.

“I don’t remember the words, but I remember your voice. I remember Chloe’s hands on me,” I said. My cunt was completely wet now. My fingers slid over my clit with the smooth wetness they drew out. I berated my body for betraying me even as I felt my arousal singing up through my stomach. Being made to strip half naked, finger my cunt, and expose humiliating memories got me wet. Being slapped across the face just made it worse.

“It sounds like your cunt’s wet now, slut. Sloppy wet and juicy,” he said. I realized he could hear my fingers slipping against my labia, through the squishy wetness, and cringed in embarrassment.

“Stick your finger in your cunt,” he ordered. Just the thought of fucking myself as I stood in front of him made my knees weak. Penetrating myself in full view of him, with my eyes open, violated some inner need for privacy.

But I did it. Just knowing that at any moment he could get fed up with me and send me home was enough of an impetus to get me to do it. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do now.

“I’m over here. Look at me,” he said again. I had closed my eyes as my finger slid into my cunt. It actually felt rather good to have my finger inside those hot slippery folds.

Mr Stern reiterated his demand that I meet his gaze several more times as I fought with myself and my body.

“Do I need to get off of this couch?” he finally demanded.

I shook my head as I forced my line of sight onto his face. I had no idea what his getting up might involve, but I didn’t want to know. My face still hurt where his palm had landed earlier.

When I faltered in my description of what had turned me on during the last scene, he suggested I just describe what happened in chronological order. This made it easier to concentrate and I was able to string several sentences together coherently. Unfortunately my concentration and remembering involved letting my eyes go unfocused and slip to the side.

Without warning Mr Stern sat up and leaned towards me. I flinched and cried out in anticipation of another slap. Instead he used both hands to force my face in line with his and demand my attention. I was shaking with the fear that he was going to hit me again and gladly did as he said to avoid it.

I didn’t realize until that moment how tightly he had me under his control. Every single tiny move he made resonated through me with brutal force. Every word he spoke was more important than anything I had ever heard before. If he had commanded me to cease to exist at that moment in time, I almost surely would have done it. His domination was, without question, completely and firmly established.

I was in the middle of a sentence when he interrupted me.

“Keep touching your cunt and go in my bedroom.”

I turned, still with my hand between my legs, and did as Mr Stern said. I stopped in front of his bed, facing the bed and the wall, and waited. He followed a minute later and turned on a low lamp.

“Turn around so I can see you,” he said. I turned a half circle and watched him. He left the room then, going back to the living room then to the bathroom. After a minute he called out to me.

“You still touching your cunt, slut?”

“Yes, Mr Stern,” I replied. Talking was easy when I couldn’t see him. I kept one finger in my cunt, fucking myself slowly and letting my palm press against my clit. Sometimes another finger would fall into place and stretch the sides of my cunt open a little.

Mr Stern came back into the bedroom, his jeans open at the waist. He pulled them, and his shorts and socks, off and dumped them in a neat pile by the workbench. He went around me and climbed up on his bed, adjusting the pillows to suit him. He spread his legs and lay back.

“Get up on the bed. Right there,” he patted the spot between his legs with his foot. “Keep touching your cunt. Up on your knees.”

I kept my eyes on the bedspread as I complied. I was kneeling up between his legs as he lay propped up slightly on his pillows. My hand was still on my cunt, my finger still stroking in and out. He watched my hand as it moved.

“Look what you did to my cock, you fucking slut,” he said. It was mostly hard, angled out from his body in eager anticipation. He didn’t touch himself but instead enjoyed the sight of his arousal. His shirt was pulled up on his stomach in a casual gesture meant to expose more skin. The sight of his almost naked body and almost hard cock sent a shiver through my body. I wanted him.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked. My attention was focused on his cock. I wanted to taste him, to feel his skin against mine, to rub my face between his legs. I wanted to please him and make him come.

“Whatever you want, Mr Stern,” I whispered. I hate questions like this where I am given a choice of answers.

“You want to lick my balls, don’t you, slut?” he persisted. I nodded.

“Yes, Mr Stern,” I said.

“And I want to hear you beg,” he said. “If you can make my cock hard enough to get out of the way of my balls, I’ll let you lick them.” At this point his cock had softened just enough that it was resting against his balls, curving in a soft arc.

My eyes flicked to meet his as I knelt there. He was watching my hand with that expression on his face that means he is feeling something inside. Some kind of arousal, or desire, or heat. I know that look well, I have seen it enough times over the last year, and most especially recently.

With that little nudge I finally loosened up. Just a minute change in the set of his mouth – from cruelly dominant to loosely aroused – was enough to trip some switch in my brain. I felt my inner exhibitionist wriggling to get free. Two fingers parted my labia as a third drifted down my slit. I watched his eyes watching me. I watched his cock twitch with interest.

“Please, Mr Stern, may I please su… lick your balls?” I caught myself but not in time.

Mr Stern laughed then. He knew what I had almost said.

“You want to suck my cock, too? I don’t think I was offering that, slut. Beg to lick my balls and we’ll see what happens,” he laughed. I cringed in embarrassment but pushed through it.

“Please, Mr Stern, may I lick your balls? May I, please?” I begged. The tone of voice in begging is everything. If I am hesitant and quiet and unsure of myself, Mr Stern will not believe I am serious. If I put the need and heat into my voice that I actually feel, the results are infinitely better.

“Tell me how good you’ll be,” he said. This caught me off guard. I have never had to give explicit details on what I will do or how I will do it.

“I’m not sure I understand, Mr Stern,” I said.

“Promise me you’ll do a good job. Tell me what you’re going to do. Make me believe you’ll make me feel good,” he said.

I adjusted my stance slightly so my knees were more comfortable, thrust a finger into my cunt, and dropped my gaze to his cock.

“Right now my cock is getting softer instead of harder. I’m having to give a tutorial here instead of hearing you beg and it’s just not doing it for me,” he said.

“Please, Mr Stern, may I lick your balls? May I use my tongue and my slutty mouth to make you feel good? I promise I’ll lick just the right spot and use my whole face, just the way you like,” I pleaded. His cock responded almost immediately, stiffening slightly as I spoke.

I continued begging, promising him that it would be worth his time to let me lick his balls. Because he knows how good it feels and because my cunt was still on display as added stimulation, it didn’t take long before he shifted his hips slightly and his cock swung out of the way of his balls.

“What are you waiting for, an invitation? And don’t stop touching your cunt,” he said, looking pointedly at me.

I practically dove forward and ended with my mouth on Mr Stern’s scrotum. My right hand was fairly covered with cunt juices by this time so I arched my back slightly to keep it off of his bedspread. My ass went up in the air, my feet (still clad in tall black boots) hung off the end of the bed, and my tongue sought out the soft heat of his skin.

“I like your ass up in the air like that,” he said, looking down over my body. I bent my knees a little more and raised my ass even higher. If he likes the way it looks, I will do my utmost to keep doing it, no matter the discomfort.

I did my best to lick him just the way he likes, using my whole tongue, my lips, even getting my cheeks wet and letting his skin slide over mine. The scent that is my Mr Stern is a huge part of my arousal when I am doing this, that particular combination of his body, his soap, and his clothes.

“Get your hand up here – not the one covered in cunt juices – and stroke my cock,” he ordered. I shifted my weight and managed to support myself on one bruised shoulder as I tried to keep my cunt off the bedspread.

My left hand closed around his cock as my tongue traveled down his perineum and back up between his balls. My right hand snuggled deeply into my sloppy wet cunt, my fingers swirling softly over my clit. I wasn’t working hard enough at it to be in any danger of coming, but I was certainly thoroughly turned on.

After an indeterminate amount of time Mr Stern pushed me away with his feet. He rolled off the bed and grabbed a condom from the bedside table.

“Get over here,” he ordered, standing next to bed. I scooted back until my feet were hanging off and my knees were barely on the mattress. This is what Mr Stern has labeled the “fuck me from behind” position – he uses it for everything from finger fucking me to orgasm to caning my thighs with fierce precision.

My hand was still on my cunt so my transit was a little unsteady. I dared not move my hand until he told me to and I was rather enjoying the extended masturbation session.

“You want me to fuck you, slut?” he asked with that edge to his voice. He wasn’t going to do this the easy way, of that I was pretty sure. I nodded into the bedspread then realized he probably wasn’t looking at my head.

“Yes, please, Mr Stern,” I said, my voice catching in my throat.

“You want me to fuck your ass or your cunt? Should I just go ahead and fuck your ass, slut? Would you like that?” he persisted. My face was hidden from him, for which I was very grateful, because his talk about fucking my ass was almost too much.

I have very mixed feelings about anal sex. I know, from practical experience, that I usually enjoy it. I can come from masturbation and Mr Stern’s cock in my ass faster than just about anything else (except him stroking my g-spot, rubbing my clit, and throwing filthy words at me). But butt sex still squicks me out slightly. I have not gotten to the point where I can anticipate it with the same reckless abandon I now reserve for cock-in-cunt sex. Mr Stern knows this and uses it to put me in a certain place mentally.

While all of this was floating through my mind my fingers somehow stopped. I let my hand drop and grabbed the comforter.

Then Mr Stern did that thing that he does.

With no prelude, no warning, not so much as a quick touch of his finger, his cock was inside of me. That first moment when I am full of him is incredible and incredibly difficult to describe. I am breathless, moaning, taken, fulfilled.

He fucked me full force. His cock slammed into me as my body fought to adjust to him. My cunt was slippery enough he had no need for lube. I squeezed my pc muscles tightly, all the better to feel all of him. He grabbed my hips and made sure he was as far inside of me as he could get.

Mr Stern holds back very little when he takes me like this. He is brutal and controlling. He does not deal with the niceties of small talk and foreplay. He does not aim to please or, sometimes, even give the appearance of caring. As he said the other day, when we fuck we are not “making love” in any traditional sense. Although, he admitted, perhaps in our own way we are.

“Are you still touching your cunt?” Mr Stern asked.

When I admitted that I wasn’t, he ordered me to get back to it. I was not allowed to stop unless he gave me permission. I split my fingers around his cock and groaned as I felt him thrusting into me. My palm rested on my clit and my fingers danced around him.

“Let’s see how flexible you really are,” he said. “Reach back here with your other hand and rub my balls.”

I brought my left hand back between my legs and arched my back so I could reach him. The soft skin of his scrotum was loose and hot on my fingers. I teased him with my fingernails, being careful to use the right angle and pressure so I wouldn’t risk injuring him. I have visions of disaster if I were ever to scratch or pinch him inadvertently.

Mr Stern grabbed my hair and pulled me up to kneeling, his cock still fully inside of me.

“You like being fucked like that, don’t you slut?” he growled into my ear.

I was breathless, light-headed, and on fire. I realized I was still wearing my shirt when he peeled it off of me so he could get a better grasp on my nipples.

“Yes, Mr Stern,” I gasped. My head was pulled back at such an angle that I couldn’t swallow but my mouth was so dry the point was moot.

He shoved me back down onto my shoulders and grabbed both wrists in one of his hands. He can control my rhythm this way, directing how fast I move my hips and how far I move away from him.

Because Mr Stern is so tall, he can put one foot on the bed while he is standing behind me fucking me. He uses this as leverage to achieve a different angle of penetration and to expose more of his crotch to my touch.

My ass was in the air, my hands between my legs, and my cheek pressed into the mattress. I was rocking and wiggling on his cock. My fingers were teasing my clit just the right way and I was getting close to having to beg for permission to come. Then I felt the tingling starting in my toes. This means I am on the road to coming and had better do something about it.

“Please, Mr Stern, may I please come?” I begged. I lifted my shoulders enough so he could hear me speak.

“You want to come, slut? You want to come on my cock?” he asked.

“Yes, please, Mr Stern…” I begged. The feeling was still almost the same and I wondered if it was actually going to happen. Sometimes I get so close then the feeling shifts and nothing happens. I’m convinced it is ninety five percent mental, but I haven’t devoted much thought to it.

“Go ahead, slut, come for me,” Mr Stern said. I rubbed my clit in just the right way and clenched my cunt around his cock as he thrust into me but the combination didn’t work exactly right.

I shook my head slightly when I realized I wasn’t going to go straight to an overwhelming orgasm.

“What? You don’t want to come for me?” he demanded. His foot was still up on the bed, beside my knee.

“It… I… I don’t know, Mr Stern,” I mumbled.

His foot was suddenly on the back of my neck.

I have no idea how he balanced like that, but he managed to adjust his stance so one foot was on the floor and one was just above my shoulder blades.

Each breathe I took felt like a mini-climax. Pure adrenaline shot through my body once, twice, three times.

His foot stayed in position as I groaned from the back of my throat. I could breathe but it was a struggle and being so deliberately degraded and squashed took my breath away. I was completely owned, his to fuck and use as he wanted. The threat of not being able to breathe tripped that switch in my head and I was soaring on the sensation.

“You like my foot on your back, don’t you, slut?” he growled, pounding his cock into me as he spoke. “You are my slut. I own you.”

My body felt like it was expanding into thin air. Exploding, disintegrating, bursting into flames. I was sweating and shivering. My skin was exquisitely sensitive to his touch. He was my world, my reality, my everything.

I was floating free, lost in the wide black expanses of the universe. My only salvation was him. My metaphorical heart was racing out of space and time, looking for a steady, calming rhythm. To bring myself back to earth and save my sanity I tied my heartbeat to his energy – tied it “to a purer motion, to the constancy that beat in (his) chest with the wings of a swan underwater…”

The whole experience probably lasted only a few seconds. Then Mr Stern switched positions again and put his foot back on the floor. I had not had an orgasm, as I first thought (at least my clit was not screamingly sensitive as it usually is after I come), but something had certainly happened with his foot on my neck.

My body was limp and tingling. I was moaning with his thrusts and pushing back against him. Like he once said, if he ever pressed his hands against my throat while he was fucking me, I would probably come instantaneously. This was as close to that as I have been and it was spectacular.

Mr Stern’s hand moved from where he was gripping my hip toward my ass. He had not, evidently, given up on the idea of fucking my ass. He was just working on getting me as relaxed, submissive, and aroused as possible before he ventured into that territory.

I admired Mr Stern’s planning and preparation. Being completely turned on and soaking wet is a sure fire way for me to enjoy anal sex. My hormones are flowing freely and my body is willing to accept just about anything.

Mr Stern worked his fingers over my ass while he complimented my relaxation and willingness.

“You want me to fuck your ass, slut?” he asked.

I didn’t shake my head but I also didn’t respond. I was torn between wanting his cock in my ass and the fear that I wouldn’t enjoy it.

“Is your little ass scared of my cock?” he teased. He was pressing against my asshole as he spoke, his fingers well lubed and slippery. I groaned and pressed back against him. I was careful not to let my fingers on my cunt bring me too close to the edge. I didn’t want to come in the middle of this.

“I bet you would love to have two cocks in you, wouldn’t you?” he asked. Mr Stern has talked before about double penetration but I haven’t warmed up to the idea yet.

“I think we need to work on a double penetration scene for you, slut,” he said. I shook my head slightly as I rocked back and forth on his cock and his fingers.

“Would you like that, having a cock in your cunt and one in your ass?” he demanded, slapping my ass with his free hand.

“No, Mr Stern,” I said. His speed and energy were back up and he was fucking me faster and harder. I carried the rhythm into my voice.

“You wouldn’t? You don’t want a big cock in your cunt at the same time someone fucks your ass?” he persisted.

“No, Mr Stern.”

Our voices blended as I protested and he insisted.

One of my fantasies has always been to protest and voice my disapproval while being forced to come. I dream about moaning and screaming a chorus of no’s while my body is made to come. Just saying that one word, the word I never get to say to Mr Stern, set my heart racing and my cunt juices flowing even faster.

Mr Stern had at least one and perhaps two fingers in my ass when he slowly withdrew his cock from my cunt. I teased my clit gently to keep my high as he pulled the condom off and rolled another one on.

Because Mr Stern knows my body so well, and because he is so damn good at what he does, when he pressed his cock where his fingers had been only moments before, I pushed back against him.

“What are you pushing back against me for if you’re scared of it?” he demanded, knowing that my body was winning the battle over my mind.

“You are such a fucking whore,” he said, sliding his cock all the way in. I felt the sensation from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. The electrical current his cock in my ass generated was enough to make me arch my back and groan into the mattress.

“Put it down,” he said, poking my lower back back into position. I angled my hips so I could feel his cock pressing into just the right spot – it seemed like he was hitting my g-spot through the wall of my cunt but that may have been purely my imagination.

“You like that, don’t you, slut? You’re just a fucking butt slut at heart. You take my cock up your ass like a professional ass fucker,” he continued. His words get both of us going – his cock gets harder and my cunt gets wetter. The thrill of hearing him use such degrading, humiliating, foul language sends me over the edge.

“Mr Stern, may I please… may I please come?” I begged. I could feel the tingling approaching quickly from my toes and couldn’t stop it. My fingers rubbed my clit quickly with a mind of their own.

“Please? Mr Stern, may I please?” I cried out. I knew the orgasm was frighteningly close and didn’t want to find out what happened if I came without permission.

“Yes, slut. I would like to hear you come. I knew you were going to anyway,” Mr Stern said calmly.

Whenever I come with Mr Stern, my climaxes are longer, harder, and more intense than any I achieve when I am fucking myself. They come in waves, forcing my breath out and reducing me to spasming muscles and guttural utterances.

Mr Stern pushed his cock all the way into my ass as I came. He kept up his thrusting as I tried to get my breath back. Just because I was on the far side of sexual satisfaction didn’t mean he was done. He hadn’t come and wasn’t going to stop just because I had.

I held on to the tingling, burning, white hot feelings of the orgasm for as long as I could. I cupped my hands over my clit and held in the heat and passion Mr Stern had created. He varied his rhythm as the mood struck him, pushing his cock all the way in to my ass, drawing almost all the way out, thrusting shallowly. I squirmed and wriggled, shifting my shoulders on the bed to tease my nipples with the coarse blanket.

After a certain point my rational mind started taking over and I started getting uncomfortable. I didn’t voice my uneasiness to Mr Stern but I’m sure he saw it in my body language. Because I am still new at getting my ass fucked, and because Mr Stern doesn’t want to completely turn me off to the idea, he humors my desire for comfort and eroticism during anal sex.

Mr Stern worked carefully to pull his cock out of my ass and pushed me down on the bed.

“Don’t move your slutty little ass until I tell you to,” he said, heading to the bathroom to get cleaned up. I wasn’t going to argue with him. My mind was still reeling from the utter humiliation of having to masturbate in front of him and my body was thoroughly sated by his cock and my fingers on my clit. For the past nine months nothing has felt so good as getting fucked by my Owner and this was no exception.

Mr Stern finished washing up, returned to the bedroom and slapped my ass.

“Go wash your cunt or whatever girly thing you need to do,” he said. I stood slowly, unsure if my legs would hold me. I tend to get rather wobbly after an extended amount of time spent on Mr Stern’s bed, whether it is being beaten, fucked, or otherwise used. This time I was able to walk normally enough and made it to the bathroom with no mishaps.

I washed and dried the appropriate parts of my body and wandered back into the bedroom, hugging my arms around my breasts. I was suddenly cold and unsure of what I should be doing. I knew Mr Stern had not come so the night wasn’t over, but I had no idea what he might want me to do.

“What are you doing, slut?” he asked as I stood uncertainly.

“I don’t know, Mr Stern,” I admitted.

“Where do you belong if you don’t have anything to do?” he asked.

I turned on my heel and headed for my place in the living room. I have spent time there mostly naked before and learned long ago not to try to outguess Mr Stern.

“Get in here, slut,” he said before I was past the door in the hallway. From his tone of voice I could tell he was messing with me, just to keep me off balance. I went back to the bedroom and saw him laying on the bed in his usual spot. He gestured for me to resume my place between his legs. It seems that Mr Stern never tires of my ball licking and was ready for more.

Because I never tire of licking his balls, the situation was perfect. Without my hand on my cunt, I could devote my entire attention to pleasing him and doing exactly as he wanted. My tongue traveled lightly over his scrotum, up to the base of his cock, and circled around his balls while my hand stroked his cock softly. My other hand provided added stimulation on his perineum, touching all the right spots.

After several hours of fucking with me, metaphorically and literally, Mr Stern was all about feeling good now. He took his cock in his hand, shoving my hand out of the way and telling me to concentrate on his balls.

I love seeing Mr Stern’s hand on his cock. There is something so familiar and intimate in watching a person pleasure themselves that seeing Mr Stern do it always makes me wetter than I already am. I moaned loudly as I watched his hand, inches from my face, move slowly over his rock hard cock.

“You love your Mr Stern’s balls, don’t you, slut?” he asked. I mumbled my affirmation and renewed my endeavors. I have never actually verbally stated my love for Mr Stern but he likes to tease me with the words. Getting me to just say the word “love” is enough to make me start blushing and shying away.

“Then you better lick those balls like they’re the last ones on earth, whore,” he said, grabbing a handful of hair and shoving my face against his crotch. If I held my mouth in place, I couldn’t breathe. It was only by moving my tongue away from his skin that I was able to take a shallow breath without struggling against his hand.

“You’re trying to get all the way down there, aren’t you, slut? You’d just love to lick my ass, wouldn’t you?” he asked when he let me go and I started moving again.

I didn’t respond, hoping he would let his questions slide without an answer. As much as I yearn to please Mr Stern I am very certainly wary about going that far. I am sure I would do anything he wanted, but having to think about it and admit it is too much.

“I know you would just love to get your tongue on my ass, you are such dirty little whore. I might let you some day, but I think I’m going to make you beg for it. I’m going to make you beg to lick my ass, slut,” he said. I was moaning under his voice, hearing the words and imagining my humiliation in having to beg for such a thing.

Mr Stern grabbed my hair again and pushed my mouth hard against his perineum. His hand moved faster on his cock and I heard that certain note in his voice that means he is close to coming. His words kept up – whore, slut, fucking dirty little cumslut – everything he could think of and can’t say to anyone else’s face.

He came in less than a minute. His groans of release flooded my senses and I melted into him. I slowed my frenetic pace and eased into warm gentle strokes as his hand moved slowly on his cock. It had been a long night and seeing my Mr Stern finally come was my greatest reward.

And to think that he had given me the choice, earlier in the day, of serving him or spending time at home to get my life back in order after my vacation, and I had actually had the nerve to tell him I preferred to stay home. Luckily for me, I am not in charge of this relationship. Mr Stern had allowed me to go home for thirty minutes then ordered me to his house. If the choice had been left up to me, I would have spent the night at home, watching bad TV and wishing I was with him. That is exactly why he is the Master.