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As I sat in the front room of my house listening to the random and albeit annoying noise of the other occupants of my house I let my mind wander deep in to the depraved catacombs of my mind. My name is Alistair, Alistar Monty. I can't say that I had a rough childhood but I can't exactly say it was pleasant either. I'm currently 21 and still living at home with my Grandmother Mother and autistic brother. That in and of itself leaves a sour taste in my mouth let alone the fact that my house is a religious hot spot for every zealot there is with in a 30 miles. I stand 6' misc'' with broad shoulders that make it hard to find dress shirts that fit just right. I have a great interest in martial arts, having read and understand the theory of many different arts. Enough of the bland vanilla things though. I am a Master and I'm relatively new to the entire practice of Master and slave. Not to say that I'm new to the idea or fetish. Both of those I have been interested in since the tender age of a bout nine. One major thing about me though. My kindergartener teacher sucked and never taught me to share. Over body, over ability, over anything a slave has to offer. I value loyalty. Just something that came by after an almost blood brother and sparing partner decided to Take the woman I loved beyond anything I had ever love. And fuck her brains out behind my back. So after months of searching and finding 'two days' (women that agree and disappear after two days) I came in contact with an old friend. We talked for a little while and then I asked her 'do you want to be my slave.' well she said 'YES!'

my slave Loretta who I affectionately call Sprite. Is about 5'4'' tall with a lithe and slim figure beautiful A cup breasts that screamed to be teased and tortured. A nicely shaped and formed ass, a pair of thin lips that God (when he wasn't fucking with the innocent people) must have taken years to craft. All of this comes with a dominant attitude and pair of beautiful legs. Sexy right? I think so to. The only downside? She lives with a 31 year old who works her as if he owns her lock stock and soul. I could be bias and hell I'll admit I am bias but that old fuck can go and croak in my opinion. Though I try not to express this to her. I'm fairly sure she knows my views on him. From what I hear of him he flys off the handle bars, loud, obnoxious, rude, controlling, and just an overall dick. What scares me the most though is that he sounds like me. Any who with all of that aside and your basic intro to the inner workings of me. My mind slowly drifts back to reality as my Grandmother chatters away at me about something to do with her three seater sofa. The last words I register are “so you can take it and make it a two seater?” Only now realizing the shit that I have gotten myself into as I set body to autopilot and cursing my self for doing so in a space with in 50 feet of my family. Sighing inwardly I nod and smile up at her spouting off
“of course Grandma who do you think I am?”
Knowing that its probably not a worse task than designing your own lift for suspension bondage. Out of the peripheral of my half aware state I hear some fashion of an elderly squeal that sounds more like a dying klaxon alarm than any expression of joy. Being the only capable human in the house intitled me to such fun tasks as anything from changing remote batteries to turning a three seater reclining sofa into a two seater reclining love seater. Hooray for me, not really. Between taking 5 college classes being the only one who brings in money to the house and them. I barely had time to breath, but I always made time for her. For my Sprite and my my look at the time it was about time for me to go see her and give her a lesson I’ve been waiting to give her. Sprite has always had an interest in being a slave. We tried it once; kinda, when she was younger but it didn't quite work out. Turns out unless you strap a 16yearold to a wooden x and face fuck them into submission they don't tend to listen to you. Well now shes older and we are trying again.

The drive is always the hardest for me. The throbbing boner, the nervous stomach that threatens to present itself all over the sidewalk, the awkward silence as I drive not even listening to the radio let alone have the radio on. Finally I get to where we decided to meet up. I had reserved a room at a motel 6. I know not exactly classy or great but its all I can afford on $10 part time with literally half my check going to my 'house.' I had set up a pass code with the manager so that Sprite could get a key. She should be waiting for me in the room. She always had some sort of surprise planned for me. I loved that. Our first meeting I walked in to find her lying naked facing me on top of the bed. Her eyes screaming silently “RAPE ME MY MASTER MAKE ME YOUR BITCH SLAVE!!!!!!!” and I had done just that. And quite adequately for a virgin at the time. To this day her eyes shone with the same awe and passion as they did the first time. I think that is what excited me the most about her. Parking my 1990 Carola I climb out of the front seat and stretch a little. Getting my usual looks of 'how did he fit in there?' Ignoring them I walked over to the managers window and gave the dry and dreary attendant the pass code. To which I was presented my key. Room 206 top corner unit. After the first time I learned to limit the number of people around us. A sly look from the attendant gave it away that the first time we were lucky that Alfred (the man she was living with) didn't hear her screaming 'FUCK ME MASTER!'

I slowly slide the key into the hole. Noting the foreshadowing for what was about to happen that existed in this simple and daily exercise. Slowly swinging open the plywood door. Watching the edge travel in its predestined arc revealing more of the land beyond its square arch with ever inch it traveled. There in the middle of the room knelt my prize. Something I spent every night fantasizing about. Though this was a first. No surprise, she always had a surprise for me, today must have been extremely hard to get away from Alfred. I felt a little anger spur inside of me at the idea that he and his family watched her like a hawk as if she were some psycho serial killer waiting to break lose of her facilities and start a rampage. That wasn't and isn't the Sprite I know. The tender loving, compassionate, and kind side that so few people got to see. Pushing my feelings about Alfey out of my mind to keep them form souring my sweet treat before me I strode over to sprite. Letting the lightly door close with a small breeze.

Sprite knelt in front of me, sitting on her heels. Her knees roughly two feet apart so as not to obstruct her beautiful looking shaven pussy. Her arms where folded behind her back fingers touching her elbows so as to accentuate her chest and torso. Her beautiful pink nickle sized nipple stood erect and hard showing that her mind was at work playing scenarios of what was going to happen today. Along with hard nipples always came a soaked pussy. I half glided around her as if she where a lioness I captured on safari. She was my Sprite my nimble quarry and I planned to have my utmost fun with her.

Silently I crouched down behind her whispering softly in my deep voice.
“I missed you Sprite.” kissing her ear gently
“I missed you to my Master” she did her best to suppress a shiver.
I could tell that she was aching between her legs and needed relief. That was something that I planned to give her after mass amounts of teasing and training. I stood up and walked to her front. Without being prompted she moved from her position knowing exactly what I wanted. She undid my belt and button then unzipped my pants letting them fall to the ground. A sigh of relief came from me as my hard no longer pressed against the harsh inside of the zipper. Even though my boxer briefs the zipper stabbed and raked at the head of my cock. Sprite gently tugged my undergarment down letting it fall ontop of my pants. My throbbing manhood completely exposed to her now. She gently reached up not able to stop her fascination with pleasing me. I encouraged her to act on her own as long as she wasn't in punishment or breaking the rules. Her soft hands gently slid across my underside and balls. The lust boiling behind her eyes. I could see her want her need to have me jammed in any hole I wanted. Exactly the look I loved. Sprite gripped my shaft and began stroking my cock. She knew I had been saving up for a few days. I'm not sure but I'm almost positive she loves to make me cum. A very good trait for a slave in my book. Her fingers rubbed from base to head with a gentle grip. Her wrist giving a little flick at the end making me twitch a little each time. As her one hand worked my shaft and head the other wasted no time gathering her own juice on her finger tips. I saw this and raised an eyebrow. Sprite had been instructed not to cum until I approved. Which had proven difficult for her since Alfey loves to fuck her as much as I do. Sprite smiles mischievously as she takes her dripping fingers and applies her juices to my balls. I feel myself relax gently against the slick feeling of her hand fondling my sac. I look down at her and see her passion as she stares down the length of my cock. Sprite had never found the taste of a man pleasing. Something I planned to change. I saw her try to work up the courage to take me into her mouth. Fearful that she might mess up. I stroked her hair. Something I did as a reassurance more than a command. Sprite smiled at me and switched hands. The drying juices produced a rather kinky sticky texture to which excited my throbbing need even more. The lack of release over the past few days in addition to teasing her constantly when ever I could made me very sensitive to her expert technique. Tensing stiff I managed to prolong my inevitable eruption only a few strokes longer. Under her masterful hands there was no way I could hold myself back. Sprite hated things on her face other than water so she quickly jerked down. Earning a wince from me at the sudden force.

Sprite whimpered now having been covered in my thick jizzim, having been horny since the word go, and knowing she was in for punishment. I smirked evilly as I she looked up at me.
“open your mouth Sprite”
Hesitating for a split second she did so sticking out her tongue. Part of today’s training was really more of a psychological one. Associating pleasure/'good' with cum. Namely a good taste with cum. With out risking to much to fast I wiped a small amount from her left nipple as it threatened to fall to the floor. The humiliation of licking my cum from the floor/sheets would have to come after she craved the taste. I gently pressed the cum to the center of her tongue. A good spot to start since mentally she knows its there however the miracle of the tongue is that its devised up into different sections each specifically assigned to a single sensation. Sweet, bitter, salty, umame (savory/earthy) and sour. With 80%of the tongue dedicated to salty. However the center of the tongue is used for virtually no specific taste.
“close your mouth Sprite” I commanded
Doing so she looked down. I could see that she was contemplating what to think of what I placed in her mouth. I smiled to myself as her gaze was shifted away from me. It was working. I frowned as her gaze shifted back up to me. I looked into her eyes and saw what I was looking for. The single light of 'this isn't bad' giving her a smile to reinforce the though I saw it balloon a little.
“stand and bend over slave” she did so realizing that she was still in punishment.
My eyes traveled over her bent over form. The beautiful curves that her ass made as each cheek flowed into gorgeous thighs. There it was. She hadn't forgotten my surprise.


To Be Continued
1 comments

anonymous readerReport

2012-10-03 01:43:34
Oh wow, Jen (I'm assuming it's you), thank you. I'm alltaucy not much of a poem person either. I like writing poetry, but even after taking classes on the genre, I have never quite figured out what exactly constitutes a poem (other than all of the blank white space around the words). To tell you the truth, this one came across as a bit generic to me, so it was good to read your comment. As far as whether my desert has a happy ending, I think the decision is hers.On a side note, I swear in real life I'm a happy person. But for some reason, whenever I'm doing any kind of "creative writing," it comes out sad. I can't figure this one out. I'm drawn to sad paintings too. I think I just like to explore the full range of human emotions, and regret/nostalgia are more interesting to me than happiness. Wow am I morbid.

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