A landscaper gets revenge on his client's stuck-up daughter.
Landscaping is shitty work. The pay is horrible and the labor is strenuous. The entire world looks down on you – especially the clients, who view you as little more than a humanoid lawnmower. Still, it was better than starving to death.
When it came to customers who felt they were better than me, Emily was no exception. She was the artistic type and openly looked down on menial laborers such as myself. I had come to expect this kind of attitude from most of my clients, but with Emily it was especially grating. Where most of my clients could claim to have earned their fortunes in one way or another, Emily’s ticket to the world of artistic expression came solely from being the daughter of a wealthy man.
Of course, she didn’t see it that way. In her mind, she was a unique and talented artist who was above the need for petty things like money. People like me, on the other hand, were simply ignorant serfs, unable or unwilling to understand her creativity, much less emulate it. I don’t think she realized that it’s much more difficult to not care about money when you don’t have a father that provides for your every financial need.
Most of my clients were happy to simply ignore me. This was a bit insulting at first, but I quickly got used to it. In a way, it was actually nice to not have to worry about being interrupted. Emily, however, did not afford me that courtesy.
She might have claimed that she was just being nice and sociable by talking to "the help", but any idiot could see that it was a lie. She’d speak with me frequently, but only to let me know what amazing new band she’s been listening to or what brilliant new artist she just saw. These conversations invariably ended with a condescending explanation of how I’ve probably never heard of that artist, and I undoubtedly wouldn’t understand it anyway. Despite the number of times that we had spoken, I don’t think she even knew my name.
I was walking back from my truck with a weed whacker when I spotted her on the deck. I had just finished mowing their lawn and had no desire to speak with her, so I looked away and hoped that she hadn’t spotted me. As I got closer, though, I noticed a familiar odor. Glancing up, I saw her smoking a joint.
It was a little surprising. Emily may have had the personality type to use drugs recreationally, but her father absolutely did not. He was the straight and narrow type – awoke at dawn, worked hard, never touched alcohol or drugs. He was also very vocal about his feelings relating to drugs; my boss had told me that he was pushing to have us drug tested. God knows you wouldn’t want someone mowing your lawn that had gotten high the previous weekend, after all.
Normally, I wouldn’t care. I don’t have any strong opinions on drugs one way or the other, and it wasn’t my job to babysit my client’s adult daughter. I was in an irritable mood, though, and I felt like blowing off some steam. She had made me feel insignificant in conversation so many times; it felt only fair to make her feel uncomfortable.
"Smoking pot, huh?" I called up to the deck.
Emily appeared startled; apparently she hadn’t noticed me. Looking down, she seemed nervous until she saw that it was just me. Realizing that she hadn’t been caught by anyone of significance she quickly calmed down and took a long drag off her joint, as if to demonstrate just how intimidated she was not.
"Actually," she corrected, "this is White Widow. I suppose it would technically be considered pot, but it’s hardly comparable to the shit weed that you’re likely used to."
"My bad," I replied sarcastically. "I should have known that a free spirit such as yourself would never lower herself to smoke the same kind of garbage that’s available to unwashed masses. Where do you get such superior product, anyway?"
"Believe me," she smirked, "this is not for you. You could neither afford nor appreciate it."
"Don’t know, huh?" I shot back. "Oh, I get it – you probably don’t buy it yourself. I’m guessing that much like everything else, your father buys it for you. It’s cool, though. I’ll just ask him when he gets home."
Having said my piece I went back to work. I liked the idea that she’d be stewing for a bit, wondering if I was actually going to rat her out to her dad. It seemed only right that she should have to experience some stress at some point of her life, anyway.
After a minute or so of trimming the edges I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw Emily standing in front of me, looking far more nervous than I would have expected. With a sigh, I released the weed whacker’s trigger and put it down.
"Okay," she began, "I know you were probably kidding about asking my dad, but don’t. He didn’t buy it and he doesn’t know where I buy it. So, just don’t bring it up with him, okay?"
I had no intention of asking her father, of course. With what I had heard about him, asking him where to buy pot seemed like an excellent way to get fired. Still, I didn’t need her to know that. I enjoyed watching her sweat, and didn’t see a problem with dragging it out a bit.
"Maybe he’ll know, maybe he won’t," I shrugged. "Never hurts to ask."
"You don’t understand!" she exclaimed. "Look, I’ll level with you – my dad doesn’t know I smoke pot, and he absolutely would not approve if he did. Just please, please don’t say anything to him."
"You’re not my client, Emily," I reminded her. "I don’t take orders from you. Your dad, on the other hand, is my client – and I think he’d want to know if I found someone smoking pot on his property, especially if it’s his own daughter."
"You can’t!" she protested. "He’d kill me!"
"I doubt he’d kill you," I laughed. "He’ll probably just ground you. I assume, at least. Can you actually ground a woman in her twenties?"
"He won’t just ground me!" she insisted. "He’ll kick me out. Look, I know that I’ve been kind of a bitch to you, and I’m really sorry. I’ll tell you where I buy it. Hell, I’ll give you an ounce for free. Just please, leave my dad out of it?"
She was really panicked. I suppose that I should have accepted her bribe and moved on, but I wasn’t feeling merciful. I was tired of being shit on by the whole world, and eager to strike back. Realizing just how much power I had in the situation, I decided to abuse it. I calmly took a step towards her and slapped her hard across her face, sending her to the ground.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she screamed. "I’m so calling the police, asshole! Have fun in jail!"
I remained calm. Approaching her, I extended my arm to help her up. She looked at me in confusion and frustration; I think she expected me to be a bit more intimidated by her threat.
"No witnesses," I shrugged. "Maybe you’ll get a conviction on your word alone, maybe you won’t. If you do, though – well, I doubt it’ll be much comfort when you find yourself homeless."
"Are you really that stupid?" she spat. "As if my dad would believe the word of someone who assaulted his baby daughter."
"I wouldn’t really expect him to, either," I shrugged. "Fortunately, there’s home piss tests that you can pick up at any drug store. I’m thinking he’ll trust the results."
Emily remained on the ground for a few moments, her face contorting in rage. I think she realized that she couldn’t intimidate me, and she didn’t like it. Eventually, she accepted my hand and rose to her feet.
"Fucking whatever," she growled. "We’re even. I won’t tell my dad you hit me, you won’t tell him that I smoke. Deal?"
"Not even close," I laughed. "You promised me an ounce. I realize that such a lowly peon as myself is unlikely to appreciate its subtle bouquet, but I’m going to have to collect just the same."
"That was before you fucking hit me!" she screamed. "That ounce disappeared the second you rose your fucking hand, moron."
"Is that how it works?" I wondered. "So, I could either get a free ounce of pot – I’m sorry, White Widow, or I get to slap you around. Is that correct?"
"You’re finally catching on," she chided. "Now get back to work, dumbass."
Emily began to walk away, but I wasn’t satisfied just yet. Grabbing her wrist I spun her around and jerked back. She greeted me with a look of pure contempt, hatred pouring from her eyes. I reciprocated by giving her another slap – not so hard, this time, but hard enough to get her attention.
"That’s unfortunate," I sighed. "But hey, if that’s the deal, I’ll take it. I’m not quite done slapping you around yet, though."
"Make sure you leave a mark, you fucking psycho," she dared me. "It’ll make it so much easier to get the conviction."
I didn’t think that she’d have the courage to actually call the police and risk having her father find out about her smoking habit, but I didn’t feel like taking chances. Still gripping her wrist in my hand I pulled her in close and wrapped my arm around her neck. Leaning in, I positioned my lips next to her ear.
"I can think of all kinds of terrible things that I could do to you that don’t leave marks," I warned. "And trust me, kiddo – I’d be happy to demonstrate them all. You’re sure that the pot is off the table, now?"
"Fine," she sighed. "You can have your fucking ounce. But I swear to god, I’m never speaking to you again."
"Somehow I think I’ll survive," I laughed as I followed her into the house.
The inside of the house wasn’t quite what I had expected. It was rare for me to see the inside of a client’s home, but they typically all looked more or less the same: emotionless paintings, tasteful decoration, and expensive furniture. Her home was different, though. It actually looked like a place where people lived, as opposed to a hollow shrine towards financial success.
I followed her up the stairs and into her room, shutting the door behind us. As she reached around in her dresser for my pot I looked around. The walls were covered with her artwork. Surprisingly, she was actually a pretty decent artist. Her work conveyed both skill and emotion; if she hadn’t been such a raging cunt in all the time that I had known her I’d have probably respected her.
"Here you go, asshole," she growled as she tossed me a bag of weed. "I hope you’re happy, by the way. That’s five hundred dollars right there."
"I’m thrilled," I replied coldly as I picked it up off the floor. "I’m a bit skeptical, though. We agreed to an ounce. This feels light."
"Tough shit," she spat back. "It’s all I have; you can take it or leave it."
I probably should have just taken it, but it didn’t feel right. I wasn’t much of a pothead, and the truth was that I didn’t really want it. What I wanted was to make her suffer, to make her feel small just like she had done to me all those times in the past. The slapping had helped a little, but I wanted more.
"I’m not stupid, you know," I began. "I mean, I’m sure you think I am – after all, I push a fucking lawnmower for a living. You, on the other hand, support yourself with nothing more than a paintbrush and your creative genius – and of course a trust fund that covers all the shit that some people have to mow lawns for. Still, I’m not an idiot. I know when you’re lying to me, and I’m pretty goddamned sure that you’re holding out. Maybe your father will find whatever you’re not sharing when he gets home."
The mention of her father brought some fear back to her. She looked extremely nervous, obviously terrified that I might still rat her out. In hindsight, she was probably telling the truth – I’m sure that if she had anything left she’d have happily given it over. Unfortunately for her, I didn’t want more pot. I wanted more suffering.
"I swear to god, it’s all I have," she blurted out. "You have to believe me, if I had anything more I’d give it to you. Look, I’m really sorry for how I treated you, and I really don’t think that you’re an idiot. I was wrong. Please trust me; I honestly don’t have any more."
"Trust you?" I laughed. "Five minutes ago you were telling me that you thought I was an idiot, now you’re telling me you don’t. One of those things was clearly a lie. Why on Earth would I trust someone who is obviously comfortable lying to me?"
"I don’t know," she cried, "but it’s the truth! Go ahead and search my room, you won’t find anything!"
I looked around. It could be fun rummaging through her stuff while she stood helplessly by, but it would be time consuming and I didn’t have all day. Amazed that I had gotten away with my behavior so far I decided to press my luck.
"I probably wouldn’t find anything," I admitted. "My guess is that it’s because you don’t have the rest hidden in the room, but on your person."
Emily immediately turned the front pockets of her jeans inside out. A couple twenty dollar bills and some change fell out of the left one; her keys fell out of the right. Raising her hands up in the air she faced me, a looked of mixed pleading and contempt in her eyes.
"See?" she demanded. "No pot. I swear to god, I’m telling the truth."
I didn’t like the way that she was looking at me. Maybe I was just projecting but I saw judgment in her eyes, as if she still saw me as an inferior creature. More importantly, though, I saw the fear fading. Approaching her I grabbed her by the wrist. Without releasing my grip I sat down on her bed and pulled her over my lap, face down.
"All you’ve proven to me is that you don’t have any pot in your pockets," I explained. "Hell, you haven’t even proven that – you’ve only shown me the contents of your front pockets. You could still have pot in your in your bra, in your back pockets, or anywhere else on your person for that matter. If you’re hoping to convince me that you don’t think I’m an idiot, by the way, you might want to stop treating me like one."
"My back pockets don’t fold out!" she protested. "Go ahead and check them, I swear to god they’re empty."
I took her up on her offer and crammed my hand into her left pocket. Finding it empty, I checked the right. It was also empty, but I didn’t really care. Leaving my hand in her pocket I crudely groped her ass through her jeans, hoping to illustrate just how powerless she was. She gasped a bit, but remained otherwise passive.
I enjoyed squeezing her ass, and let my hand linger. There was the base pleasure of simply grabbing a woman’s ass, of course, but it was more than that. I enjoyed knowing that she still probably felt like she was above me, yet here I was groping her with impunity. Giving it another squeeze, I reminded her that she had no way to stop me.
"Now do you believe me?" she begged. "I really don’t have anything."
I believed her, but I didn’t really care. She was afraid, and I liked that. Removing my hand from her pocket I pushed her off of my lap and onto the floor. She looked up at me in surprise, clearly not used to such rough treatment.
"I believe you have nothing in your pockets," I specified. "It doesn’t prove that you don’t have anything, though. Strip."
I knew that I was pushing my luck, but I had to try it. Emily was the free-spirited type, anyway – in theory, she should have no problem with nudity. The look on her face, however, suggested that I had overplayed my hand.
"Okay, you know what?" she spat. "I was wrong. You’re not an idiot. You’re a fucking pervert. Get the fuck out of my room and get back to work, and maybe I won’t tell me dad about the shit you just pulled when he gets home."
"You’re bluffing," I retorted. "And I’m willing to call you on that bluff. How about this: when your dad gets home I’ll tell him about the drugs, and you can tell him that I tried to get you naked. Worst case scenario for me is that I lose my degrading, painful, minimum wage paying job. What’s the worst case scenario for you, little girl?"
Emily glared at me, her face twisted in rage. I don’t doubt that if she had a gun on her she’d have shot me dead right there, but she didn’t. She knew she was trapped. With a heavy sigh she tore off her shirt and stripped out of her jeans. Standing before me with a look of perfect hatred on her face, she stared at me defiantly.
"Happy now, little pervert?" she hissed at me. "You got to see me in my bra and panties. Go ahead and take in the sight – I doubt you get many chances to actually see a woman’s body without paying for it. Does this make you feel like a big fucking man?"
I didn’t like her tone. Grabbing her by her wrist I again pulled her over my lap and twisted her arm behind her back. Pinning her down, I held her steady as she tried futilely to free herself.
"Emily," I sighed as she continued to struggle. "I want you to understand something. I know that you think you’re better than me, and hell, for all I know you might be right. Just the same, I don’t like hearing about it. I don’t appreciate you using that tone of voice with me, and I’m a bit sick of hearing the insults. Do I make myself clear?"
"Fuck you, pervert!" she shouted as she kicked her legs up in the air.
It was actually pretty impressive how much she was fighting. She clearly wanted to get free, and was apparently willing to do whatever it took to claw her way out. Unfortunately for her, I was a lot bigger, and I had a huge advantage due to my position. Realizing that she would run out of energy eventually, I simply held her still until she eventually stopped kicking.
"Have you learned your lesson yet?" I taunted.
"Just let me the fuck go already," she whimpered, clearly out of steam.
"I’d love to," I explained. "Sadly, though, there’s a problem. If I let you go without you having learned your lesson then we’d have both wasted our time, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want this entire experience to have been pointless."
"Fine," she complied. "I’m sorry that I insulted you. Will you please let me go now?"
"That’s a good girl," I laughed as I stroked her hair as if she was a dog. "I knew even an ignorant little slut like you could learn – it just takes time."
Apparently, my comment and action were a bit too much for her to accept. Letting out a primal yell she thrashed her head back and resumed her struggling. Laughing, I held her in place, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. After several seconds of struggling she gave up, lying on my lap and breathing heavily.
"Could you please let me go now?" she panted.
"See, there’s that tone again," I lectured. "I would really, really like to let you go, Emily, but I can’t – not until you understand that what you did was wrong."
"What are you going to do, spank me?" she sneered.
I wasn’t actually sure what I was going to do until she suggested that. It made sense, though. She was already in the position, and it would work towards my desire of humiliating her. Raising my free hand up in the air I brought it down hard on her ass, resulting in a satisfying cracking sound.
"You motherfucker!" she screamed. "How fucking dare you?!"
"It was your idea, little girl," I laughed as I spanked her again.
"It was fucking sarcasm!" she shouted. "Let me the fuck go!"
"It might have been sarcasm, but it’s still a good idea," I explained. "You clearly need to be reminded of your place, and I think that this is an effective way to do so."
"My place?" she demanded. "Believe me, little boy, I know what my place is. If anything, you’re the one that needs a reminder."
I was impressed that she still had some fight in her, but it was futile. I had her over my knee both literally and figuratively; she had no way to hit back. Hoping to drive that point home I spanked her as hard as I could, leaving a bright red mark on her ass.
"Poor Emily," I sighed. "You’re clearly confused, so let me make things simple for you. Our old social dynamic, where you were the boss’s spoiled daughter and I was the hired help? It’s dead now. From now on, you are my bitch. I’ll use you as I please, without the slightest concern for what you want, and you’ll have no choice but to accept that. Do I make myself clear, bitch?"
"Keep dreaming, faggot," she sneered.
Her tenacity was cute, but utterly pointless. I spanked her several more times as she struggled to show me no suffering. With each strike, though, her resolve wore thinner. Before long she was softly whimpering.
"This will continue until you’ve learned your place, by the way," I mentioned. "If I have to spend the next hour or two beating your ass for you to understand, I’m okay with that. Regardless of how long it takes you will break eventually – your refusal only determines how much abuse you’ll have to endure first."
"Fine, whatever," she spat. "I’ve learned my place. I’m your bitch. Now let me go, asshole."
She had some of the words right, but she clearly didn’t believe them. Ignoring her plea I continued to spank her, alternating between the left and the right cheek. Emily struggled and cried, but I kept going until her ass was bright pink.
"I said what you wanted!" she sobbed.
"You said it," I agreed, "but you didn’t mean it. Try again, but this time try not to come off as a spoiled little cunt."
"Okay, I’m sorry!" she pleaded. "Please stop hitting me. I know my place. I’m your bitch, you can do whatever you want to me."
"Goddamned right I can do whatever I want to you," I reminded her as I again stroked her hair. "In fact, if I want to, I can continue spanking you for no reason at all. Isn’t that correct?"
"I guess, but please don’t?" she begged. "Please? I really don’t think I can take anymore."
She was terrified, but it wasn’t enough. I didn’t just want her to realize how easily I could hurt her, I wanted her to truly understand humiliation. Lowering my hand I slid it into her panties and attempted to slip it between her thighs. Emily clenched her thighs together tight, blocking my advances.
"What are you doing?" she exclaimed.
With a heavy sigh, I removed my hand from her panties and slapped her ass again. She winced in pain as tears streamed down her face, but she kept her thighs tight. I felt a little bad for her. She was clearly in a lot of pain, but she had brought it on herself with her stubbornness.
"Have you already forgotten your place?" I sighed. "You’re my bitch, Emily. I own you, and I’ll do whatever I please. You do not second guess me, and you certainly don’t demand to know what I’m doing. If I want to cram a finger in the sloppy hole between your legs, you’ll spread them wide and take pride in the fact that your master is using you. Is that clear, bitch?"
"It is," she whimpered, "but please don’t do that? Please?"
"It’s not a good idea to give me orders, bitch," I growled as I slapped her ass. "It’s an even worse idea to resist me. Open your whore legs, and don’t make me tell you again."
"I can’t!" she begged. "Please don’t make me!"
"Fine," I shrugged as I spanked her again. "I’ll just spank you until you can."
"Wait, please stop!" she cried. "I can’t take any more spanking."
I hesitated in order to give her a chance to comply with my orders. Slowly, she parted her thighs, clearly nervous. As soon as they were far enough apart I shoved my hand back into her panties and between her thighs.
It was immediately apparent why she didn’t want me to go between her legs. Her panties weren’t just damp, they were dripping. Realizing that I had discovered her secret, she buried her face in the bed.
"Emily," I laughed. "Is there something that you’d like to tell me?"
"No," she sobbed.
"Are you sure now?" I pressed. "Cause I mean, if I was in your position I might want to explain why my cunt was juicing up like that."
"It’s not what you think, you fucking pervert!" she hissed. "Don’t flatter yourself; this is a physical reaction and nothing more. I still fucking hate you."
Enjoying the fact that she clearly didn’t like her body’s reaction, I pressed my advantage. Sliding my middle finger down her slit I found her clit and applied pressure, rubbing in a circle. Emily clenched her thighs around my hand – whether it was an instinctive reflex meant to protect herself or an intentional response meant to keep my hand in place I had no idea.
"Just a physical reaction, huh?" I laughed. "So, Emily, you’re telling me that this is normal behavior for you, correct? Tell me, you fucking slut, how often do you get spanked? Does your cunt always drool like this when you do, or is it just special for me?"
"Fuck you," she half shouted, half moaned.
"Yes," I agreed, "I think we’ve established that’s what you’d like, but you’re not answering my question. How often are you spanked, Emily?"
Bored with rubbing her clit, I slid my middle finger into her. As I began to pump it in and out of her, her breathing quickened. She was clearly trying not to moan, which I found tremendously amusing. Wanting to give her a challenge, I increased my pace; making it impossible for her to ignore my actions.
"I’m not!" she insisted. "I don’t get spanked, and I don’t want to get spanked!"
"So you claim," I acknowledged, "but it seems like your body disagrees with you. Are you trying to tell me that you’re normally this wet? Are you just such a raging slut that your cunt keeps itself in a constant state of readiness, just in case someone happens to come by to dump some sperm in you?"
"I’m not a slut!" she argued.
"Is that so?" I laughed. "Explain to me, then – what kind of girl gets turned on because a man she claims to hate bends her over his knee and spanks her until she cries?"
Emily didn’t answer verbally, though she did whimper a bit. I thought about forcing an answer, but it seemed cruel. The wetness on my hand was all the proof that I needed, and she knew it. Continuing to finger fuck her, I took great joy in watching her try futilely to suppress her moans.
After a couple minutes of entertaining myself with her torment I stopped without warning and removed my hand from her panties. Placing it on the small of her back I watched as she squirmed helplessly on my lap. She obviously didn’t want me to stop, though I doubt she wanted to discuss it.
"You want me to continue, don’t you?" I asked, feeling not too merciful.
"No," she lied. "I’m glad you stopped. I knew you didn’t have the balls to keep going, anyway."
"Poor Emily," I sighed, stroking her hair. "You seem to think we’re done, when we’re really just getting started. I think, though, that this would be a good time to lay down some rules. The first rule is very simple – you are not permitted to lie to me, ever. I’m going to let your 'I’m glad you stopped' lie slide for now, as you told it before I made the rule, but next time you’ll be punished for your disobedience. Is that understood?"
"Fuck you," she hissed. "You don’t get to make the rules."
I stopped stroking her hair and slapped her hard on her ass. She cried out in pain – it must have hurt terribly, her ass was already covered in bright pink handprints from the earlier abuse. I felt a little bad hurting her like that, but she had to learn what would happen when she was bad. As she sobbed in pain I went back to stroking her hair.
"I’m sorry that you made me do that," I explained. "I know that you must be in a lot of pain, and it’s unfortunate that your poor behavior has forced me to add to it. I’d like to not have to strike you again, but that’s really up to you, Emily. Let me ask you again, do you understand the first rule?"
"Yes," she growled. "I won’t lie to you."
"Good girl," I praised. "Moving forward, I’m curious – Do you know what my name is, Emily?"
"I don’t," she admitted. "Look, I know that’s really dickish of me, and I’m sorry."
"You don’t need to be sorry," I consoled her. "You were honest with me, so no rule has been broken. It is dickish, of course, but it’s not a big deal. You will need something to call me, though. I’m thinking 'Master', though I’m open to suggestions."
"Please don’t make me call you that," she pleaded.
"If you don’t like it you can feel free to suggest alternatives," I shrugged. "Of course, if those alternatives lack the appropriate respect you will be punished. So, what’s it going to be, little girl?"
"I guess master is okay," she groaned. It clearly wasn’t, but I don’t think that she wanted to risk further punishment.
"Wonderful," I stated. "Your second rule is that you will always address me as 'Master', so as to make it more difficult for you to forget your place. Understood?"
"Fine," she agreed after a lengthy pause.
It was great that she obeyed, but her answer wasn’t quite right. She took too long to give it, but more importantly, she forgot to address me as "master". Given the nature of the conversation, I couldn’t let it slide. I let out a heavy sigh and spanked her again.
"…Master," she tearfully tacked on.
"You’re learning," I praised. "I don’t want to stress out your tiny slut brain, so I’ll give you just one more rule – but this is an important one. From now on, I own all of your holes and will use them as I please. You will make them available, and when I’m done using them you’ll thank me for the honor. Is that understood, bitch?"
"Please don’t make me agree to that," she begged.
"I didn’t ask if you agreed, bitch," I corrected her. "I asked if you understood. These rules are not subject to your approval, you don’t get to negotiate them. You will, however, be punished if you run afoul of them, which is why it’s so critical that you fully understand what they are. I’ll let that insolence slide for now, but I’d strongly suggest that you not expect such mercy in the future. One more time, slut, do you understand the rules?"
"I do, Master," she sobbed.
"Good girl," I praised. "Earlier, when I had just stopped finger-fucking you, you claimed that you were glad that I had stopped. Remembering your first rule, I’d like to ask you if that was true."
"A part of me was glad you stopped!" she insisted.
"I’m not interested in that part of you," I warned. "That part of you is a shallow little whore who thinks that she’s too good to learn the names of the hired help. I have no concern whatsoever about what that part of you thinks about anything, and you’d do well to not mention it in the future. Now, remembering your second rule as well, answer again."
"Goddamnit," she growled. "It was a lie. I wanted you to finish, Master."
Wanting to reward her for her honesty I slid my hand back into her panties. She winced as it traveled over the sensitive skin on her ass, but parted her thighs to allow access. I slid my fingers back into her and resumed finger-fucking her, though at a much slower pace than before.
"Good girl," I praised her. "I knew you were a slut, but it’s okay – you’re more interesting to me like that, anyway."
"I’m not a slut!" she insisted.
I didn’t feel like spanking her again, but I couldn’t let that slide. By claiming that she wasn’t a slut she had lied to me, and she had once again neglected to address me as master. I dipped my thumb into her dripping snatch and got it slippery, then withdrew it and positioned it at the entrance to her asshole. As she looked up in panic I applied firm pressure, pushing it in.
"What are you doing?!" she groaned. "Take it out, I don’t like it in there!"
"You’re not supposed to," I replied coldly. "If you did, it wouldn’t be much of a punishment. I suspect in time you’ll learn to love it in the ass, but until that happens I don’t see why we shouldn’t make the most out of your discomfort."
"Okay, I’m sorry Master!" she pleaded. "I’m a slut; now please take your thumb out!"
I was about to take my thumb out, but her answer had changed my mind. I wasn’t interested in taking orders from her, and she needed to understand that. Rather than take it out, I began slowly pumping my thumb in and out of her asshole, enjoying her pained groans.
"I’ll take it out when I feel like it," I informed her. "If you’d like that to be sooner rather than later, I strongly suggest that you cooperate. Understood, bitch?"
"Yes, Master," she groaned, her voice dripping with contempt.
"Watch your tone," I warned her as I continued to pump my thumb into her ass. "You’ll remember that I own all of your holes, and that includes your tight little slut ass. If I want to fuck it, you’ll not only assist me, you’ll thank me when I’m done."
"Please no, Master!" she begged. "I’ve never had anal sex!"
"I’m sure you’ll learn," I laughed. "And don’t worry, I’ll be patient. Just the same, you should probably understand that you will be getting ass fucked, so you may as well accept it."
"But I don’t want to learn, Master!" she argued. "Please don’t fuck me there!"
"Where else should I fuck you?" I laughed
"Anywhere!" she pleaded. "Fuck my mouth instead, please?!"
As much as I didn’t like the idea of her telling me what to do, the idea of her begging to suck my cock was intriguing. Removing my hand from her panties I shoved her off of my lap onto the floor. She quickly crawled up to her knees and approached me – a little quicker than I would have anticipated.
"You’re only getting one chance," I warned. "I want you to worship my cock – be as degrading to yourself as possible. Disappoint me in any way and you will be taking it up the ass today."
"Yes, Master," she groveled. "Thank you, master."
Emily unzipped my jeans and pulled my cock out. She hesitated a moment, a look of mild disgust on her face. The hesitation irritated me, but I gave her a second just to see what she would do. She took a deep breath and forced my dick into her mouth, clearly unhappy about the indignity.
"Careful, bitch," I warned. "You’re being permitted to suck your master’s cock, and yet you look sad. If this makes you sad, I can only assume it’s because you’re disappointed that you’re not getting fucked in the ass instead. If that isn’t the case, I strongly suggest that you demonstrate just how much fun you’re having."
Emily responded by looking up at me and attempting to feign a smile, as best as she could with my cock lodged in her mouth. Her eyes made it very clear that she was angry, not happy, but I decided to let it slide. In truth, I didn’t want her enjoying this too much anyway.
Feeling like testing her obedience, I placed my hand on top of her head and applied gentle pressure. Emily responded obediently, allowing my cock to go deeper into her mouth. Once it was in halfway she began to gag and started to resist a bit. Applying more pressure, I forced her head down until my cock was in her throat. Emily tolerated my trespass for a split second, but then violently pulled her head away.
"I can’t breathe when you do that!" she hissed, glaring at me.
Reaching forward, I grabbed her by her hair and pulled her close. She looked terrified, though she cooperated. Keeping her head a couple feet away, I reached forward and slapped her – just hard enough to remind her of her situation.
"What a fortunate coincidence," I sarcastically laughed. "See, I’ve always wanted to get an anatomy lesson from a whore. You’re telling me that you can’t breathe with my cock in your throat, and I’ll accept that. You’re also implying that you can’t perform your whore duties if you can’t breathe, which I’ll also accept. I do, however, have a question pertaining to your lesson: can whores breathe when they’re fucked in the asshole?"
"Wait, no!" she pleaded.
I knew that she meant to say "no" to my veiled threat to sodomize her, but it was the wrong answer. I playfully slapped her again, enjoying the terror that I was inspiring. She winced, but did not struggle to get free.
"I hate to say it," I sighed, "but I don’t believe you. I’m fairly certain that whores can breathe when they’re getting fucked in the ass. You’re not lying to me, are you bitch?"
"I’m sorry, master!" she cried. "I didn’t mean to. Whores can breathe when they’re being fucked in the ass, but please don’t? Please fuck my mouth some more instead?"
"I would, but that just seems mean," I laughed. "You just told me that whores can’t breathe when they get their mouths fucked, and I’m assuming that whores need to breathe to survive. If anything, it would be cruel to fuck your mouth when your ass is so available."
"It’s okay master, I promise," she begged. "I don’t mind – you can gag me all you like. Just please don’t fuck my ass? Please?"
"I spoil you," I laughed, releasing my grip on her hair. "You get one more chance. Don’t fuck it up, bitch."
Emily didn’t need to be warned again. She quickly lunged forward, engulfing my cock in her mouth. Enjoying the spectacle, I leaned back and let her degrade herself.
"Deeper," I instructed. "You told me that you don’t need to breathe, I’d like to see you prove it."
She forced herself to go further down on my cock, but not all the way. As she gagged, tears began to stream down her face. Not wanting to spoil her, I placed my hand back on top of her head and forced her all the way down, holding her in position for several seconds before I let go.
Emily came up for air, but she managed to not complain. She actually impressed me, once she caught her breath she forced her head right back down, again cutting of her air supply. Relaxing, I permitted her to abuse herself for several more minutes.
"What a fucking slut you are," I taunted, relaxing in her bed as she did all the work. "I mean really, look at you. You don’t even know my name, and yet here you are voluntarily choking on my cock. If only your friends could see you now, getting throat-fucked by a lowly peon. I wonder what they would say."
Emily didn’t look happy with the verbal abuse, but she seemed able to handle it. Reaching into my pocket I removed my cell phone, her eyes on my hand the entire time. As I raised it up and put it in camera mode she disengaged, a look of fear in her eyes.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"I was going to take some pictures," I explained coldly. "It’s a shame that I didn’t, too, as it seems that I’m done with fucking your mouth. Better luck next time, though, right? Get on your hands and knees, bitch."
"Please no, Master!" she begged. "I’m sorry, you can take all the pictures you like, but please don’t fuck my ass! Let me suck your dick some more, I promise I’ll cooperate!"
"Too late," I sighed. "You had ample time to get me off, and yet you failed. We’ll work on that in the future, but for now I’d say that your mouth is a worthless hole. Let’s hope that your asshole is a bit more useful."
"Fuck my cunt instead, Master!" she pleaded. "Anything but my ass, please?"
"I’m sure you’d love that, you fucking slut," I laughed at her. "But I don’t think that you’ve actually earned that right. Why should I fuck that sloppy hole you call a cunt when your asshole is probably so much tighter?"
"Please," she begged, "I’ll do anything you want if you’ll just fuck my cunt instead! I’m begging you, Master, please fuck your bitch in her cunt?"
I hadn’t planned to let her weasel her way out of the ass fucking, but watching her beg me to fuck her was too much fun. I’m sure that her primary motivation was avoiding the sodomy, but the way she begged was extremely convincing. Figuring I’d have time to do whatever I wanted to her later, I played along.
"I know that you can beg better than that, bitch," I sighed. "Make me want it, and I’ll consider lowering myself to fuck your filthy little cunt."
"Please, master," she began, "I’ll do anything that you want. You can have me in any position you want, you can take pictures. Please shove your rock hard cock into your bitch’s wet little pussy?"
"Is that a joke?" I laughed. "You’re asking someone of my status to stick my cock in that disgusting little slime hole between your legs. I hope that you don’t think a little verbal begging is going to be enough. Make me want it, whore. Lose the panties and fuck yourself while I watch."
Emily responded immediately, quickly stripping out of her panties. Leaning back on her bed she spread her legs wide and began to masturbate. Feeling that she was still being too timid I let out an obvious yawn. Emily picked up on the hint, and began to finger-fuck herself hard.
"You don’t look happy enough," I commented. "If you don’t even enjoy your own cunt, why would I? Smile more, bitch. Moan louder; make me believe that sullying my cock in your little cum dump is worth the indignity."
Emily complied. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that she was enjoying the degradation – her moans, facial expression, and aggressive masturbation didn’t feel forced in the slightest. Wanting to test her resolve I took a few pictures with my phone. Not only did Emily not object, she seemed to pose for them.
"You stupid little bitch," I mocked her. "You know that I’m going to show these pictures around, don’t you?"
Emily gulped. She obviously didn’t like the idea of being seen like this by whoever I decided to show the pictures to, but I think she realized she couldn’t stop me. Looking up at me, she timidly nodded to indicate that she did know.
"Aww, poor little slut," I mock consoled her. "You can calm down, I don’t think any of my friends are likely to run in your social circles. The people who see these aren’t going to be trust fund babies; they’ll be working class stiffs like me. How does it make you feel, slut, to know a bunch of minimum wage losers are going to be looking at your naked body, jerking off, and thinking about dumping cum in your useless fuck holes?"
"It’s fucking hot, Master!" she blurted out.
Her answer shocked me, to say the least. I expected her to whine and plead with me not to show anyone. I could have seen her grudgingly acknowledging that she was powerless to stop me. I did not, however, anticipate her being so encouraging. Rendered speechless by her surprising behavior, I snapped off a few more pictures.
"That’s enough, bitch," I ordered. "You can stop fucking yourself now."
Emily stopped, but she did so reluctantly. I’m sure she would have liked to claim that it was because of her fear that she might be about to be anally violated, but I suspect that a big part of it was just that she didn’t want to stop masturbating when so close to orgasm. She shot me a look of pleading, though I don’t know if she was pleading for the right to finish herself off or the right to avoid sodomy.
"Don’t look so nervous," I comforted her. "I accept that you’re far from perfect, but I’m willing to work with you. I’d prefer not to waste my time in that disgusting little hole you call a cunt, but when you degrade yourself so thoroughly I just can’t say no to you."
"Thank you, Master," she gushed.
I stood up and stripped out of my pants and underwear as Emily watched cautiously. Getting back into her bed, I lay on my back. I figured that position would make it easier for me to snap a few more pictures, and I felt like making her do the work anyway.
"This really will be your last change, bitch," I warned. "If you don’t get me off with your cunt, you will be getting sodomized. If that should happen, I’ll expect you to accept that without complaint. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, master," she replied.
Emily showed her eagerness by immediately straddling me. Grabbing my cock, she aimed it and forced it inside her. Leaning down, she braced her hands on my shoulders and began fucking me hard.
I was impressed with her initiative, and she definitely had talent. Still, my goal wasn’t simply to get laid. Grabbing my phone, I shot a few pictures of her riding me. She must have heard the shutter sound, but she didn’t seem to react. Interested in how comfortable she was, I push her back, forcing her to sit upright on my cock.
"Pose for me, bitch," I ordered.
Surprisingly, Emily didn’t need me to clarify my instructions. She quickly stripped out of her bra and mashed her breasts together. After she heard the shutter, she moved her left hand to her clit and used her right hand to force her breast up, while leaning her head down in an attempt to lick her own nipple.
I shot several more pictures as Emily cooperated better than I could have asked for. I was impressed by how willingly she degraded herself, but I was more impressed by her sexual prowess. Regardless of the pose that she assumed, she never stopped fucking me; milking my cock with her vaginal muscles.
"You know," I mused, "since you don’t know anyone I’m going to show these pictures to, you’ll have no idea who’s seen them. Think about that. When you go out and buy groceries, you’ll have no idea if the loser that’s ringing you up is a friend of mine. He might think you’re just another customer, or he might recognize you as the stupid whore that he jerks it to. For all you know, while he’s ringing up your organic veggies he’s secretly thinking about bending you over the counter and dumping some cum in that cunt he’s jerked off to so many times."
Emily moaned loudly; clearly happier with the idea than she would have liked me to know. Laughing at her, I snapped a few more pictures as she bounced on my cock. Satisfied that I had enough of her on top, I put my phone down and grabbed her tits, tweaking her nipples roughly.
"Of course, there’s a danger to this," I continued. "It’s nice knowing that you’ll always be wondering if the guy who’s checking you out has already seen your twat being stuffed with my cock, but I could see it making you arrogant. You might start thinking you’re better than them, cause they’re just jerking off to you. Maybe I’ll take you with me to meet some of my friends, let them sample your holes. That way when they’re jerking off to your pictures later they’ll be able to remember exactly what you feel like, what you taste like…"
My threats seemed to push Emily over the edge. Arching her back, she ground her cunt down onto me hard. As her cunt muscles contracted tightly on my cock she moaned loudly in orgasm, her face twisted in lust and shame. Laughing at her, I let her finish before roughly shoving her off of me.
"You dumb bitch," I laughed. "In case you’ve forgotten, you’re supposed to be pretending that you hate this. Are you really such a depraved whore that you can’t hold off a single orgasm?"
Emily lowered her eyes, paralyzed with shame. I could tell that she hated the fact that I had just made her cum, and she probably hated me too. Unfortunately for her, there was no denying that her cunt disagreed.
"Hands and knees, bitch," I demanded.
"But I did everything you asked of me, Master!" she pleaded as she assumed the position that I had ordered. "Please don’t fuck me in the ass; I swear I’ll do better."
I hadn’t planned to fuck her in the ass yet, but I was okay with her sweating it out. Kneeling behind her I wrapped my hands around her waist and thrust my cock deep into her twat. Emily looked up in relief, clearly grateful for the mercy.
"Don’t get too comfortable, now," I warned. "I may not be in your ass yet, but it’s still an option."
"I understand, Master," she replied. "Thank you for fucking my cunt instead."
"I am going to fuck your ass eventually," I reminded her, fucking her hard. "It may not be today, but it is going to happen. All you’re doing is putting off the inevitable."
"I know, Master," she sobbed.
"Poor little slut," I laughed, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back. "I know you don’t want to start taking it up the ass, but that’s not really your call – it is, after all, my property. You’ve been well behaved, though, so I’ll make a deal with you. Beg me to finger fuck your asshole, and I’ll finish in your cunt."
"Please don’t make me beg for that, Master," she pleaded.
"I’m not making you do anything," I laughed. "If you don’t want to beg, that’s fine – we need to break in your asshole eventually, anyway. If you’d like to make sure that eventually isn’t today, though, you probably should beg."
As Emily thought it over I released her hair and gripped her by the waist again. As I fucked her hard she buried her face in the bed, clearly struggling with her decision. Despite her emotional turmoil, though, she did fuck back.
"Please finger fuck my asshole, Master!" she eventually blurted out.
Removing my left hand from her waist I licked my finger, coating it in saliva. Slowing my pace I gradually began pushing it into her ass. Emily hid her face in the blankets, but continued fucking back, even as my finger violated her.
"I don’t think you hate having your asshole fucked as much as you pretend to," I laughed. "Is there something you’d like to confess to me, Emily?"
"Not really, Master," she grunted into the bed.
I didn’t like the answer. Even if she did hate having her asshole fingered, it was clear that she was still enjoying the sex act. I reasoned that she might just be doing her best to ignore the anal violation, and I didn’t care for that. Wanting to make it a bit more difficult to ignore, I began pumping my finger in and out of her ass. Emily continued to fuck back, and began softly moaning.
"You stupid bitch," I laughed. "You’re not fooling anyone, you know? You obviously like it up the ass, why not just admit it?"
"I can’t, master," she sobbed. "I’m not that kind of girl!"
"Bullshit," I laughed. "You came hard thinking about being loaned out to random strangers. You just begged me to finger fuck your asshole and you’re moaning like a bitch in heat now that I am. You might not like to admit it, but that’s exactly the kind of girl you are."
"I’m really not, Master!" she argued. "I swear to god, I’ve never taken anything up my ass before!"
"I never claimed that you had," I retorted, "but I promise you that will change. Either way, don’t think I haven’t noticed you fucking back. You’re either getting off on having your asshole finger fucked, or you just need a hard dick in your cunt so badly that you’re willing to tolerate it. I won’t press you to reveal which it is, but I will ask you this: what word would you use to describe a girl who gets off in such a degrading and disgusting situation?"
"Please don’t make me say it, Master," she begged.
I was getting tired of arguing with her. Raising up my free hand I brought it down hard on the sensitive skin of her ass, aiming intentionally for one of the many welts that I had put on her earlier. She whimpered in pain, but continued fucking back.
"You’re testing my patience, bitch," I warned. "You can’t hide what you are from me. You like the idea of strangers stroking their cocks to pictures of your stuffed holes. You came hard at the thought of being a public cum dump. Hell, you might not think I realize it, but I know that a part of you is eager to take my cock up your ass; eager to become a full three holed slut instead of just a worthless two-holer. I’m going to ask you one more time, and I strongly suggest you remember your first rule. What are you?"
"I’m a fucking slut, Master!" she cried out.
Satisfied with her answer, I shoved her down into the bed. She turned her head to look up at me, her face awash with fear and longing. I think she was both terrified that I was about to fuck her asshole and worried that I wasn’t.
"Get on your back, slut," I ordered. "I’ve already defiled my cock with your cunt slime, I may as well continue."
Emily flipped over and spread her legs wide, looking both relieved and disappointed that I wasn’t planning to rape her asshole just yet. Grabbing her by the ankles I raised her legs wide, thrusting my cock deep into her. Raising her hips, she fucked back; seemingly no longer concerned with pretending to be chaste.
"You know what the best part of getting your asshole broken in is going to be?" I taunted. "Shorter lines. Just think, you’ll be able to service three cocks at the same time. I’ll be able to take you to parties, strip you, blindfold you and tie you down; and I’ll be content in knowing that everyone who wants a turn will get one."
Emily turned her head to the side, obviously embarrassed by the ideas I was forcing her to think about. Her heavy breathing and lustful moans betrayed her, though – I knew she was enjoying the thoughts as much as I was. Not wanting to let her hide, I released her ankles and grabbed her by her hair with both hands. Forcing her to look me in the eyes, I drank in her humiliation.
"You’re not fooling me, slut," I reminded her. "You want to pretend that you’re being forced into this, that you totally wouldn’t do such improper things if you had a choice; but I know better. I can feel your fucking cunt juicing up as you think about servicing hordes of strangers. Admit it, slut. Admit that you love the idea of being anyone’s fuck toy."
"I do," she admitted. "I want you to force me, Master. I want you to make me fuck anyone you please, with any hole you pick."
"Lazy bitch," I criticized. "Why should I have to do all the work? You need to start contributing, whore. When your dad gets home, you’re going to explain to him that he needs a better lawn. One landscaper isn’t enough anymore – you’re going to convince him to pay for three of us to stop by, every single week. When we do, you’re going to greet us properly. Understood, slut?"
"Understood, Master!" she moaned.
The idea of being forced to convince her father to hire men to rape her must have pushed her over the edge again. Wrapping her legs around me she pulled me in, impaling herself on my cock. Unable to hold back myself any longer, I reached down and grabbed her ass, pumping her twat full of my sperm.
Once our orgasms ended she released her legs, allowing me to remove my cock. I looked down at it, marveling at how much of our combined juices were still dripping from me. Moving forward, I held it in her face.
"Clean me off, slut," I ordered.
Emily didn’t seem to like the idea, but I think she realized she didn’t have a choice. As she slathered her tongue over my cock it looked like she was about to gag, but that was her problem. She was the one that slimed me; I saw no reason to offer her mercy. Laughing at her humiliation, I simply held still and let her lick the cum from me.
I got up to dress myself after I felt that she had degraded herself enough. Looking at her body, I admired my handiwork. She was exhausted, breathing heavily and dripping sweat. Her facial expression conveyed exhaustion, humiliation, and perhaps a bit of satisfaction. Grabbing my phone I snapped a few pictures of my semen slowly oozing out of her, enjoying the fact that she lacked the energy to close her legs.
"You really are a depraved little whore," I laughed as I slipped into my pants. "But you’re also not completely incompetent. I won’t rat you out to your dad this time, but don’t think we’re done."
"Don’t worry, little boy," she growled, as the familiar look of hatred came back over her face. "I don’t think that at all. This is not nearly over."
Next chapter of the story is available on my blog at http://atteroerotica.blogspot.com/