A short story I wrote for someone who asked for my 'deepest, darkest fantasy'. Ended up far less dark than originally intentioned.
~A girl meets her Master for the first time, to start a new life, and is shown just what being 'his' means~
The first time I met him in real life he was holding a sign that said ‘SLAVE’. He was grinning lazily leaning against the metal rail that separated those who had just landed from their visitors. My stomach did a flip as I saw him. He was taller in real life, and he had amazingly piercing pale blue eyes. He grinned as he caught sight of me, standing out like a sore thumb in this ridiculous dress, and it sent shivers down my spine. This is really happening I thought. It hadn’t really hit me yet. Here I was, in an unknown town, having sold my apartment, wired all my money to him (after all, he would be providing for me from now on) and quit my job. I had a new occupation now. I’d said goodbye to the few people that might notice I was gone, and I’d got on a plane. And then it had landed. And then I’d seen him.
This morning seemed an awfully long time ago. Cornflakes for breakfast-had that really happened? It seemed like a lifetime ago. And I guess in a way, it was. This was a whole new life. I was no longer the receptionist stuck in a dead-end job with no boyfriend and a tiny apartment, who hated herself, her life, and was self-destructive because of it. I was ‘cunt’, or ‘slave’, or ‘fucktoy’, or whatever else he wanted to call me, whose only purpose was to serve him, and anyone else he wanted me to, to be fucked and hurt and humiliated.
He had saved me and for that, I was his.
Completely his, in fact. Despite the many people who assumed I was a slut (and who could blame them, here I was in a short, low-cut, skin-tight red dress with no underwear and stripper heels) I was a virgin. I had sucked cock, but I had never swallowed cum or been touched with anything other than a single drunken hand below the waist.
Today, that would change.
I walked forward to where he stood and he straightened up.
‘Hello cunt,’ he smirked. He leant forward and I wondered for a gorgeous moment if he was going to kiss me. He didn’t. His hand emerged from below me and I looked down in time to see him clip something onto one of the rings in my collar, which had been a permanent fixture of my attire for months (except for showers). A thin, black something. A leash. He had me on a leash. I’d known him a few seconds in real life and I was already on his leash. ‘Well, come on then,’
I stared at him, dumbstruck, for a few moments before my sluggish brain processed his command. Come on then. The leash was fed under the metal bar that was still separating us, so I bent down and made to duck under it.
‘Not so fast bitch. What do good whores do?’
I stared at him a little more as I tried to think. He was really attractive. No, stop focussing on his face. I thought What do good whores do? What-
He smiled and gave a slight nod. I lowered myself onto my knees and crawled under the barrier. On the other side I began to get to my feet, then changed my mind and instead turned to look at him.
‘M-may I stand Sir?’
He considered it for a few seconds.
‘No. You can get to your feet once we’re outside so you don’t get scratched up on the ground,’ he turned and walked off and I followed, crawling as fast as I could to keep slack on my leash and no pressure on my neck. I had to do a weird kind of jiggling crawl to keep up and I was horribly aware my skirt was riding up and my ass and pussy would both be on display if we didn’t stop soon.
We didn’t stop soon.
He led me all the way across the airport wiggling my ass like that, on my hands and knees like a common animal. By the time we got to the door I felt more humiliated than I ever had before, and I could feel my pussy lips, slick with juices, rubbing against each other.
‘Get up, bitch,’
I rose to my feet shakily, my heels suddenly seeming far too high and pointy to support my weight. He walked off again, fast, and I struggled to keep up, tottering on stilettos. There was a constant pressure on my neck as he dragged me across the car park to a sleek, black, two-door Mercedes. I headed for the passenger door but was yanked sideways.
‘Open your mouth,’
I opened it obediently and a firm red ball was placed between my teeth, secured by a leather strap circling my head. He spun me round and fastened my arms together at the elbow, and again at the wrist using what felt like leather ties. With my arms pulled together, my chest was pushed forwards, my nipples prominent through the thin fabric of my dress. He spun me back round so I was facing him and crouched down to secure my knees and ankles. When he straightened back up he leant forward, so his mouth was next to my ear.
‘You are a slave. Slaves do not have seats,’
Suddenly I was in the air, carried in his arms as if I weighed little more than feather, and dumped unceremoniously into the boot. By the time I looked up I had been plunged into darkness.
Inside the boot, it was the kind of dark where it made no difference whether or not I shut my eyes. Either way, there were no discernible shapes. My other senses seemed heightened by my blindness. The taste of rubber in my mouth, the feeling of the engine rumbling below me, the sounds of the car moving, the gears changing, muted voices talking outside every now and then. I don’t know how long I was in there. Minutes, hours. We stopped a few times, I heard the car door open and shut, and each time I hoped he would come back here, open the boot, show a crack of light, some compassion for his girl, locked up like a piece of luggage.
Instead he visited a shop, or a petrol station, or a friend, god knows. And I was left alone, curled up, bumped around, and feeling more lost than I ever had not knowing directions.
I eventually gave up hope. It must have been hours. I stopped thinking every pause, every brake, he was coming to get me out, and instead realised I was his to do with as he pleased and he would get me when he wanted to. He couldn’t leave me in here forever. I was there for as long as he wanted, whether I liked it or not. My life was not mine anymore. That was what I had wanted, needed. And now I had it. This revelation brought with it a weird sense of bliss and I found myself in a far more peaceful state of mind.
I may have dozed off for a while, or perhaps I was just lost in daydreams, but the next thing I knew there was a crack of light in front of me. Blinding light, too white to look at. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. The crack widened, fast, till I could make out a figure holding the roof. Him.
I murmured against my gag, and then, with the odd euphoria from my epiphany dissipating, I felt the ache in my limbs and my jaw from my bindings and my gag.
‘I have a surprise for you,’ he grinned. He picked me up and hoisted me over his shoulder, carrying me into a building that I couldn’t see. He fumbled at the door and I heard keys jangle in a lock. His house, then, I supposed. I stayed over his shoulder as we went in and he kicked the door shut, before walking up a flight of stairs and setting me down on a soft, cream bed
Was this where I was to lose my virginity?
He unbuckled my gag and took it off. The soreness in my jaw reared its painful head and I moved it gingerly, trying to get it back to normal. I opened my mouth to thank him for his kindness but he held his finger to my lips and instead removed my bonds, all of them. He stood back and I took the opportunity to rub my tender, aching limbs, attempting to get my circulation back to normal and ease my pain a little.
‘What do you think we’re going to do?’
The question caught me off guard. ‘Umm, whatever you want to Sir.’
‘Obviously. What do you think I want to do?’
‘Torture me. Humiliate me. Have sex with me.’
‘Have sex? Fuck or make love? Which would you prefer?’
‘I-I guess I’d prefer to make love Sir,’ I blushed, and mentally reprimanded myself for doing so. ‘Since it’s my first time,’
‘First lesson as my slave. You don’t have opinions. You prefer whatever would please me. Try again.’
‘I’d prefer whatever would please you more Sir.’
‘That’s better. Now for the surprise. You’re not going to have sex with me tonight,’
I was surprised. I assumed he would want to fuck as soon as he could. But I’d waited my whole life; I could wait another day or two. In fact, knowing we weren't going to have sex eased my mind a little, I was nervous enough as it was. He seemed like he had more to say, I looked back at him.
‘But, you are going to have sex,’
‘You are mine to do with what I want. That includes your holes. Tonight, you are going to realise what a whore you really are. Your virginity, both vaginal and anal, is mine to take, and to give away. You’re going to get dressed up, we’re going to go down to the club, which will be packed full of nasty men with large cocks, then you’re going to be blindfolded before you get fucked in every hole by men you don’t know and will probably never see again,’
I felt a ball of dread curl itself in the pit of my belly. I was his, completely and fully, but this? If I had a choice, I would’ve left, there and then. But I didn’t. Instead, I murmured ‘Yes Sir,’ and he seemed pleased.
I stood up and removed my dress and shoes. My hands were crossed behind my back and my legs were a little way apart, how I was taught to stand if given no other instructions. I used to hold my hands in front of me, attempting to conceal my nakedness, my dignity, but there was no room for shame as his slave. Not anymore.
He stood up and circled round me. It took effort but I didn’t watch him, instead keeping my gaze fixed on a spot on the wall in front of me.
‘I need to get you waxed,’
I frowned. I’d shaved the day before to make sure I was presentable.
‘Here,’ he threw a bag at me and I caught it by reflex. ‘Get dressed. Do your make-up like a whore. I’m taking a shower; I’ll be done in half an hour and I expect you to be too.’ Then he walked off down the hall. I opened the bag and peered inside.
A little over an hour later, after another ride in the boot, I was being tied up at the club. I was in shackles, a sheer black ‘dress’ (so thin it could be ripped off by a spring breeze), my collar and bare feet. And make-up. A lot of make-up. Red lipstick, dark eyes, fake lashes, foundation the wrong shade-the works. He’d smirked when he’d seen me.
He had told me he was going to display me to begin with. He put a spreader on my legs and shackled my wrists above me, so high I was forced onto the balls of my feet. Then he blindfolded me and placed a large pair of headphones on me, playing a soft piano track on loop that blocked out all other sounds. After a while I felt my dress be ripped off, and jumped at the contact. Hands touched me a couple more times, his or not, I couldn’t tell, but they were light touches. Eventually, my headphones were removed and my wrists untied and I was grabbed roughly, picked up, carried away by someone who felt far too warm to be him, and shackled into a new place, this time bent over something that felt like a table.
‘And now cunt, you’re going to be fucked raw,’
That was his voice. That was definitely his voice. I tilted my head to where it had come from but before I could form words, could beg him to take pity on me, there was a cock in my mouth. It was hard, and big, and I gagged immediately. I attempted to use a little finesse, cock-sucking was the one thing I had done and something I was decent at. I didn’t get a chance: this was not sucking cock, this was skull-fucking. It was hard enough to just stop my teeth from biting in in reflex as he pushed his member down my throat, with no care for my comfort.
Just as I was getting used to the rough treatment, I felt something probe against the lips of my pussy.
Oh God no.
I was ashamed to admit my humiliation and exposure and turned me, but I was glad at that moment that it had since soon enough another cock filled another of my holes. I groaned in protest, but I was firmly bound and firmly gagged, there was nothing I could do. He was large, whoever he was, and my pussy was a very tight fit. Not that he seemed to care; he fucked me as if I were a doll, impossible to hurt, or to pleasure. I felt a ripping, a sharp pain inside me and for a moment was saddened by the realisation that that was it, I was no longer a virgin, and I’d lost it to a man I didn’t know, didn’t love, didn’t belong to.
My melancholy was short lived as, despite the assaulting attacks on my mouth and cunt, I still felt, very clearly, something cold and soothing being applied to my asshole.
Lube. It had to be lube. I was going to be fucked in the ass. While being fucked in the pussy and mouth? Triple penetration for my first time? Oh my.
At least I got lube.
Sure enough, just moments after the lube was applied to my asshole I felt something prod, ever so slightly more gently than the two already inside, then thrust. My ass was ripped open, a burning pain that somehow tore my attention away from my other senses. It settled, eventually, and became a dull ache each time he moved in or out, but it was bearable, and for a while I felt okay. I was full, incredibly full, humiliated and hurt, physically and emotionally, but I’d found a rhythm.
Then I tasted precum. And sure enough, I soon felt something hot and white and sticky slid down my throat, the dick it came from so far into my mouth I didn’t even have a chance to gag before it was in my stomach.
‘Don’t forget boys, we want cum on as well as in it,’
Was that him? That sounded like him. Did it?
Wait, did he just call me ‘it’?
The cock in my mouth pulled out and I felt it be wiped clean in my hair, eliciting a shudder of disgust. It hadn’t even finished before it was replaced by another, slightly smaller cock, fucking me more roughly than I would’ve thought possible before tonight.
And so it continued. Each time I thought I had a brief respite, a moment in which I could almost enjoy myself-after all, I liked sex-one cock came, was pulled out, was replaced. And even if all my holes were filled at a steady rhythm, the rest of my body would still be being abused. I was groped. I was slapped till my ass was red and I knew I would be sleeping on my front tonight. I felt people write on me, and a vague part of my brain registered they were shouting what they had written: awful, humiliating things. I was choked till there were tears falling down my cheeks, my make up a soggy mess. My hair was pulled. I was coated in cum. Filled with cum. A dirty cumslut for public use.
And yet, despite being unable to reach it, I knew my pussy was wet. My body was enjoying this, even though my mind objected. And that was when I realised, this truly was what I was here for. No need to think, to work, to have responsibility. Only to serve. To please. To obey.
It seemed a much more idyllic life when I wasn’t being stuffed full of strangers’ cocks.
And it went on. And on. Till I was sick not just from the gagging on cock, but on the overwhelming amount of cum inside me. Till it matted my hair and covered my back. Till it dripped out of my ass and pussy, something I was actually quite glad for as, for my ass at least, there had been no more lube applied since the first guy, who’d fortunately used quite a lot.
I lost sense of time. I lost sense of pretty much everything. I became numb to the abuse on my body. I didn’t even realise when it stopped. It was only after silence fell that I realised it was over. No more shouting or laughing or grunting. Just me. Left alone and tied up to discover what a filthy whore I really was. I stayed there for what felt like hours, though it probably wasn’t. And you know what? I missed it. I’d hated every second of my torture but somehow I still yearned for it. At least when I was being used I knew I was useful. Because in those quiet moments, just me and my thoughts, I wasn’t so sure.
Eventually I was untied. I was too fatigued to speak, to move. I didn’t respond as I was handled and I swear to God someone checked me for a pulse. Death by fucking: that was new. I was picked up, carried into what felt like a car, but not a boot, driven, I think, carried again, and found myself on soft sheets. I didn’t open my eyes once.
I don’t remember much else from that night. Certainly none of the details. I found out later on there had been dozens of men, from every ethnicity and background and class, taking as many turns as they wanted. I never found out who the first to fuck me had been.
I do know though, that I woke up the next morning in a dog bed, which felt suspiciously unlike the sheets I thought I passed out on. That I was told the bed was a privilege, and that usually I would sleep in a cage, either the one in the basement, which I hadn’t seen yet, or the one under Sir’s bed, that glorious cream silk bed I had been placed on the first time I entered his house. I wasn’t to touch those sheets again for a long time. That truly was a privilege, saved for only the most special occasions. Like our first year anniversary, where I would find myself bloodied and bruised further than I thought I could survive, further than he thought I could survive either I think.
I was introduced to my new life properly the next morning. I had all my human rights removed. I was fed oatmeal, and told that oatmeal, filled with all the vitamins I would need to sustain a healthy life, would be all I ate unless I was being given a treat. I had my name removed for good. I was given a new collar, one that, once locked on, didn’t come off unless someone cut through the metal due to a clever spring hidden inside. I was given my new rules. I was told I was to give everything, and to expect absolutely nothing in return.