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Why do I seem to know him? His voice. It sounds like that man. No. It sounds like Mr. Smith’s. Don’t be stupid, Allyson. If the master is that man from my nightmare, he would not have tried to convince me not to do this. If he's Mr. Smith – there's no way that man will ever cheat on his wife. Also, the man is a BDSM trainer. Mr. Smith is too rich to work as a trainer in a club.
I close my eyes when the images of those women in the other room return to me. You can no longer break me. For I am already broken. Nicholas, Devon, and that stranger broke me. Lucky for the last asshole, I had his baby. And... yes. Those crazy memories that mess up my head.
The door opens, and the master walks in. He has changed into faux leather fitted jeans only. Strange heat penetrates through the thin parts of my corset when my gaze lands on his torso. He is toned and healthy. He'll make Nicholas look like a weakling. I close my eyes and try to remember Christian's father. Their body builds are almost the same. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as the image of the man returns to me. How I cling hard to his neck while he takes all of me.
"Change your mind?" he asks.
I should, but my body is becoming crazy – crazier than when I was on drugs. A craving to be in the arms of a man who has the same eyes and body as the master fills me. It's as if I am meant to be in this place to become his. My body to the dominant in front of me. My head to that man who owned me on my wedding night.
“If you haven’t, start stripping,” the master orders.
I hesitate for a moment and look at the master. I sizzle in the way he stares at me. I want him to take off the mask, so I’ll know if it is either of the men I hope him to be. His gray eyes are too familiar. But the desire that flows in them is something new. None of the men I hope the master to be had stared at me like I’m someone they wish to have.
“Exquisite,” a tiny joy flickers in my heart when the master says the word with a playful smile. He walks nearer and looks at my tits closely. “A mother’s body is always fascinating.”
“What do I have to do?”
He chuckles and raises a finger on my face. “First, you should always address me as a master. Just as you will address all those other men when they avail your service.”
“Yes, Master,” I grit my teeth. I still don’t like being a slave.
“Second, never look at me with judging or sharp eyes,” I look away to avoid staring at his face. He lifts my chin and forces me to look at her. “Third, trust me. Say it.”
“I trust you, Master,” he laughs at the growl in my voice. He orders me to repeat it in a more respectful tone. I clench my jaw and follow his order.
I inhaled deeply when his warm palm rubs along my curves before he holds one of my breasts. A gasp left my mouth when the master milks one of my breasts. Strangely, a sense of pride grows in me when he tastes my milk.
"Your assignment after tonight is to find your safe word. It should be something that you hate," the master explains. He gives me a playful look, and I tremble with thrill. His touch, his stare, and his voice – they slowly wash away my hesitations.
The smile on the dominant's face grows wider when he notices my excitement. He brushes his palm on my red hair before pulling it back to lift my face. "Looks like I'm wrong. You, Ally, seem to be made for this."
I’m not. This is only my way of salvation. Mine and Christian’s. And if I have to be crazy to get it, I will embrace this madness. The master looks at my parted lips. They quiver as I shamelessly anticipate a kiss.
“What do I have to do, Master?” I am crazy enough to provoke this stranger that raises the heat in my body.
“I’m here to teach you punishment, slave.”
The master explains that a slave is punished by depriving them of something they crave for. Orgasm. I’m not sure if I had it before. I certainly didn’t have it when Nicholas raped me. I – I don’t remember if I had one with my baby’s father.
"Orgasm is both a reward and a punishment. You piss off your master, he'll deprive you of it," the master keeps tracing my body with his deep gray eyes as he speaks. My body boils at his every stare – as if I'm making love to him as he talks. I clearly am not drugged, but I'm high with stupid madness. "You become a good girl, and he'll give you plenty. Are you good or bad, little ... Ally?"
“I-I’ll be good, Master.”
I shriek when the master pulls my hair and twists it, causing a sharp pain in my head. "Wrong answer, slave. You don't get to be good or bad. It's entirely your master's decision," he keeps grabbing my hair while looking at my open mouth.
The master releases my hair but catches my mouth with his. I fight his tongue as I am startled. He threads his fingers on my hair and pulls it again, reminding me of what I needed to do. I close my eyes and answer his kisses.
“No wonder that man left you,” the master chuckles. “You don’t know how to kiss.”
“H-how?”
“You won’t be here if he’s still with you,” the master replies before returning to kiss me. “It’ll be fun to pleasure and tame you, slave,” the master throws me to the bed. I panic and crawl to the top. “I will teach you pleasure tonight, so you’ll learn to beg to get it tomorrow.”
I tremble when the masked man holds my ankle tight. He drags me to the end of the bed. I forget how to breathe when he climbs on top of me and sits on my lap. His bulge presses hard on my crotch.
“Pretend to make love to me. Just like how you made love to your son’s father,” the master ordered.
“I ...” I didn’t get to answer because he gags me with another kiss. When he pulls away, I look into his eyes. I try to take off the mask, but he twists my wrist.
“The mask stays on all the time. Take it and you’ll be off the program,” he warns. I nod and part my lips again to receive his mouth.
Pretend? I close my eyes and the vision of a curly blond man kissing me fills my thoughts. I open my eyes and meet another pair of gray eyes. The memory put me in a trance again. I don’t exactly remember his face, but I remember the heat of his arms. It is as warm as the master’s hand that squeezes my tit.
The master holds my hand and pushes it over my head. It’s almost the same. It’s supposed to disgust me and remind me of a trauma, but my body has become shameless. No. I am possessed by a wild spirit who pushes me to become a slave – as if the master had made me into one before.
I release a long moan when the master kisses my nipples. He flicks his tongue on them before sucking them. I writhe on the bed as the master takes his fill with my breastmilk. “You better wash this well before sticking it to your son,” he reminds me. And I actually laughed at it.
My laugh induces him to join. He moves his lips to the valley between my tits and traces a line from it to the top of my crotch using his tongue. “Wait,” but he ignores me and lets his tongue swivel along my folds.
My body arches hard as the master’s tongue plays with my clit and draws on the rim of my pussy. I look at the ceiling and images flashes into my head, trapping me in a trance that I never wish to break. I moan loudly and beg for more. I’ve done this before. It happened before! But I don’t want to stop it.
“Master, please!” I scream when something inside me explodes. My body shudders while the master remains between my legs. I look down, and the master smiles. It’s him. His face is half-covered, but the smile is his. He’s the devious man in my dream. The man I wish to hold me. “No,” I utter when he stands from the bed.
“Relax,” he tells me and slips his pants off.
This is the same as that night! A voice tells me, but instead of anger, thrill covers me. I might not remember the man’s face, but clearly, I enjoyed that night. Now, my body craves it.
“Pretend you’re making love to me, slave. It’s the only way you’ll learn what you’ll beg for,” the master reminds me again.
I look at him as his gray eyes stare straight into my brown eyes. My heart flutters when he smiles again. “Master,” I called when he rolled his cock in my wetness. I gasp with wide eyes when he pushes his tip into my pussy.
Another memory flashes in my head, reminding my body how it felt to be owned by that stranger. My walls embrace the shaft as it enters deep into me. They act angry but happy to hold something hard and hot again.
“Nice, little fox,” I don’t know if I’m dreaming, but it’s the same whisper I heard that night. “Serve me.”
I look into the master’s eyes and nod. He kisses me gently and thrusts in and out of me. I cry softly as the pain stings and spreads along my crotch. Even the pain was the same. Perhaps, like that night, I will regret this. But just as that night, my body remembers how to pleasure him and how to receive the same.
The master moves with higher intensity and faster pace. My moans grew louder and shorter. Like a crazy slave, I cling to his neck and wrap his hips with my legs. And like in my dream, I counter his every thrust with my hips, steering his cock deeper into me. I fill the room with moans. And soon, he joins me with strong growls as our heat covers us and pushes us to the brink of ecstasy.
“Please, please. I want it,” I cry. “Whatever it is. Please!”
I’m in a dream, screaming the same begs I did on that night. Hoping that the man ramming my pussy is the same man who owned me on my wedding night. The same man who fathered my son. The person I ought to hate, but also the person I long to meet.
And as my crazy mind explodes with desire and stupidity, my body erupts in a wonderful rippling pleasure. One that is so familiar that I want to hold it in. The memory of my supposed wedding night turns into a beautiful movie that plays in my head, fueling me to enjoy the ecstasy that sways me to sleep.
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