Desiree s Star Ch 06
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To Sir, With Lust free porn video
Chapter 1
October 2, 1998
Sir,
I write this letter wondering if you will ever read it. Surely it will never be shared with anyone but you, just as the sensations and the emotions which I have been privileged to experience at your hands will never be repeated with another. Even if it were possible, it would be but a pallid imitation of what I have already known with you.
Your voice, rich, powerful, confident, with an erotic edge, continues to ring in my ears, and I tremble with remembered desire as I recall the manner in which you first allowed me to surrender myself to you--as if kneeling before you, face upturned, eyelids lowered, lips slightly parted, shoulders thrown back, breasts thrust forward, was the only logical place for me to be.
How I have dreamed of being owned by a man such as you. Many men have tried to lay claim to me, but there was never anyone to whom I could truly submit. We both know that a master and a slave choose each other--we both realize the necessity of this mutual consent because we must both keep in mind that, even as I cry out at the pain which you so lovingly inflict upon me, I have chosen to be here, to accept your punishment, and to revel in the control which you so expertly wield.
Sir, you were the first man who could control me with a word, a change in the tone of voice, or the slight lift of an eyebrow. All of the others were so crude--always barking orders, pushing, slapping. The lot of them behaving like little schoolboys who giggle over bathroom jokes.
And then I met you. Sophisticated, worldly, refined; a man who appreciates what eloquence can be found in silence, a man who understands that authority, even when absolute, does not have to be displayed at every opportunity, a man who knows how to savor the moment, a man who knows the value of patience, a man who recognizes that eroticism is truly in the mind first and the body second.
Even now, as I sit at my desk and type, my body responds to your commanding persona. My nipples have stiffened, my swollen pussy is literally awash with my juices and my clit is erect and throbbing.
I am concerned about leaving the evidence of my aroused state on my chair; she took my panties away today. I doubt that this is a surprise to you, I realize now that this was the reason you were so particular about the exact pair you chose for me today and why you fingered me so deliberately, pressing the sheer silken fabric into the folds of my pussy.
She called me into her office as soon as I arrived at work this morning. When I presented myself, she was on the phone but indicated that I was to come around to her side of the desk. She put her caller on "hold" for a moment and then ordered me to lift my skirt. Returning to her caller, she stared at me, or more specifically, she stared at my pussy. She did not display any emotion, she did not seem to be interested in the way that the fabric of my panties outlined my moist pussy. My only purpose, it seemed, was to keep the morning sun out of her eyes.
I don't know how long I stood there, back straight, chest thrust forward, eyes downcast, fingers clutching the fabric of my skirt as I continued to display myself for her. My feet, shod in the five-inch spike heels which you selected for me, began to hurt and my thighs were turning to rubber. My throbbing pussy was sodden with moisture--I desperately wanted to cover myself, but I knew better.
Eventually, she reached out and pulled at the waistband of my panties. "Take those off," she commanded. I obeyed instantly. When she held out her hand, I gave her the panties; she immediately reached up and stuffed just the crotch into my mouth, the rest of the garment dangling from between my lips.
She flipped up the front of my skirt with her Mont Blanc. "Expose yourself," she commanded. Of course, I obeyed.
While she continued her conversation, she began to jot a note in her planner. She chuckled at something the caller said--her laugh sent a chill down my spine. (She frightens me, Sir. She is all ice and stone--I sense no humanity in her. I still remember when you took me to her home, threatening to loan me to her while you were out of town, she was like an automaton with her slaves, not even displaying a certain satisfaction in her dominance over them; no pride of ownership, no pleasure in their beauty--nothing. Even her names for them show her complete disinterest: Cuntslave and Cockslave. I am endlessly grateful that you did not follow through with your threat that day, but took me away with you instead.)
But I digress.
Finally, she finished writing in her planner, then removed the page, folded it into thirds, rolled it up and finally placed it in a small plastic bag. She took her fountain pen and impatiently tapped the flesh of my inner thighs with it, indicating that she wanted me to stand with my feet farther apart. She took the plastic encased note and thrust it up inside of my pussy, but not all the way.
"See that your master receives my note," she ordered. "Of course, you will not touch it, much less read it, will you?" she queried.
Mute, I shook my head.
"And it goes without saying that you will not pee today. I don't want to take the chance that you would somehow dislodge my note. I put a lot of thought into what I wanted to say--I don't want my message ruined just because you thoughtlessly drank too much iced tea."
I nodded silently.
She jerked the panties from my mouth. "I'll give these to Cuntslave to clean the toilet. They're not good for anything else now--you've ruined them."
She grabbed one of my hands, still clutching the fabric of my skirt as I continued to expose myself to her disinterested gaze. She pulled me toward her, uncapped her pen and began to write on my naked mound, using me in much the same way one would use a scratch pad to doodle. The nib of the fountain pen bit into my skin with every stroke--I would not be surprised to find that she cut me--I hope that is not the case--I would not want to be permanently marked by her.
Finally, she let me go. "There," she said, smirking. "If he won't sell you to me, at least you can bear my initials for a while. Would you like to see your new adornment?"
Not waiting for me to answer, she produced a mirror and showed me the peacock blue monogram she had inscribed on my flesh.
Putting away the mirror, she indicated that she was finished with me. "Go back to your desk and get to work. You've wasted enough of my time today. Remember what I said: You will not pee today, not until your master receives my note. You will not touch the note, you will not touch yourself, not under any circumstance, until you have delivered the note to your master." And with that, she turned her attention to her Mont Blanc, replacing the cap with a loud click.
When I returned to my desk and sat down, I realized that she had purposely not positioned her missive farther up into my pussy--I could feel it pinching where it folded inside of me. How foolish of me not to realize that this was her intent. Master, I confess that I fleetingly considered repositioning it farther inside of me, but no sooner had this admittedly disobedient thought crossed my mind than I felt a presence at my desk. Glancing up, I saw her standing there. I felt the blood drain from my face realizing that she must have known what I was thinking.
"Not under any circumstance," she repeated ominously, holding out a binder clip for me to see.
After she walked away, I rested my face against my hands for just a moment. I sat up straight as the junior of the two attorneys for whom I work approached me with an assignment. As he reached my desk I realized that you had been there earlier. I saw what you left only a split second before he did. I had no chance to hide the three clamps and the anal plug.
He looked at your gift for a long moment, and then studied me as if he were seeing me for the first time. "It would appear that I've had you all wrong," he said speculatively.
"No," I blurted impulsively. "you've never had me." Inwardly, I cringed. How could I have been so insolent? So careless? You've spent too much time and effort in my training for me to respond in such a cavalier manner.
My boss nodded at the clamps and the plug. "Whose permission is necessary in order for me to see you wearing these?" he asked.
As you have trained me, I bowed my head and quietly replied, "I will bring your request to the attention of my master. If he grants it, he will communicate with you directly as to the time, the place and the circumstances under which he will display me to you." (Sir, I must confess that I am truly puzzled by his request. He is gay--what possible interest could I hold for him?)
And so, Sir, as you can see, I come to you with not one, but two messages. I can only guess at what the first one may be--but I hope that you will not leave me alone with her. I am truly afraid that I will end up as broken in spirit as her two house slaves.
Of course, Sir, you know that I will submit to your wishes no matter what you decide. My desire to remain in your service far outweighs my distaste, yes, even my abject fear, of that woman using me for any amount of time. As you know, my ultimate ambition is to please you, to satisfy you, to remain with you as long as it brings pleasure to both of us.
Chapter 2October 24, 1998
Sir,
You asked me about the man who occupies my time on Monday and Thursday nights.
I met him almost a year ago--when I was with someone else. My lover at the time performed with a jazz band and was appearing at a local club. On the night in question, my then lover came to my home just as I stepped out of the shower. Still dripping wet, he carried me to my bed and made love to me, bringing me up to the point of orgasm, but not allowing me to climax. Then, with my nipples hardened almost to the point of pain, pearls of moisture clinging to my pussy, my clit throbbing rhythmically, he told me to finish getting ready to go out.
While I put on my makeup and dried and styled my hair, he chose my attire for the evening: a short cobalt blue wrap-around dress of heavy silk, cut on the bias so that it clung to my body. Under it, I was to wear only a garter belt and black nylons. He chose black high-heeled shoes with straps that wrapped around my ankles.
When I finished my hair and makeup, he slowly massaged my still trembling body with perfumed skin cream, paying special attention to my breasts, my pussy, my ass and my inner thighs. He also spent a great deal of time caressing my lower back--he knew that I can climax just by being lightly stroked and tickled there. He then dressed me: pulling the nylons over my calves, up my thighs and attaching the stockings to the garter belt. He slipped the high heels on my feet, wrapping and buckling the straps around my ankles. Finally, he helped me put my dress on, stroking me as he wrapped the silken fabric around my body. He caressed my breasts through the dress, smiling in satisfaction as my nipples pressed through the material, plainly visible. He asked me to stroll back and forth across the room several times, smiling at the way that my breasts bounced and the way that the silk cupped my ass as I walked.
It was in this condition that he took me to the club where he was performing, seated me at a table with friends and took the stage.
It was a pleasant enough evening, and I was able to talk and laugh with our friends, but most of the time I listened to the music, feeling the bass reverberate through my body and thinking about my hungry pussy--and what I would do to my lover when I got him home that night.
About an hour into the evening, I excused myself to use the ladies' room. When I exited, I saw a man in the corridor, dressed in a black silk shirt, black leather jeans and black boots. His back was to me--he turned at the sound of my heels echoing on the tiled floor and slowly looked me up and down as I approached, a sensual, lazy smile--actually a leer--spreading across his face and he deliberately blocked my path.
I asked him to excuse me, and he asked what I would give him in order to pass. I laughed and told him that I would give him nothing.
He put a hand out and cupped my right breast, pinching the nipple sharply. When I opened my mouth to gasp at the sudden pain, he covered it with his own, his tongue aggressively exploring my mouth. Abruptly, he pulled me into the men's room, locking the door behind us.
He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and stuffed it into my mouth. Holding my arms behind my back with one hand, he removed his belt with the other. Spinning me around, he bound my wrists with the belt and then released my arms.
He pinned me against the rough brick wall of the bathroom; I was facing away from him, my nipples brushing against the harsh surface, his body pressed firmly against mine, kissing the back of my neck while his hands traveled along my legs, slowly pulling up the skirt of my dress. When the blue silk was bunched up around my waist, he backed away slightly, pulling my ass toward him. His hands started to explore the globes of my ass, fingers traveling along the crevice dividing my buttocks, massaging my asshole roughly. Reaching further forward, he discovered my pussy, which was, by now, awash with my juices. Placing the thumb and forefinger of one hand on either side of my clit, he masturbated me, rubbing my little pleasure button back and forth while he finger-fucked my asshole with his other hand.
My knees buckled as the waves of an orgasm swept over me, I caught myself against the wall with my arms, pushing myself against the stranger's hands as they continued to manipulate me. As my climax subsided, my captor bent me over; I heard the sound of a zipper and in the next instant my pussy was filled with a hard cock. He fucked me roughly and insistently, never saying a word. The only sound was that of his massive cock churning in and out of my drenched pussy. When he came, his ejaculate filled me and streamed down my thighs. I came with him, my muscles contracting around him, squeezing his erection as if to milk the last possible drop of his semen.
After a moment, he stood me upright and removed the handkerchief from my mouth. He kissed me tenderly, sweetly, in sharp contrast to the manner in which he had so ruthlessly coupled with me just moments before. He then pushed down on my shoulders, forcing me to kneel before him. He stood with his feet planted wide, pelvis thrust forward, his arms folded over his chest. I knew full well what he wanted, but I paused for just a moment to admire for the first time the instrument of my subjugation, the instrument of my pleasure. It was breathtaking, Sir. Long, thick, crowned with a plum colored head, veins standing out in sharp relief, it pointed toward the ceiling.
I dallied too long in my admiration and I jumped in shock at the stinging slap that he delivered to the side of my face. He then grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me toward his rigid shaft, ordering me to lick his cock, his balls and his thighs clean. As I did so, I tasted the pre-come which was oozing from the head of his cock as it spread over my tongue.
When I was finished, he pulled me to my feet and bent me over again. Taking my breasts in his hands, he roughly massaged them and pinched my nipples as he buried his cock in my pussy a second time. I quickly realized that he was only using my pussy as a means to lubricate his throbbing member. Seconds later, I felt the head of his massive erection poised at my asshole. He rammed himself into me, invading me, seemingly tearing me apart as he savagely fucked my tender anus while he twisted and pinched my nipples.
I could feel his cock swell within me as he rammed his cock in and out, his hands still grasping my breasts. As I felt a third orgasm rising within me, I heard him give a voice to his own release. His creamy ejaculate filled my nether hole, trickling toward the opening of my pussy, and... I came again, my rectum squeezing him far more firmly and more tightly than my pussy had the first time he fucked me.
Once again, I leaned against the rough brick as he rested against me, both of us panting to catch our breath. He turned me to face him, kissing me again, his tongue tenderly exploring my mouth.
"What shall I do with you?" he asked, jerking the end of the belt, still binding my hands, between my legs and over the lips of my pussy. I moaned aloud at the further stimulation of my swollen clit.
"Maybe I'll just leave you here tied to the toilet. You look quite delectable, you know; hair disheveled, your dress hanging open, exposing your tits, my come running from your pussy and your asshole, trailing down your thighs. I doubt that anyone would release you, and I'm equally sure that any of the other men here tonight would be delighted to sample your charms, just as I have."
Panicked, I begged him to free me.
Finally he relented, but not before he fucked my mouth, his hard cock forcing itself past the back of my throat while my lips and nose nestled in the dark nest of curls at his crotch. His hands gripped the sides of my face, fingers tangled in my hair as his erection churned between my lips and over my tongue. He ravaged my mouth for several minutes before he filled it with yet another batch of his hot seed.
He gently lifted me to my feet and adjusted my clothing into some semblance of order. Once again, he kissed me gently, tenderly, with a sweetness that belied the earlier animalistic savagery of our fucking. And turning away from me, he unlocked the door and walked out of the men's room without a word or a backward glance.
I stumbled back into the ladies' room to fix my hair and my makeup. Gazing at my reflection, I was struck by the erotic imagery presented in the mirror. My face was covered with white streaks of my nameless lover's semen, my hair was tousled, my lips were swollen and slightly bruised. I gave off an aura of wild, animalistic passion. As I continued to stare at my reflection, I wiped some of the ejaculate coating my cheek with my finger and licked it off with my tongue.
I felt as if I was looking at a stranger. I couldn't believe the radical transformation I had undergone at the hands of this man.
I washed my face, brushed out my hair, repaired my makeup and returned to the table just as the band was taking a break. My lover kissed me lightly on the lips and asked if I was having a good time. Without waiting for an answer, he told me that he wanted to introduce me to an old friend--a fraternity brother in fact. I'm sure you know who it was, Sir. The man who had just spent the last 45 minutes exploring and invading every orifice of my body with his cock and his fingers was smiling at me as if meeting me for the first time.
I did my best to hide my confusion and sat quietly as my lover and my violator sat and reminisced over old times. I learned that they had shared a room at their fraternity house. They took many of the same classes together so that they could share books and notes. They even bought a car together and split the expenses for gas and upkeep. Of course, they double-dated frequently--but group dating was popular when they were in school. As the band took the stage to play their last set of the evening, my lover invited his friend to sit with the rest of us--and instructed me to take care of him.
"I'm sure she will," said his friend.
And we sat at the table for the rest of the evening, the stranger's hand under my skirt, fingering my pussy and my clit, keeping me just on the edge of yet another orgasm. As the club was closing, and the group at my table bid each other good night, his friend leaned over to kiss my cheek, as chastely as a schoolboy.
"We're going to be very good friends, my dear," he whispered in my ear. "Very good friends indeed."
And so, Sir, I'm sure that it will come as no surprise to learn that I'm no longer with my lover from a year ago. His fraternity brother doesn't believe in sharing the way that he used to.
Chapter 3November 4, 1998
Sir,
Last night you asked me to disassociate my conscious self from my body; you wanted me to, in essence, watch myself, observe and describe my reactions as you play with me. It was your desire to learn more about what arouses me, what makes my breath quicken, my pulse race, straightens my spine, raises the hair on the back of my neck.
I begin with the anticipation I feel when I know you will be home soon. I've never told you, but I fret when you're late, concerned that some ill might have befallen you. I know that you probably enjoying yourself with friends, amusing yourself with another toy, or someone who is not a bottom; while this would disappoint me, it is nothing compared to the agony I would feel if something untoward happened to you.
When I hear the sound of your car's engine in the driveway, my heart begins to pound, and I race through the house so that I will be ready to open the door for you as I hear your footsteps approaching. Flushed and just a little breathless, I offer you a drink and an appetizer to curb your hunger until you are ready for your dinner.
You study me as I stand in front of you, ready to do your bidding. I've left my hair down this evening, held back with a white satin ribbon. I've chosen to wear a 1950's-style hostess apron. It's made of sheer white organza with a bib which barely covers my nipples, both the top and the bottom of the apron are trimmed with a lacey ruffle. The apron ties in the back, a large puffy bow rests just above my ass. I've also selected a white satin garter belt, sheer white seamed silk stockings and a pair of white satin mules.
"Bring the hairbrush to me," is your first order this evening. Hurrying to your room, I retrieve the antique tortoiseshell brush from your dresser. I stand silently before you as you sit in your armchair, listening to the classical music playing on the stereo. After a moment, you extend your hand and I give you the hairbrush, which you set on the table next to you.
At your nod, I curl up at the foot of your chair, awaiting your next command. I relish the feel of your fingertips in my hair, brushing against my scalp, and combing through the length of my tresses. Your hand lightly brushes my face, caressing it, and the touch sends shivers down my spine. I long to be able to rub my face against your palm and fingertips, but I do not lest I disturb you.
After several long minutes of silence, you pull me up to you, settling me into your lap, my buttocks nestling against the beginning of an erection. My head rests against your shoulder, my legs draped over the arm of the chair and crossed at the ankles, hands in my lap. I feel the caress of your lips at my temple and I feel your teeth as they lightly press into the tender flesh of my earlobes. They're small gestures, but I feel the butterflies in my stomach take flight nonetheless.
After a moment, your begin to stroke me with your right hand. It travels along my neck, to the center of my throat, then slowly slides down the center of my chest, your fingers resting in the cleavage of my breasts. Your hand then cups my left breast, your thumb passing back and forth over the nipple, which hardens immediately. You tug at the ring, twisting it, making my clit jump.
All of these movements are slow and deliberate. The expression on your face is one of intense concentration. It takes me a few minutes, but I realize that you're studying me as if seeing me for the first time; examining my body and my reactions to your touch in much the same way that you did when my previous owner offered to sell me to you.
I try to suppress it, but I am already becoming aroused. I desperately want to arch my back, to press my breast more firmly into your hand, to brush my nipple against your palm. Both of my nipples have hardened, and I can feel my clit begin to throb between my thighs. I force myself to relax, knowing that the longer I do so, the sweeter my reward will be--when and if you allow me to climax.
You cup the back of my head with your right hand and bring my face to yours, lowering your mouth on mine for a kiss, sweet at first, then becoming more passionate as it continues. Your tongue begins to explore my mouth, tasting me, sucking on my tongue. I relish your kisses, Sir, the soft touch of your moist lips brushing against mine, the taste of you, I wait for your saliva to flow into my mouth, I time my breathing so that I can inhale as you exhale, all in an effort to absorb you, absorb your essence, to combine it with my own. I feel the play of your fingertips against the small of my back and I tremble with desire for you, my skin covered with goose bumps.
To my disappointment, you end our kiss. Your hand skims over my torso and seems to hesitate just above my mound, your fingers barely touching me, teasing me. Once again, I have to fight not to push myself against your fingers. I am so hungry to have you penetrate me--with your fingers, your tongue, your cock, or any erotic tool of your choosing--that it is all I can do to remain in my relaxed, compliant posture. I know from experience that if I look too eager, you will continue to withhold from me that which I crave.
Your fingers slide into my pussy abruptly--I am jolted by this sudden invasion and it takes a split second for me to adjust to your fingers thrusting inside of me, opening me. I feel you grasp my clit, pinching and twisting it, causing me to gasp, even as I begin to writhe in... is it pain or pleasure? You have some difficulty in keeping your fingers on my clit--my lubrication has spread over your fingers, over the lips of my pussy, and I'm almost too slippery for you to grasp. You give me a knowing look as I involuntarily push myself against your hand. I try to glance away so that you don't see the pleasure reflected in my eyes, but I'm too late. You already know I'm aroused.
Your hand slides a little further between my thighs and I feel your middle finger pushing against my sphincter and into my ass. It is with the greatest restraint that I continue to relax, but as my muscles grip your finger, enveloping it, I feel my pussy begin to throb. In spite of my efforts to remain docile, passively accepting your exploration of my body, I close my eyes and exhale with a ragged sigh, ending in a soft moan.
This is what you've been waiting for. You flip me over so that I'm draped face down over your lap. Your left hand caresses my ass and I sense, rather than see, you pick up the antique hairbrush from the side table. I tense in anticipation of the first blow, but it does not come. I feel nothing but the soft caress of your hand. I continue to brace myself, but am only aware of the sensuous stroke of your palm gliding over my naked backside, relaxing me. In spite of myself, I relax. Immediately, I feel the sting of the brush against my upturned bottom, followed by a second blow, then a third, a fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh... and then I lose count, aware only of the pain burning my derriere.
My earlier efforts at self-control are abandoned as I writhe against you, trying to escape the blows. You wield the brush expertly, purposely not establishing a rhythm and thereby not allowing me to anticipate your next blow. After a few minutes, the pain is so great that I start to cry, quietly, knowing that if you hear me, you will continue the spanking indefinitely.
Slowly, I realize that the pain is giving way to a perverse pleasure. My pussy is throbbing and my ass is reaching up as if to meet the hairbrush as it descends. The warmth of my flesh has served to relax me and I am beginning to crave the stinging slap against my backside. Recognizing my behavior, you quietly set the brush down and begin to spank me with your bare hand. It's a powerfully erotic gesture: the sting of your hand which gives way to a caress as your hand lingers briefly on my reddened ass, stroking it as if to erase the pain. Through my tears I become aware of my engorged pussy throbbing almost convulsively; my clit is distended, peeking out from its tiny hood. In spite of the pain and my humiliating posture--no, because of it--I'm on the brink of an orgasm.
No sooner do I realize this than my release comes. I cry out as my pussy, disappointingly empty, convulses and churns. My clitoris throbs almost painfully, and I buck against you so violently that I almost fall from your lap. Your arms encircle me, not allowing me to fall, and you hold me until the spasms subside.
Fay
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