10 comments/ 93249 views/ 7 favorites Making Master Z's Whore By: Cindersglasslipper Tis storming out, the wind is howling, the rain pelting. It's not yet evening but the day has grown dark, the clouds above menacing. Her struggles with her umbrella, her slow progressive walk into the wind, her fight with nature stir the beast within Him as He watches from the luxury of His chauffeur driven car with its warm leather seats and dark tinted windows. He taps the glass that always divides Him from the driver and the car pulls to the curb. His ever-humble servant opens the door for Master and holds the umbrella above his head, not batting an eye at the drenching he is receiving; his only concern is that his Master stays dry and safe. He takes the umbrella from His servant and calls out to the girl fighting the elements. She is desperately trying to get home. The storm, the likes of which, she hasn't seen so fierce in a long time, has her exhausted after battling five long blocks. She only has one block to go and her umbrella is trying to turn inside out. She wants to toss it to the wind, but is thankful at the same time for the small shield it is creating against the wind that she is leaning into. She is soaked to the bone from the pouring rain, her long hair, normally tied so neatly, hangs in loose strands that blow into her face; her long black skirt is completely moulded to her skin. Her blouse is transparent. Her four hundred-dollar leather shoes are ruined, her feet slush and slide around inside them. The squeaking with each step she takes puts her in a foul mood, the thought of what her feet will look like when she pulls her stockings off, makes her despondent. Deciding she has had enough, she stops to discard her beautiful Italian leather mules and walk the distance home barefoot. One shoe still remaining, she hears a voice calling; she turns towards the voice and finds a dignified man walking purposely towards her. "Excuse Me?" He calls to her in a lightly accented voice. She frowns at him and looks to the sky; the ever-menacing clouds thicken further as day turns to night while she looks on in frustration. The wind whips her hair harshly, tossing it around stinging her face and eyes, distracting her momentarily from the man walking towards her. Her already bad mood escalates when she notices his umbrella is in perfect condition. She reaches up, shoves at her hair and puts a false smile on her face. 'Bastard, at least someone's dry', she hisses to herself before yelling out to him, over the wind. "I can't hear you. Sorry what did you say?" He motions to her with his hand cupped to his ear and continues with his purposeful stride. She interprets the gesture as a sign that he can't hear her either. Releasing a pent up breath slowly through almost blue lips, she hops on one foot as she reaches down to pull off her shoe. Her bag slips from her shoulder and she almost stumbles while trying to push it back up, at the same time he reaches out to steady her. He quickly thrusts out a hand for her to hold, which she gratefully takes and looks up at him with a dazzling smile, the first real smile she has had since leaving the office. He holds her hand tightly, pulling her slightly towards him; she espies a handkerchief as his other hand reaches for her face. A repugnant smell slaps her in the face as the kerchief is brought heavily down on her nose, sending her senses reeling and opening a cold pit of blackness. Before losing consciousness, she hears him growl; "That won't be the last time you reach for me slut!" as she falls into his arms. ***** She starts to awaken. Her head is groggy, her mind lazy. She tries to recall what had happened and where she was, but nothing makes sense. The rain, she remembers, yes the rain. She knows her eyes are open but she cannot see. She attempts to wipe her face, but finds that she cannot move her hands, they are not free. An ache in her arms, annoying and uncomfortable, has her more confused then scared. Her skirt feels unusually tight and her ankles are apart. She tries to move her legs, but she cannot. With a sigh of exhaustion, she hangs her head and drifts again into blackness; it's too much to think about, the blackness is welcomed. He watches the girl across from him, as he has watched her many times before. She is 25 years old, not too late to be trained for the purpose He wants her for. He has done all sorts of things to this girl already. He has organized and orchestrated so much in her life, without her knowledge. For the last year she has unwillingly and unknowingly been prepared for his use. A use he now feels she is ready to par-take in, a job, one that He believes she is ready to fill. From all the reports he has seen, from the many men he has employed to enter her life so fleetingly, he is most pleased with the results. The last report showed that she is fed up; she has had enough of men and their uncaring ways. She seems desperate to believe that He is out there, that one perfect mate. She wants to chance it one more time, but fears her instincts are failing her. Her fears are real and rightly so. The men He chose for her were all stage playing a script that he had written for his own design. These men were actors who were paid a small fortune to put her in a specific frame of mind; a frame of mind that guaranteed she would be unhappy, unsatisfied and full of self-doubt. Exactly where he wanted her. He could see the desperation in her eyes when she daydreamed in the park at lunch times. In the way her eyes scan, searching, when she thinks no one is looking. She is searching for Him, the man that will see her; she just never seems to look in the right direction. He enjoys the sadness that enters her eyes when her search finds no one. He laughs at her disappointment, for He knows that someone has noticed her. He sees her need to fill and be fulfilled by the desires she hides behind and maybe unconsciously so, with her polished look, manicured nails, and made up face. He knows these desires burn, deep within her stomach with every aching disappointment of another dream unfulfilled. He wants her that way; aching and desperate to prove her worth to someone, to Him. She has never seen Him, never looked in His direction. For that He will make her pay. She will pay for her self-absorption in not seeing him, not seeing the satisfaction that he could bring her. The price will be her complete and total obedience, surrender and submission. She will be His whore; His own personal whore, to use as He sees fit. He will offer her nothing and take all in return. His cock hardens with the pleasure these thoughts bring Him. Watching with a lecherous grin on his face, He thinks of the look in her eyes to come, the look she will finally bestow upon Him. He knows there is a fire behind the demure appearance and relishes the coming fight, the fight with her for her. ***** With brutal hands, He ruthlessly rips her blouse open, exposing her white bra. He grabs a knife and cuts the bra from her chest with one quick twist. He reaches for His assortment of tools laying on the seat next to him. He picks up the first of two clamps, perfect for her long nipples. He pinches and twists with the pink buds until they are hard. He attaches the first clamp, then the other. With this done, He loops a chain through the clamps. He sits back and watches as the pain inflicted lifts her head. The scene before him sees her hands extended outwards, bound to the hand straps strategically placed along the roof of the car for just this purpose, her ass wedged into the seat and her head tilted back into the drivers screen. With this sight before him, His cock thickens further. Her eyes are hidden behind a blindfold. He smirks cruelly at the clamps hanging off of her nipples, the red line already extending up her cream white skin. Her ankles are parted wide with his favourite spreader. The one he spent hours creating just for her. He smiles in pleasure as she finally regains consciousness. She awakens with her sense of direction misplaced and her mind even more confused then before. She realises that she has been blindfolded and frantically attempts to tear the blindfold from her eyes but finds her arms are locked in place and will not allow it. Not knowing where she is or what is about to happen, panic sets in and the fear overwhelms her as she hears a clinking, a rustling, signifying that she is not alone. She can feel someone watching her. She suddenly remembers a man, a smell, and the comment. "It won't be the last time you reach for me slut!" Her mind rushes around for answers but the pounding in her head and the accelerated beat in her chest has her so overwhelmed that she can not think of anything but fear; Fear of the unknown and the man with the umbrella. She begins to feel a burning, stinging sensation on her chest, one that will not go away and increases with every passing second. A pain that has her screaming out in fear. "Ahhh! What the fuck!?" She cries out as she feels her nipples being pulled away from her body. She screams louder. In a deeply detached voice, she hears him speak softly but firmly, "It's a chain my slut. Whenever you say something disagreeable you will feel it" "I don't understand. Let me see, you bast..." She cries as he viciously pulls again. "Agrrrhhhhhh! Stop!" "Shut the fuck up bitch. You have no rights but the ones I give you." He responds in a cold, calm manner. She sits frozen in silence, deeply afraid for the first time in her life of speaking, moving and even breathing. Her heart beats rapidly as her fear begins to manifest into something that she vaguely recognises growing within her. With the loss of movement she becomes aware of her body and the arousal it is beginning to feel. She is mortified by her response and afraid to acknowledge that behind the fear there is also an underlaying thrilling sensation. He laughs in a low pitch that is in part humour and part disgust at the fear He can feel coming from her. She senses His disgust in her and unwelcomely it forces her to raise her shoulders and straighten her spine, refusing to give in to the fear, at least outwardly so. "That's it toy, show me what your made of." He sneers as He pulls on the chain. His taunts act simultaneously with the jolting motion of the car. When her back presses into the seat, He pulls forward on her nipples. When she comes forward, He lets go. It's a nightmare. If she stays still she is pulled forward with a quick hard tug. She can feel a tingling between her legs that never had she before associated with the tug on her nipples. She forgets the pain for a moment and lets the nerve reach from nipple to clit, another sharp tug from him and a laugh cures her of her newfound knowledge. "That's it my girl, turn the pain into pleasure." He watches the girl, His girl and He notes the surprise in her posture, in the way her body pauses and absorbs the feeling of pleasure. He looks to her legs and smiles as He sees her thighs pressed tightly together. From the knees down her legs are spread, her wet skirt cocoon's her thighs. He reaches a hand up and places it on her leg. She reacts instinctively by flinching away and yelling, "Get your fucking hands off me." He pulls on the chain and taunts her again. She moans and bites on the inside of her lip to try and stifle the sound. "If you can't say anything nice slut... Then you can't say anything at all." He warned. She cries out as He grabs her nose and holds her nostrils painfully. She holds her breath when He twists her nose sharply. He forces her head into the back of the screen, making her cry out again in pain. Tears that had formed in her eyes drip freely down her face. It hurt, oh god did it hurt. Her nose, her head, her nipples all burn with the need to be free of His cruel touch, to be free to move, to run and escape this man. Her mouth opens, to drag in much needed air to fill her nearly bursting lungs. But in doing so, something large and intruding is stuffed in her mouth causing her to gag unmercifully and choke on her own breath. She feels dizzy and faint; her hands strain desperately at her bonds trying to break free. She tries to spit it out but she feels it being tied in place. Hot tears run rapidly down her face as she thinks 'this is it, this is how I shall die.' When she accepts her fate, she starts to think Paul, the last wanker she was with, and how he used to hold her down on his cock. What did he say 'relax, relax and breathe through your nose.' Focusing completely on her breathing and nothing else, she begins to relax now as she did back then and finds that she can successfully breathe through her nose once more. She hears a sound; a rustling, she is sure she knows what it is but is too afraid to link the obvious in her mind. "It's plastic bitch." She listens intently to the taunt voice of her captor, re-affirming her fears "the kind that is used in shallow graves." She feels her body shaking; little shudders that consume her at the imagery his words create. Horrid scenes of being slashed to pieces, of being buried alive, flood her mind. Struggling uselessly against her bonds; she can hear the crunching of the plastic as he brings it to her ear and slides it over the skin on her cheeks. "It's what is used to wrap a body in, so the smell of decaying flesh isn't so noticeable." She does not want to listen but she is horrifyingly fascinated by his words. Then she hears the grating of metal on metal and the, swoosh, that only one thing she knows of can make; the sliding of a knife from its sheath. Her imagination jumps from one scenario to the next. Her fear of cuts and blood, of doctors and hospitals start to take a hold of her and a silent scream is unleashed in her mind. She starts to tune out, to hide within herself where she can be safe from the imagery of that knife and his words. In her purposeful daze, she hears a blurred noise; recognising it is Him calling her back to the here and now. She feels a slap to her face, the sting only briefly registering in her mind. She feels firm fingers on her shoulders, shaking her, dragging her out of her place; the only place she knows she can hide, her safe place. "What I have planned for you is not death, my little bitch." Pure panic rushes through her as He teases her with the sound of metal on metal as he hones the edge of his blade. She starts to plan, to think. She tests her legs, her bonds. She will find a way out, that she is sure of, it is just timing. Then she will run free of this mad insane man. This is her promise to herself, she will be free. She's pulled from her thoughts as the fabric of her skirt tightens. It is pulled up and away from her. Her legs shake, the feel of cool steel brushes her inner thighs and she tries to clamp her legs together. She feels the knife nicking her soft skin as it slowly slices upward towards her cunt, the fabric and her protection giving way easily to His sharpened blade. She mumbles behind the gag, her hands move in the straps desperately. Freedom and escape her only thought. Her arse inches back until her back is pressed tightly in the seat. She tries to turn her legs sideways; the blade's edge stops her. She feels the prick to her skin and shakily keeps still. "Spread them wider as I cut. I know, you know how to spread those soft creamy thighs" She shakes her head no and a rough hand squeezes hard above her knee. She shakes her head no again, but her legs spread in fear of the knife that she can feel so sharply pressing into the soft skin on her inner thigh. She spreads her legs as He draws the blade up, slicing cleanly, opening the skirt to the waistband. She sits trembling, her skirt opened and laying around her, her black stockings digging into her upper thigh. She feels a strap passed behind her thigh where His hand has just bruised her flesh. The shaking within her gets stronger and she consciously makes the decision that she will not show more fear. She doesn't want to feed Him and knows that she does by being coward by him. She realises that if He was going to kill her, He would have done so by now. Her fate however she was certain of, but refused to think upon. She feels the fastening of a buckle biting just above her knee. She refuses to groan and she's glad He can't see her eyes when it's done. She feels the same done to her other leg. He handles her roughly, uncaringly. She is afraid but she is not weak, not now, not anymore. She sets her mind to storing all her strength, the strength she needs to win her freedom. The sensation of cold metal, a pole she thinks, slides behind her knees as she starts to imagine all sorts of things in her mind. It's when the pleading in her head begins; what's He doing? Oh god someone save me from this madman. Two snaps and she can't close her legs, leaving her prone, vulnerable and wide open for his inspection. She sucks in deeply through her nose as the muscles in her thighs stretch quickly and without warning, almost burning the muscles of her thighs. She didn't so much hear Him but felt the atmosphere in the car change. There was a shift then a sound, one she couldn't be sure she was hearing. It sounded like a fridge door sucking open, but she wasn't really sure. The sound of glass banging on glass was the next thing she heard. Her head tilted to one side, her hearing acute now picked up every little detail. She wonders what He is doing, and then the stinging, freezing cold between her thighs as a bottle is laid between them tells her all she needs to know. He eases it forward; pressing the crown against her white covering and she jolts automatically. With a smile He says, "Champagne, whore?" Her head shakes no wildly. He removes his hand and sits back watching the vibration of the car move the bottle. She feels the thrill of the slight pressure it causes against her clit, she can feel the liquid sloshing up and down inside the bottle, as the car moves, and she can feel her clit respond but refuses to acknowledge it. Smiling He regards the slight change in her breathing and the drips of condensation running down the neck of the bottle, wetting her fresh, pure, virgin like underwear. Oh yeah He likes that. "Yes, I think champagne will do nicely for you whore" He smugly remarks. Stiffly she sits ignoring the taunting as her core uncontrollably starts to moisten. Every change in her body, every movement, His eyes catch, He misses nothing. "Yes, whore, you like it." No, she signals with a shake of her head. With the heel of His boot He presses a little harder on the dimple in the base of the bottle. "I think you do slut...I can smell your sex." She involuntarily opens a little wider, her head tilts back slightly; her jaw clenches a little harder. He can see the outline of her mound, the darkening of the white on her panties. She can feel her panties pushing further into her with the pressure of the bottleneck. It's stupid to hide the fact that this is turning her on; she can't find anyway to hide it, the proof is there to be seen. She feels the pressure spreading her lips. She starts to wish there was no barrier between her and the bottle, but the feel of the cotton, slowly and surly pushing inside her is causing all sorts of sensations to rule over her. He relaxes and flexes his foot, pushing it further into her and enjoying the signs of her unwilling surrender. Her head falls back, she still shakes no but she finds it harder to deny that she wants to feel more. "Yes, I thought so, a whore, but a whore's cunt needs cleaning" Afraid that she doesn't understand, but understands to well what He's going to do, she keeps shaking her head, always no. Leaning across He pulls the bottle away, resting it beside her. A finger pushes her panties deep, pulling them hard across her clit and deeper into the valley of her perfectly rounded ass; she gasps behind the gag nearly choking in the process. He pulls her panties aside roughly revealing her swollen clit. Making Master Z's Whore It weeps for a touch, the feel of skin. To her horror she knows she would have asked for it if she had been able to and thanks whatever god available that she can't utter a word. She can feel his impersonal staring and it sets her juices to running. He flicks a finger hard against her clit, which causes her to jump and moan automatically. A louder muffled moan is heard as He grabs and twists her clit sharply. He forces His fingers into her hole and coats them with her juice. She feels that pleasurable jolt as He curls his fingers inside her and she's embarrassed because there is so much nectar for Him to play in. Wiping his fingers under her nose he says, "Smell your body's betrayal my little whore." He grabs her chin firmly holding her head still, as again she tilts her head away from him. "Don't deny your a wanton slut by shaking your head no, you want this bottle in your cunt, fucking you, admit it slut." She turns her head sharply away from the smell of her juice, refusing to acknowledge anything. With a chuckle He lifts the bottle. "Stubborn bitch, you will learn not to fight me." It takes a long time for Him to remove the foil around the top of the bottle. She hears it crackle tauntingly, as He slowly removes it. God she wants it, but sits stiffly anyway and then with enjoyable pleasure she hears the wire guard come off. He flicks it at her breasts and she pulls back at His cruelty. Her tits still clamped burn at the brief unwanted touch on her flesh. Ashamed of her body's betraying wants, she hears with a slow twist, the cork singing of things to come. With its pop and fizz she tries desperately not to think of the excitement building with in her. The excitement mixed with a feeling of self-disgust for seeing where this may lead her and a very real fear she may even enjoy it. The sound of the bottle being shaken causes her body to involuntarily freeze again. The chill returns to her thigh as his thumb nail presses on her clit; she feels the tingle His cold finger leaves behind as He pushes into her. "Now for your wash bitch," He laughs. "Let's clean away all those other cocks, slut." She stiffens her legs to try and clamp them shut but the bar holding her thighs open prevents it. It bites into her thighs; she uselessly lifts herself by her bonded hands trying to get away from Him. He pulls his thumb away letting the fluid flow into her; she stills her struggles but yells, "Nooo!" behind the gag. Twisting the bottle He works it deeper as she feels the unbelievable force behind the icy cold fluid now shooting up into her and spilling back around the bottle and out of her. Deeper He shoves and twists; loving every shudder within her, watching her valiant efforts to hide her pleasure. She tries to fight it, but the pressure, the cold, the twisting, the turning; the tingling and the thrusting inside her are all too much. She holds back, He grabs the bar between her knees pulling her forward, stretching her lips around the neck of the bottle. "Ahhhh!" She screams behind the gag, her arse dragged forward by His steely hand on the bar. His voice ruff excited, heady, hisses. "How do you like this my little whore?" She trashes wildly as much as her bonds will allow. She shakes her head no again but this time she fears it is because she doesn't want it to stop. Pinching her nose He starts to fuck her soaked cunt. "Oh you want this slut... from the first touch you wanted it," he yells at her almost frantically as He shoves the bottle deeper into her. Her head explodes as her only way of breathing is cut off... She tries to shake him off. She feels her cunt being pounded hard. She needs to cum but the need to breathe has her fighting for her life. She thrashes, she shifts as much as she can. She twists around to smash her spread feet into his thighs. She hits him hard as she feels herself spinning down, down into the darkness, that so beckons her. Her respite is only brief as He roars in rage, slapping her breasts again and again. She feels battered and bruised but she thanks god that He's let go of her nose. Her breasts feel, as though they are about to fall off, the pain is unbearable and even behind the gag her screams of agony are heard clearly. Her screams, though muffled behind the gag, have her yelling obscenities at him, the like she's never said before, things He has no trouble understanding "Fuck off. You cunt. You prick. Fucking wanker, fuck off." "You cunt, cunt, cunt." She screams and she cries openly. Not so much afraid to let him see her pain right now as she is scared that she is more upset that He denied her the orgasm. The orgasm she was about to throw herself into instead of the genuine pain she is feeling from His angry blows to the chest. She cries at her confusion, at her wanting, her lack of freedom and loathing of this man. She weeps as it dawns on her that the burning pain is radiating into something new and different, something she doesn't understand. With this new sensation, realization and clarity of thought follows. How could she lust after a man that treated her like this? How could she do it? How could she still, now as she feels the pain in her breasts from his hard slaps, want only to feel him fuck her? Why does her cunt involuntary open and want Him so desperately inside her. Why did she want him like this? Why did she want his anger? Why does she crave this, this man? She knows somewhere deep down that He wants her fight and to be rude and anger Him, how does she know it. She doesn't know him. She doesn't know what He looks like or what He's capable of, but so far it appears anything is possible. The biggest question, the one that she is afraid to answer, why does she want more when she's been taught all her life that this is wrong? She blinks behind the blindfold, she shakes her head to clear it; she takes a huge risk and screams as clearly and loudly as she can "You fucker!" and throws as much of her body against Him as she can. He doubles over as she hits with a well-aimed knee, his hardened cock and balls. The anger and pain that He feels now is nothing to what she will feel. He straightens and backhands her across the mouth. "You want pain my bitch," He rasps with tears in his voice. He unsheathes his knife, slowly so she can hear it; she screams out no. He slices the straps from the gag at her cheek and on a plea she spits it out coughing and choking as it plops out to lie between her thighs. He's glad He has distracted her from what He is about to do. Roughly He pulls the clamps straight from her breast knowing that they will shut and drag over her nipples causing excruciating pain. He waits for what He knows will come. There is silence, a deathly silence that prevails inside the car; He counts 1, on his in drawn breath, then 2, then 3. He's impressed by 4, and then she lets out the loudest most ear-piercing scream He has ever had the pleasure to hear. Every muscle in her body contracted into a hardened taught bow of pain. He knows that pain and glories in it. Before the whimpering cries begin again, for He knows they will come, He slashes quickly but not to deeply a Z into her right breast as He lets out shakily the breath that was suspended in His own throat. She moves away from it, from the fear and cutting edge of His blade. Her body shakes as she feels the blood dripping over her burning nipple... "A letter," He explains, as He grabs her hair and pulls her ear to His lips, holding her impossibly still while running his finger down her bloody breast. She hears Him suck His finger from His mouth as He leans in impossibly close whispering in a voice and tone that she can not but doubt to be anything but the utmost truth. "Z for the last in the alphabet my girl," he pauses, letting that sink in "For I will be your last." He brings her lips around to His; He grinds His will, His power over her into her mouth, devouring her, leaving her feeling incredibly invaded and more afraid of His kiss then the pain she knows He will bare her to take. The door to the car is opened, the chill in the cold night air and a new voice invade the car and more fearfully her mind. "Master, You are home Sir." ***** She's glad that the kiss ended when it did for she was alarmed at the response his harshly soft lips had drawn from her. He grabs her chin and says to her very slowly so that she doesn't misunderstand Him in anyway. "There is no one to hear your screams but Lance and he will not interfere or come to your aid in anyway, there are no neighbours close to us here, we are in the country and far enough away from civilisation that I could have you on my front step screaming your head off and no one would hear you, running here will do you no good, would you like to walk to the house or would you prefer to be carried by Lance?" She is surprised by his concession and the smoothness in His voice and wonders why exactly he is giving her the option of saving a bit of her dignity. She is not foolish enough to turn him down, her legs and arms are aching but more importantly, she needs to be untied to run free of Him. "I will not run from you yet..." she says as she tilts her head to one side considering and realises that she doesn't even know his name. "What is your name?" "My name is Stephen, you will call me Sir from this point on, when your worthy you may call me Master Z, is that understood Samantha?" She knows she hasn't reviled her name to him and he for stalls her asking just as she opens her mouth to speak. "There is much I know about you Samantha, how much you will know in time" With that he ends all conversation by unlocking her feet and her thighs, he pauses when He reaches her hands, then unlocks them too. She shakes her hands and bites down on her plump kiss filled lips to stop the tingling pain from paralysing her hands; His generosity, sarcastically, she thinks, shows no bounds in waiting for her to become accustomed to having hands again before assisting her from the car. Still blindfolded but standing in only her black stockings and white panties, her skin ripples as the cool night air puckers her painful nipples, her arms come up to cross over her chest trying to prevent the ongoing torture of them, but large strong hands rest on her shoulders while a broad chest is burning into her back. His hands run down her arms forcing them gently to her sides, all the way to her hands. He holds them briefly, the heat from what she presumes to be a large comforting chest sends an uncomfortable shiver down her spine before He draws her hands behind her back, crossing them at the wrists. "Lance" is all He says and she feels the air move around her still form. "Sorry Princess I will not give you the chance to run" she turns her head in his direction. "I gave you my word I wouldn't run yet Sirrrr...." He smiles at her petulant attitude and is inwardly grateful for it, her fighting gives him hope that he can tame her to his hand, outwardly He shoves her in the back slightly and she stumbles a step forward while muttering something about bastards before He holds her still while tying soft rope around her wrists and intricately up her arms to her elbows, insuring there is no way she can wriggle free. When the task is done He turns her in the direction of the home He has always loathed and loved to the same degree. His hands hold her by the shoulders once again; this time when He pauses she can feel the tension within Him, for some reason she knows this moment is important to him, she doesn't know how she knows it, she just does. She is surprised to feel His hands in her hair and feeling Him untie the knot in the back of her blindfold, it leaves her breathless. Before the shield is taken away from her she feels Him lean heavier into her, she tilts her head down and watches as her eyes adjust to the light in the darkness. The first thing she sees is the beauty of the silken blindfold, she stares intently at its graceful fall to the ground, when it lands upon her stocking clad her feet. She continues to watch it composing herself to what she will see before her when at last she looks up. She doesn't immediately look up, she gradually raises her eyes and she notices a pebbled drive, which is off to the right of her, she can see bright light beyond it and imagines this is His home. The brightness makes her squint, until her eyes stop stinging and will allow her to look closer at the structure before her. There is a veranda, with an entrance way, a rather impressive one from what she can see from here, but the rest of the house is not what she pictured it to be, there where wings on either side of it and in the middle was a two maybe three story triangular shape structure, in the top two windows there was soft light shining through. She felt as if one with a moth, that room, that light, she knows is her guide, where she cant resist to be, but knows to well the danger of burning ones wings, if she gets to close. The house was amazingly beautiful to the eye and she imagined what it would look like on a bright sunny day, however in the night it looked sad, so sad that even the flowers that grew around it could not lift the depression that the house itself felt, she wondered briefly if its owner felt the same way and chided herself for the compassion she was about to express. The house she decided needed happiness, this house, this man, this life all needed happiness. This house, she decided would not hear her laughter though. "One day you will be mistress of this house," He whispered into her ear with certainty. She whispered back with just as much certainty as He. "I will promise you one thing Stephen, I will not be mistress here ever and I will escape you." She sucked in the fresh air through her nose, and closed her eyes filling her lungs with false bravado and waited for god knows what, after delivering what she hoped was a blow to His over inflated ego; she still refused to call Him Sir. The smell of the roses wafted to her, another time and another way maybe she thinks to herself as she closes her eyes willing herself to do just what she has wanted to do since the moment she watched the blind fold drop to the ground, she turns her head and looks over her shoulder at Him. He looks directly into her eyes and wonders what it is she has seen in Him that has her frowning, there's a look in her eye, which He is not sure about. "That was two things," He remarks in that slightly amused British accent. "What?" she says still frowning way to intensely at Him, then it dawns on her what He is talking about "don't worry, i'm sure the lists of promises I make you will grow" she says in disgust as she turns her head away from the disturbing thought of seeing this man before somewhere. He laughs, He barks it out and she flinches back at His humility, surprised that the man in the car and this man in front of her seem to be two completely different men. A cold thought rushes through her veins as she wonders how many men occupy the same body and if when the blind fold and restraints are removed, He is softer then when there firmly in place, looking back over her shoulder into his pewter eyes she doesn't think so, as a zealous like shine gleams at her when He says "oh Yes Samantha you will make me promises and you will keep them of that I am sure" He chuckles to himself as He steers her towards the entrance of His home and her new hell. ***** He walks her through the front doors and tells her to wait, and like a numb mute fool she stands there trying to take in the grandeur in which she finds herself surrounded, never in her wildest dreams would she imagine any home let alone His looking like this, and Christ she thinks its just the entrance way. There is a carved wooden coat and hat stand that gives off the impression that it is standing guard over the room from the corner. Big double doors off to the right are closed and through the stained glass she can make out the shape of a grand piano. In front of her is a staircase that twines up through what she presumes, is two floors. Her head tilts as she follows its curved shape to an ornate brightly lite chandelier that hangs like the Sword of Damocles above her. A darkened hallway runs off to the side of it, she imagines to the kitchen at the rear of the house, Lance briefly flutters through her mind. She turns her head to look to her left. Before any images flash across her line of sight her hair is grabbed and she is spun around, gasping out in shock of the broken silent truce between them, as she feels the corded strength in His arms and hands as his grip bites into her shoulders. So it starts again, she thinks just before her chest is pushed into the wall next to the front door. Her heart pounding she waits for what will come, she doesn't have long to wait. "Twice you said my name when I asked you to call me Sir." His voice harsh unbending sends fear singing through her veins, her fear is reaching heights as the threat in His voice crescendos, "Twice Samantha I will not tolerate" Her body is ridged with fear and waiting for what will happen next, what new torment he will inflict upon her. Her arms scream at her from behind, her breasts hate her, her cheek is flattened against the cold wall. A hand in her hair viciously tugs back stretching her neck until it feels as though it will snap and her mouth falls open and dries with hate pain and uncertainty, her body is forced harder into the wall and she cries out automatically with the harsher contact. "Say it Samantha" God she hates him, she really fucking hates him "Sir" she spits out with contempt and loathing. Her hair is held tighter and pushed further into the wall, her chin grazing the plaster. He slaps her arse harder then she ever thought anyone could ever hit her. "Say it Samantha" She drags in air to her choking lungs and tries to roll some spittle around in her mouth to free her lips from her teeth. With obvious hate and less contempt she says "Sir" again. "Not good enough Samantha" He says and proceeds to push her throat flat on the wall, while pounding on her arse with his bare hands several times. She can't move; she's on her toes as it is with her neck stretched her arse burning like a hot poker has scorched her skin. Hatred, deep seeded hatred she is learning all about right now. "Had enough Samantha?" he asks again as He continues to slap her, tears are streaming down her face and the pain is unbearable, unwittingly a laugh comes from her throat and escapes her mouth before she can stop it, hysteria she thinks is setting in. "You find it amusing do you" He hisses as He spreads her thighs by kicking her feet apart. He pulls her underwear up so it digs into her clit and lifts her higher off the floor then before, this time with a little less hatred and more fear she responds, "No Sir" she feels Him shake His head at her and sadly replies "Still not good enough Sam" He lets go of her head and her body sages slightly against the wall, still with undies wedged between her crack she hears the knife come from its sheath and feels the tension released as He slices her underwear from her body, she hopes to god he doesn't cut her again and remains motionless, in fear of the knife if not the man at this particular moment. He spins her around and holds her to the wall, with one hand at her throat, she knows He will choke her, she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks, the struggle for breath, she can feel His fingers controlled but lethal in their warning. The knowledge that with loss of control He could kill her has her terrified, the fear of that knowledge is displayed in her eyes, He is happy that He can see it, more so that she can feel it. With the other hand He slides the blade over her brow and down her cheek. Making Master Z's Whore "Let's see how many different ways you can say Sir Samantha." She shivers at the change in His tone where before it was threatening now it is musing "I wonder how long it will take you to say it when you're pleading me to let you cum." He squeezes a little tighter "I think we should we find out" Ohhh no she doesn't like the sound of that, not at all. She wonders what she looks like briefly as she tries to follow His hand down her breast to her stomach, she can feel the almost dry blood that has crusted from His carving up of her flesh, just another reason to hate, as His hand continues its journey south. He spreads her lips with His fingers checking her wetness; He is pleased beyond belief when He feels how her juice has leaked from her to spread between her thighs. He scoops some onto a finger and draws his arm up slowly so she can see the cream staining His finger; He wipes it across her lips insulting her further with His bittersweet knowledge and His gleaming triumphant eyes... He chuckles at the defiance still glaring daggers into him. He lets the remaining juice wipe from His finger as He drags it down a puckered nipple. When He reaches her core He shoves two fingers straight into her and she gasps at the tight fit of those thick fingers inside her. Deeper He plunges His fingers into her. Searching seeking how high up inside her he can reach. His pace is not slow as He pushes in and out, nor is it gentle and for that she is grateful, she doesn't want a kindness from this man, she wants to nurture her hatred and bring it to life with every indignity He will put her through. Her legs start to weaken as He pushes in and out with faster speed, never in her life has she felt anyone finger her with as much power and building of tension as what she feels now. Faster He goes still, the faster His fingers work inside her the more her legs begin to buckle until her back starts to slide down the wall and she can no longer stop the moaning pleasure from releasing and spewing forth from her labouring lungs and stretching core. He lets her body slip down the wall as her legs buckle and glories that she is squatting before Him with her thighs spread wantonly and her body automatically bearing down in rhythmic motion with his hand. "Do you want it Sam? Do you want to cum?" Her eyes a dangerous fire burn Him to the core as He taunts and fucks into her harder and faster then before. She is gulping in as much air as the pressure from His hand on her neck will allow, her hips buck into Him as sweat breaks out on her brow. "Say it Samantha. Show me how much you want it" She refuses to say a word, but the mellowing coming from her mouth, the tears and desire welling in her eyes show Him how much control she is exserting in this act of defiance. He withdraws his fingers from her quickly, her head moves in the negative. He turns His hand side on and smacks her cunt as hard as He feels necessary. Quickly five times then thrusts three fingers deep into her. Her head bangs into the wall of its own accord, her hips push Him almost to falling over. With the same harsh relentless pace He keeps at her. "Do you have anything you wish to say Samantha"? She ignores Him again, and not for the first time is He impressed with her fortitude, unfortunately for her He knows He will break her. With four fingers inside her now, and with her muscles opening to Him wider. He twists his hand and feels her losing control, He is about to pull out of her and leave her on the floor when she cries out on a keening whimper. "Sirrrrrrrr" With more desperation and need then He has ever witnessed before, she screams it at Him hurls it out, abusively, indignantly. The word echoes around the entranceway and reverberates around the room. He stills his hand in her and feels the little twitches inside her that she cannot control, the ones that wrack her body with fine hair like quivers that she has no shame now in showing him. He knows one more harsh thrust and she would of cum, timing with this wench is apparently and will be everything. He lets her body calm with soothing, little movements of His fingers inside her. He watches her face, such a revealing face, He thinks; she doesn't hide a thought from Him. Her confusion knots her brow as she watches Him intently the pleading still clearly seen. His hand releases her throat and with her breathing still erratic but calmer now it blows a tuff of hair on His forehead, a single erotic shudder runs through His body at the image of sleeping with this woman, of taking her to His bed and loving her. That will have to wait until she is really ready, ready to prove that she wants Him. He slips His fingers easily from her stretched milked core, and watches the shock and something more enter her lovely eyes, hurt; He sees hurt and betrayal, with satisfaction He lays down the law to her. "You ignored me, you defied me, when all I wanted was to hear you say Sir, for that you will not cum" He holds his palm over her mound and puts pressure on her aching wanting cunt as He speaks the words to her. It takes a moment for the words to register in her brain, the moment of comprehension dawns in her eyes. She opens her mouth to lash Him with her curt tongue. He silences her with a soft petal light kiss on the lips. While He whispers in that soft way that has her listening carefully, intently and sympathetically to every word He mummers. "You can not beat me Sam, you will not look at me like that and change my mind," He brushes a stray hair from her face and tucks it gently behind her ear in such a caring loving manner that her heart unwillingly aches for more kindness from Him "your instant obedience will be rewarded." He brushes her brow with His lips and takes a step back and watches her as she leans against the wall, her head back resting there; her eyes closed in resignation or exhaustion He's not to sure. Her sweet nectar drips literally from her body onto the floor. Her hair a wet mess stuck down to her head, a lively rose hue in her cheeks, her black stockings the only clothing marring her skin. Her arms tied behind her back and the dried up blood of His mark upon her creamy flesh. His gaze wanders the rest of her body and notices the bruises to her normally creamy white flesh. She has handled it all well considering, what He has put her through, hoping but never expecting the responses she has granted Him. He feels His own wetness dripping inside His pants and knows He has never been harder in all His life. Yes, yes, He considers, she is the one. He wonders if He will ever see her looking more the picture of submission and decides to up the level of His control over her. He looks down at her, his eyes lingering on the Z carved into her breast, way more beautiful then He ever imagined, with one more lingering glance He turns away leaving her squatting on the floor of His entrance way. She feels Him turn from her and opens her betraying eyes and watches Him walk away from her. The tears silently drip down her face, she is exhausted unsatisfied and unable to finish the job off her self, her knees finally weaken and she slumps onto them harshly amplifying her hurt her head bows low, her forehead resting on the floor. It's all too much; the fear the pain, the shock, the unfulfilled way in which her body is begging her to call out to Him, to say Sir, just so the ache inside her can go away. Her tears silent no longer wrack her body as she begins to shake with self-pity and spasms of uncontrolled misery. The shaking gets stronger, the tears run faster, the sound of her grief fill her ears and her heart with a need she can no longer ignore; even if she escapes Him now, she knows it will be a long time before she will, if ever find a need for a man like the need she now has to feel Him inside her. He pauses half way up the stairs to the second floor and looks down on her. His Samantha, yes He thinks to himself as He smiles, she can look more submissive. She looks up at Him from her bowed position and the breath traps in His chest causing an ache like no other, He sees the surrender and the need for Him in her eyes, He's not dumb enough to believe she will come willingly to Him just yet, but at least there is hope. "Lance?" He calls and His ever-faithful servant enters through a door at the base of the stairs. "Master can I serve you?" "Take her to her room and secure her for the night" with the curt order issued He climbs the rest of the stairs to His cold and lonely room. Exhausted Himself, He lay's on His bed and revises His plans for the next day. Smiling; He drifts to sleep to dream of the days to come with His lovely pleasing Samantha. ***** She shifts her attention to Lance and watches him walk towards her, one look at him and she knows it is useless to even ask for his help, for some reason this man willing carries out the wishes of his Master she thinks with disgust. Her eyes shift back to the stair way as she watches a taut arse climb wearily up the rest of the stairs. "Did you see" she screams in her mind, "did you see my need, you bastard, don't think I don't hate you because I want to fuck you." She sincerely hopes that He can feel her loathing boring into Him with each step He takes, she hopes He chokes on His very breath in the night, she hopes to god in the same breath He wakens alive and well so she can hate Him all the more for it. With that thought free of her conscience she accepts the help form Lance to standing, with as much dignity as she can muster she raises her head and proudly stares him down while looking up at him. He gives her a smile of pure mischief. "This way Miss Samantha, its time for some rest, I believe you will need it."