[FFM] [BDSM] The [F]irst time that both o[F] my DO[M]s [F]ucked me together (Part 1 of 3) (Long and mostly context, but the audio version is good)

(Reader’s notes):

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(TL;DR in the comments)

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(This is everything that happened on my sixth consecutive night with my two Doms and their other slave, Sweetie. If you’d like to know what led up to this particular night, links to the previous parts are in the comments)

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(No, I didn’t mess up the title, there were four people involved. This first post is mostly just context. If you wanna check out the sex, there’s foreplay starts near the middle of this post and the next two posts are pretty much all sex. the next two parts should already be posted if you want to skip the character descriptions)

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(The character descriptions are marked by the next “readers note” after the first 11 paragraphs. Judith’s description is at the beginning of Part 9)

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(Thank you for reading)

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(End readers’ notes)

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Part 8 – Prelude

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A very important thing to understand about me is that I’m human.

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Each one of us has something that sets us apart from any other person. With all our differences, there are also our similarities. There was one particular similarity I had with Henry during my third time as his plaything… Hatred.

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Whether a person is good or evil, just about anyone is capable of feeling hate. It invokes an anger in you that can make you forget the laws of society, of morality, of your very own humanity. If you’ve ever felt hate, for even a moment, you know the feeling of your mind burning with horror and rage. maybe you felt it during 9/11, or that one time someone smacked you across the face, or maybe when you hear about someone murdered in a particularly horrible fashion. Decent people are just as capable of feeling hatred as any other kind of people. I believe it’s one of the many traits that are responsible for the best and worst things that humanity has to offer; whether directly or indirectly in some way.

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Hatred is as much a part of what makes people human as our compassion.

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I’m telling you this because I need you to know that I hated Henry those first few months. I talked about my desires, both of the body and spirit, during those first few days in Parts 1 through 7. But what I haven’t specifically told you is how I felt during that first week with Henry. I’ve only given you what I felt about him with the benefit of hindsight.

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The anger that comes from feeling hatred is the very definition of “Passion.” It’s a nearly uncontrollable emotion. I hated him because of what kind of person he had to be to enjoy making me feel so horrible about myself. I believed that I was a strong person, unshakable in my will power. But there is a certain threshold that everyone has for their tolerance of pain, be it physical or emotional. Henry knew what I felt for him, and he would focus on inflaming my passions just as much as my desires.

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Four nights before this one, on my second day in their home, Henry had done something that made me feel horrible about myself, by simply treating me as a whore who had given my verbal consent. He had violated my spirit as much as my body even though he hadn’t even stuck his dick in me that night.

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And I hated him for it.

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After that third night with Judith, my gorgeous, dark haired Mistress, she had spent the next two nights training me. I wish I could tell you it was the enjoyable kind of training, but I don’t think it would be interesting for me to tell you about all the times that she purposely didn’t make me climax. What I mean by ‘training’ was entirely academic. And no, still not quite as sexy as it sounds, in my personal opinion.

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Honestly, I would have rather that she made me read books because what she did to me was more along the lines of training me in sexual etiquette, but using a remote controlled vibrator on my clitoris and another two vibrators taped over both of my tender, newly-pierced nipples. Which she would only use every time I had made some mistake. Then she would make me start an action over again; until I got it right, several times in a row. The vibrators felt pretty great on the low settings, but she had them cranked up to high and kept them turned off. That way she could use it like one of the judge’s on “American Idol” when they deem something to be unworthy.

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Every time she flipped the switch on it felt like nails being hammered into my tits while I did my best to keep my knees from buckling under me; if I was ‘lucky’ enough to be standing at the time; the metal ringing in the air seeming to be imaginary; I wished it had been.

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Judith had made me wear a chastity belt. I doubt many people here have ever actually tried one on before. Just like most of Judith’s sex toys, hers obviously wasn’t used quite for the intended purpose as others. But I don’t really think there’s a word that can be used to described that particular contraption. Let’s just say that it had a vibrator, a catheter that made sitting or moving rather uncomfortable, and was essentially a solid pair of panties that is locked to your groin.

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Now, I was certainly a slut when I had met Judith. I didn’t really have a home back then. I had several fuck buddies who were always willing to let me sleep over, and I loved the sex I had with them, so much so that I rarely ever felt the need to masturbate since a good fucking was only ever a short cab ride away. But I think Judith knew that was exactly what I would spend my daytime doing while she was at work. I was the party-girl sort, and she was trying to instill some discipline in me. And it definitely worked out that way in the end.

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The second reason for the chastity belt was that she wanted me aching for Henry’s cock when he finally came back home. Remember that part about hatred and passion? Yeah, lets just say that was one of the many lessons I learned from Judith and Henry’s training.

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(Reader’s Note)

(Here’s the section with the descriptions of people and things; sexy stuff comes a little bit after)

(End Readers Note)

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As much as I had already grown to admire about Judith, perhaps even begin to love about her, I had despised Henry as much as I had ever despised any man who had ever hurt me directly. Still, I was resolved to remain as his slave; though I mostly just wanted to belong to Judith at the time. However, the two of them were a package-deal so I’d be submissive to Henry. Even if I had to hide my hatred behind a smile.

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I think the “chastity” belt must have worked exactly as Judith had hoped it would, because despite my hatred for the man, there wasn’t any revulsion as I thought there might be upon his arrival.

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Sweetie stood beside me, holding my left hand while I held the glass of chilled scotch balanced on top of a glass plate in my right hand. Sweetie was the couple’s other sex slave that had been with them for three months before my arrival. She was a short Hispanic woman. And even though she was only nineteen at the time, no one could ever mistake her stereotypically voluptuous figure for anything else than a woman who was emerging into the prime of her life.

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With her long and wavy, dark mocha hair that fell a little past her collarbone, and dark brown eyes that were either always sparkling with laughter, lust, or a deep sorrow. Sometimes while she climaxed I could see all three of those seemingly individual traits dancing chaotically with one another in her mind. Hers and mine is a very special bond that has tied us in a deep friendship in the years since that time, and even then, during those first days and weeks in Henry and Judith’s home, there was an intimacy that the two of us shared which I had never before had with another human being; a true friend.

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Yeah, sounds like a sad thing, but really, I found her presence very sobering in the times that I needed it most; and I’m certain that I’ve done the same for her. Judith had bound me with desire, Sweetie had bound me with love, and Henry had bound me with hatred; just as he would soon bind me in the cold, steel handcuffs: by letting me bind myself with them.

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I don’t know exactly how wealthy Henry and Judith were, but suffice it to say that they lived in an eight-bedroom, three bathroom, two-story house on top of a hill overlooking the city below with a large pool on the back patio. Not quite a mansion per-se, but definitely a measure of Judith’s and Henry’s financial wealth. They had built for themselves a little Queendom. That’s an inside joke between Judith’s girls; both those who were her house slaves, as well as all the other women from her “phone-book harem” in her contacts. We referred to ourselves as Judith’s girls fondly while under the woman’s dominating will and compassionate “tutelage.”

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Henry on the other hand was a different being. I think most of the girls that he was with only tolerated his roughness with them. It’s not the sort of thing that most women could actually tolerate, let alone enjoy.

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I can best describe Henry as the kind of guy you might think of when you think of a fifty-year old man who has spent most of the last decade in an office. Being as tall as me at 5’7” and Caucasian were the only two physical similarities we had between us. He was about forty or fifty pounds overweight, with thin rectangular glasses, and always arrived home in a suit that made him look like he could’ve either been a menial cubicle worker, middle management, or perhaps someone in the upper echelons of a multinational corporation.

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He wasn’t the sort that said much, I don’t think I’d heard him utter more than a sentence or two at once by that point; aside from the first time we had been alone together and he had fucked my brains out in his study/home office. But mostly that was just him making me beg and telling me what a dirty whore I was. Yeah, that sort of thing might not be most people’s cup of tea, but for a submissive like me with a high threshold for pain, both mental and physical, it’s always been my favorite kind of sex.

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Even though that was the case, our second encounter had made me realize two things. First, my threshold for mental pain wasn’t quite as high as I thought. And second, Henry was just a really polite asshole that felt no remorse when he humiliated, violated, or dehumanized us during sexual acts. Most of the time he seemed like the regular-ish guy that I had first thought he was.

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Honestly, he had set off my creep-o-meter a bit when I saw him on that first night in Judith’s and his home. He had a way of looking at me and I was never certain whether it was calculating or sexual. Until I got used to it, his stare actually seemed pretty dull, there was hardly ever a way to tell what his intentions might be, which is one of the qualities that kept me on edge about him during our first night back together.

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Sweetie and I waited for him at the top of the stairs as he walked up them and stood in front of the two of us.

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There was usually no verbal greeting between us. Instead, there was a sort of ritual that I’ll get to in a moment. Before that, there is one more person to describe: me.

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I’m a runner, it’s how I’ve gotten most of my exercise since I was on my high school’s track and field team. I had been heavy as a kid, so I have a bit of a complex that I didn’t even realize at the time about staying fit and slim. From the time I started having good sex, I just always believed that the sorts of guys I was into wouldn’t be into me if I didn’t stay in perfect shape. I’ve never really wanted to test the theory. So, I run.

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At that time I was bleach blonde with a few pink streaks on the right side of my shoulder-length hair. My hair was naturally blond, but I had bleached it because I thought it would look better without the golden hue. I had a couple tattoos at the time, you know, normal ink that you’d see on any party-slut complete with a flowery tramp stamp and a phrase on the inner forearm that I liked to think reminded me to believe in myself and be a half-way decent human being.

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I was pretty hot at twenty-two. I was proud of my body, even if I secretly wished that my b-cups were just a little bigger and perkier. I had thought I was a great lay as well, but really, I think I was mediocre at best when it came to normal sex. When it came to being a submissive, I had proven to be clumsy, undisciplined, and impatient. All things which Judith would end up spending those first few months training me to learn about and improve until I truly was all that I could ever wish to be, both sexually and intellectually.

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While Judith demanded perfection, Henry only really needed a fuck-toy. That’s not to say he didn’t interact with us outside of sex or the prelude to sex. For example, during my seventh month with them he was the one that taught me how to do banking and taxes. There were no paper trails connecting me to any of them however. I paid taxes during that time I spent with them as a “freelance housekeeper.” Judith and Henry paid me in cash, I gave the government it’s seemingly exorbitant cut of the profit I made with my own hard work and self-determination like any normal citizen, and I lived my life. It was just like any other job I’d ever had, though admittedly it was mostly a whole lot of debauchery, but damn if it wasn’t one hell of a good time.

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During the day, Sweetie and I would hang out in comfortable clothing if we lounged around the house, or we’d wear whatever we felt like taking from “The Wardrobe” if we ever wanted to go into the city to do some shopping or visit friends or whatever. However, at night, or pretty much whenever Judith and/or Henry were home there usually weren’t a lot of clothes.

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Both Sweetie and I wore entirely sheer dresses that fell to our upper thighs just a couple inches below our groin. While the fabric clung to our skin if we remained still, it was light enough that a breeze from a door opening or simply just walking from one end of the room to the other at a normal pace was enough for the air to pick up the fabric, pulling it open like a cloak of silk as we moved. Whereas my dress and equally sheer stockings were light blue, Sweetie’s was a bright red. Her long stockings and nearly just as sheer red brassier containing her double-d sized breasts matched it perfectly. She didn’t wear any panties however, and neither did I, technically.

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Unlike Sweetie, I had no bra. The first thing Henry looked at before he met my gaze were my nipples that Judith had pierced with smooth silver rings; They were half of a centimeter in diameter with an emerald set in each so that they matched my eyes.

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The chastity belt I wore wasn’t really a normal part of the outfit. It was something special, just for me, while Judith had been training me and to make sure that I was hungry for cock. Even if it was the cock belonging to a man who, at the time, I despised.

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(Readers note: descriptions end here, now it’s more context, then the sexy stuff, I promise. End note.)

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Even though I had wished that I belonged to Judith alone, Henry was ‘her man’ and what was Judith’s was also his, so long as I consented, of course. That was there most important rule, which is why, for that entire year I was with them, my mouth had never been gagged, nor had any of the other girls.

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Even though I knew that Henry would soon be fucking me, whether I really wanted to fuck him or not, I knew that afterwards Judith would be there to tend to me, after she was done fucking me too, of course. I knew I could refuse Henry if I really wanted to; but whether I hated the guy or not, I had spent the past two nights sucking on synthetic phallic objects at the direction of Judith. My gag reflex was about as absent as a positive male role model in my life but apparently my technique was clumsy and my ability to hold my breath was amateur at best.

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To perform the ritual greeting that I had learned on my second day in the house I had to let go of Sweeties hand to pick up the chilled glass of scotch from the plate. I brought it to my lips as he watched me, no hint of a smile on his lips this time, and took a burning gulp. This time at least I had been expecting the taste. I’ve never been a fan of dark liquor. I’ve always been a vodka-girl, but at least this time I hadn’t started coughing uncontrollably.

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All I actually had to do was take a sip, but in preparation for this moment I had already taken a few shots of vodka at the kitchen bar to calm my nerves and make it easier to stomach what I believed to be inevitable. I wasn’t drunk, but I was certainly tipsy. Not enough to sway on my feet, but enough that my belly felt warm and my mind was dulled. I thought for sure that Henry would take me as soon as he had come home. Like I said before, I didn’t want to fuck him, but prostitutes rarely actually wanted to fuck the guy they were being paid to fuck, and I was no different. If Henry hadn’t been such an asshole to me and sweetie a few days ago I wouldn’t have felt so negatively towards him, but as with many things about the time I spent with Judith and Henry, they seemed to know how to make people react in certain ways.

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After testing Henry’s drink in front of him, I handed it to him just as I had on my second night there. This time however, he still showed no signs of amusement. He simply emptied the entire glass in a few gulps. Handing it to Sweetie he told her,

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“Go get me a bottle of whiskey and bring it to the central bathroom.”

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Then, looking to me, he said, “Haley, you come with me. I’d like to have you to myself for a few minutes.”

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He then walked around the two of us, heading for the aforementioned room. I followed, wondering what fresh emotional turmoil he would inflict upon me or Sweetie this time. If it hadn’t been the fact that he seemed to enjoy hurting our feelings so much on that terrible night earlier that week, I would’ve been eager to fuck him. I think that he had wanted me to hate him though. My suspicions were confirmed when we made it to the bathroom and after gesturing for me to come in, he locked the door behind the two of us. Apparently he was serious about wanting a couple minutes alone with me. Sweetie was likely already on her way back with his bottle by now.

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I stood in front of him, the chastity belt that had been so uncomfortable and irritating suddenly feeling like a shield against him. There was no lock on the belt, simply a clasp that could be undone at any time. I could have taken it off myself, but Judith had been very clear in her instructions and I hadn’t wished to disobey her. Still, if he was planning on fucking me right away, at least I’d have an extra few seconds to mentally prepare myself.

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Surprisingly, his deceptively dull gaze was focused on my face. Henry uncharacteristically made me feel at ease by saying,

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“We’re going to wait until Judith gets back before we actually start.”

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Then, with a smirk he added, “Unless you feel differently, that is.”

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I was relieved, but didn’t want to say as much. Instead, I replied, “I’m prepared to do whatever you wish, Sir.”

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He let out a long sigh and anything he might say was interrupted by the handle of the door shaking, followed by a tentative knock. Henry forgot me for a second, opened the door a crack and put his hand through, grabbing a hold of the bottle and telling Sweetie to wait in his bedroom and give us a moment alone.

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Shutting the door again, but not locking it this time, he unscrewed the cap of the half-empty whiskey bottle and took a few gulps, before offering it to me. I thought he had just wanted me to hold it, but he motioned for me to drink, and I took a single gulp.

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Now I had officially crossed my limit for alcohol, much more and I’d begin getting dizzy and all my training with Judith would be for naught. So I handed it back to him and he took it. He took another swallow before putting the cap back on and looking at me, his eyes taking longer to focus than they usually did.

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I don’t know how long we just stared at one another, but eventually he asked,

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“Do you want the chastity belt off?”

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Telling him the truth was difficult. I certainly hated the contraption, but I hated the idea of him fucking me just as much if not more so. Still, I chose to respond, “Yes, Sir.”

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Henry shrugged, gesturing vaguely at it and said, “Well then, take it off.” before turning and walking toward the large shower in the corner of the room, bottle in hand. He kicked off his shoes and began undressing. I was puzzled for a moment by his behavior. It certainly wasn’t what I had been expecting, though so far, Henry always seemed to be unpredictable. It’s one of the things I had come to hate about him. Still, I had grown to despise the chastity belt, so I removed it at his request. I’m not going to describe what it felt like in any great detail, but lets just say it was highly uncomfortable followed closely by a feeling of physical relief as I felt freedom once more.

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I dropped the contraption to the floor and had about five seconds to revel in the sensation of no longer having a catheter inside me before Henry turned to me and said, “Good, now put these on.”

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From his suit’s jacket pocket he pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs, the kind police use, and tossed them to me. I tried catching them but proved to be far too tipsy. Still I retrieved them from the floor and Henry ordered me, “Remove your top and bind your hands behind your back.”

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I did as I was told, reluctantly, but I had done my best to fortify myself mentally. I knew that Sweetie was well within earshot and the door was unlocked so if Henry turned out to be the sort of man who lost control while he was drunk I knew that Sweetie would be there for me if I called to her. Even with my arms bound behind my back I believed that I was safe. Henry was in his underwear, dark gray boxers and a tank top, standing by the transparent shower door, he took another swig and set the bottle on the floor outside the shower door, not bothering to replace the cap and instead simply dropped it to the floor next to the bottle where it rolled away as he took off his underwear and stepped into the shower.

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I watched the bottle cap roll across the seemingly flat surface before it collided with the large bathtub in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes downcast, not wanting to look at Henry, but I could hear him turn on the shower and begin adjusting the temperature as I walked over to him. The absence of the solid chastity belt feeling like freedom regardless of my newest bonds. Needless to say, after two days in a metal pair of panties, catheter or not, I needed to wash myself. One of the few predictions I got right about Henry is that he wanted to be the first one to touch my neglected flesh.

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Like the “chastity” belt, the steel cuffs weren’t truly binding, I could feel their safety latches and I had briefly tested them just to see if they worked; they did, but it wasn’t quite as comfortable a discovery as I had thought it would be. If he had simply ordered me not to touch myself I would have complied, but the physical inability to touch myself made me want to even more. I stepped into the shower with him, still wearing my stockings since he hadn’t ordered me to take those off. He was facing me, letting the steaming water cascade down his body.

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My eyes were still downcast and I suddenly realized that I was shaking like a leaf in the midst of a chill breeze. Despite all the liquor I had just seen him down, he was rock hard and throbbing. Henry’s cock wasn’t large. I got well acquainted with his dick over those many months and he was only about five inches in length, and only a little thicker than a roll of quarters, average size in my experience, and yes, I’ve been with some pretty well hung dudes as well as some very not-so-blessed men. In my experience, the guys that have been honest with themselves about their ‘shortcomings’ rely more on technique and endurance, while some of those that are gifted-by-heaven tend to rely too much on their size rather than their abilities or personal qualities. There are always outliers, of course, but after as many men as I’ve had, I’m pretty sure I’m as expert as any statistician. Henry had proved to have a sub-par appearance, an average manhood, an extraordinary libido and passion, and one of the cruelest souls I have ever known; definitely a pretty big negative in my opinion. And by that point in my life I had already seen the faces of evil, so I thought I had a pretty good sense for people.

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I didn’t want to be there with him. It wasn’t the sex, or the mean things he had done. It was Henry himself that I couldn’t stand. It wasn’t how he looked or the way he had treated me and Sweetie, but simply who he was as a human being. He scared me. And I had just willingly bound my hands behind my back while naked and in the same room with a man who had violated me just a few days ago. I was scared and vulnerable and alone with him. He was going to fuck me and I didn’t want him to fuck me; not after everything, no matter how good and horrible and new it had all felt when I had been with him those first couple times.

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Then, as I took a step back, he turned his back to me and I saw it. Just like Judith, Henry had a tattoo on his back. But whereas Judith’s words had been in Latin, reading, “Look upon our sins and condemn us not. For we have aided these troubled souls.” and had the names of seventy-eight women inscribed in the tapestry of chains, Henry’s tattoo was hardly a tattoo at all. Most of his own tapestry was scars; hundreds of them criss-crossing one another. Some could have been decades old while others looked like they were still healing from several months ago. It was as if his flesh had been torn asunder again and again by the claws of wild animals.

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“Or whips.” I thought. Judith was a dominatrix after all, perhaps that was how she had tamed that cruel beast inside the man. Although none of the scars were particularly fresh.

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The tattoo was an angel on his right shoulder blade locking spears with a demon on his left shoulder blade. The flesh underneath the tattoos was the most heavily scarred of all and I would guess that it had been redone over and over during the past few decades. Much of the shading around the two figures having seemed to smear with age and torn flesh, only to be covered and reshaded, giving it a strangely morphed look, it was both hideous and beautiful; perhaps it was a metaphorical dichotomy of Henry and Judith, or his own passion and restraint, or maybe it was the good and evil that battle within every human being’s soul. Or maybe he just thought it was a really cool tattoo to get, though that didn’t seem likely for a pure sadist like him.

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Still, the sight in front of me gave me some strange comfort. It was as if just knowing that this brute savage could be harmed, that he was flesh and blood just like me, it eroded some of the fear I had of him; even in my precarious state.

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Henry motioned for me to come closer and I obeyed automatically, whether it was Judith’s training or my sudden and unexpected easing of nerves, I’m not certain. He stepped out of the way so that I could stand under the shower. I let the steaming water run down the front of my body and as I closed my eyes to enjoy perhaps the last wholly pleasant sensation I had for the next few hours Henry said,

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“You hate me now, but I think you’ll understand sooner or later.”

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His words didn’t sound like a threat in the least, still I looked at him, seeking something of his meaning and finding only a man staring at me lustily.

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He asked, “Will you let me wash you, Haley?”

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He hadn’t asked me if I wanted him to wash me. I guessed that he was probably going to be that way about all of his requests and demands that night, but I’d play his game for as long as I could stomach it.

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I replied, “Yes Sir.”

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I closed my eyes, letting the water pour over the back of my head as I let it fall. I felt Henry take my arm gently in his hand and begin slowly and softly scrubbing my skin with a soapy washcloth. After I had felt him clean every inch of my left arm, he moved on to the right. He was even sure to clean between my fingers; after he had ordered me to relax my fists for a moment of course. Then he moved on to my back, then he told me to turn towards him. I obeyed, my eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of the water; expecting the pleasant sensation to be instantly drowned out by pain. I was betting that he would enjoy toying with my still-tender nipples and I believed that at any moment I would feel a spike of pain in one or both of them.

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However, Henry simply continued washing me, with the same gentleness as he had thus far never shown toward me. After he was done with my chest I heard him kneel in front of me with a groan like someone with a back that was always sore. He slowly slipped the drenched stockings from my legs, leaving them on the shower floor, and washed each of my smooth and sensitive legs with the cloth. He hadn’t yet touched my genitals, but the feeling of his hand on my inner thighs, of any hand probably, was enough to make me feel a tightness in my lower abdomen. Yeah, the “chastity” belt had definitely worked as intended.

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He stood back up without having touched me there, however, which surprised me. Judith had waxed my pussy in preparation for the “chastity” belt and I thought for sure that Henry wouldn’t be able to resist feeling me. Judith hadn’t even allowed me to touch it before putting on the belt. My body betrayed my mind, it’s own desire to be touched had been inflamed by Henry’s uncharacteristic gentleness.

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He ordered me to open my eyes and meet his. I obeyed and found that he was swaying just slightly on his feet, the smell of liquor on his breath making me want to turn my head away, but I faced him squarely. He put a hand on my breast, but didn’t squeeze me and didn’t pinch, he simply held it there, then his hand began to slide, dreadfully slowly, down my abdomen.

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I stared at him with a fake smile on my face, and I think he knew it was fake because his fingers paused just below my navel. My breath caught at the abrupt pause. He asked me,

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“Do you want to be touched?”

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Again, he hadn’t asked me if I wanted him to be the one that touched me, so I answered truthfully, “Yes Sir.”

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Then, his hand continued it’s journey, gliding over my smooth pussy. I involuntarily raised up on my tip toes in a vain attempt to lessen the electricity radiating from my neglected flesh. His singular touch was still gentle, but firm as he slid his fingers over me. I tried and failed not to let out a shuddering whimper as his middle and ring fingers slid between each side of my labia; between the labia majoris and the labia minoris. He massaged my lips between his two fingers, sliding them back and forth slowly and with just the right amount of pressure, both by his fingers and his palm which pressed against my clitoris.

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He asked me, “Do you want to cum, Haley?”

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My voice already breathy, I answered him, still with the fake smile, “Yes Sir. Please Sir.”

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Those same two fingers slid inside my vagina then, and I felt my knees start to give out under me. Henry grabbed my ass with his free hand, pulling me close against him. I could feel his cock throbbing against my thigh and in that moment I forgot how I felt about him, I just wanted to get fucked.

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Then he asked me, “Does it feel good, Haley?”

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I answered him truthfully, “Yes Sir. Your fingers feel so good inside me, Sir.”

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He forced me to meet his gaze as I drew closer to climax, then he asked me, “Do you hate me, Haley?”

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My breath caught in my throat once more as his fingers stopped moving inside me.

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“No, Sir.” I lied to him.

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The lie earned me a hard slap on my wet ass cheek, hard enough to leave a mark, possibly to bruise. I screamed wordlessly in surprise and pain. He took his fingers out of my pussy, leaving me unfinished and wanting. I grinned at him angrily, more of a clenching of teeth than a smile, as I pressed myself closer to him. I let my false expression fall away as I snarled in his ear, “I fucking hate you. You’re a cruel piece of shit and you make me sick to the very core of my being. Now are you going to fuck me or not? SIR?!”

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I had spit the last syllable in his face, not bothering to hide my expression that must have made me a very ugly thing in that moment. I had expected him to hit me again, to be angry, or to bend me over and fuck me right then and there; all three at once was the most likely outcome I was expecting.

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Instead, he just smirked at me, the equivalent of a chuckle for Henry. He replied, “Good. I see you’ve learned the value of honesty while I was away.”

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Then, leaning his head passed mine so that he could say something softly in my ear, he added, “You’ll have to wait a little longer for your reward, Slave.”

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He pulled me back to meet my eyes once more before he forced my mouth open with the two fingers that had been inside me a moment before. He made me lick my taste off of them with no hint of a smile anymore, his face slipping back to the expressionless mask as I tasted my days old sweat and unwashed flesh.

​

He left my crotch unwashed, saying, “Judith will clean the rest for you, Slave.”

​

After we got out of the shower and Henry dried me off mostly, leaving my hair wet, and letting it drip onto the floor which I would probably be expected to clean up after my other “duties” were complete. Completely naked and handcuffed, I followed Henry down the hall and into his bedroom.

​

Sweetie was already there, standing on her knees by the door and looking up to Henry expectantly; perhaps even a bit hungrily.

​

As far as bedrooms went, it was pretty normal, except for the sex straps hanging from the ceiling.

​

Judith was standing on a ladder, inspecting the mechanical pulleys bolted to the ceiling. The room was bright, and unlike her own bedroom, the “swing” was Henry’s only BDSM setup. He just liked getting rough, the BDSM was more of Judith’s kink. Still, Sweetie had explained to me that sometimes in the mornings Henry preferred her hanging from the straps rather than simply bending her over or fucking her on the bed. Occasionally he liked to stand and the swing allowed Henry to fuck her roughly with significantly decreased effort on his part. She also told me that Henry made her climax almost every single time that he fucked her. And the man had been fucking her nearly every morning and night for the past month, so I took her at her word.

​

I had only experienced him twice so far. The first time he had fucked me better than I had been fucked in a long while, and the second time he had put his hand inside me and broke a little something in my soul, and our third time, right then, he was about to fuck another girl before he would stick his dick in me. Whether it was my hurt pride, my stifled lust, or my already low boiling hatred of both the man and myself for doing what I would soon be doing, I couldn’t hide my expression behind a visage when he took my chin in between his fingers, brought his face close, as if he were going to kiss me for the first time, but then he spit in my face.

​

That particular gesture had been the first thing he had ever done to me when we were alone together on that first night. And, as I said before, I’m a masochist, and that involves the humiliation as a part of the pain sometimes. In most cultures, spitting on someone, especially in their face, is a gravely disrespectful gesture. I had taken it as a test that first time, to see how much I was willing to be disrespected. Only after I had accepted the forth wad of spit without flinching did he relent on that first time. This time his spittle smelled and tasted like whiskey. I guess he believed that was my reward for looking at Judith with desire plain on my face.

​

I did my best not to growl at him or grumble a string of expletives that might’ve earned me something worse than a bit of spittle I couldn’t wipe off my face and the shame of my Mistress seeing me in such a piteous state.

​

(Continued in Part 9 – Lust and Avarice)

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ai7xal/ffm_bdsm_the_first_time_that_both_of_my_doms