Sara drove home in a daze. She had stayed with Rick for the rest of the day, leaving only in the early afternoon when both of their spouses would expect them home. In that time he had fucked her mouth again, wrapped her in a blanket and had her take a nap curled at his feet, dragged her all over the hotel room at his heels on her hands and knees by the leash clenched in his fist, slapped her breasts until she nearly cried again as punishment for reflexively trying to cover them, then carried her to the shower and gently cleaned every inch of her body until she was writhing in arousal and pleading with him to let her cum. He had, making her masturbate for him while he held her up by 3 fingers crammed into her pussy and an arm around her throat. When she collapsed in a heap in his feet afterwards, she’d found herself kissing his feet as though it were the most natural thing in the world, thanking him over and over.
Finally, before leaving, he’d had her kneel at his feet and recite the new rules of her life. She still remembered every word, so focused on his every wish by then that she couldn’t have looked away from him if she’d tried. “I’m going to mold you into my perfect little toy, but this is going to happen slowly. One of the most common signs your spouse is having an affair is for them to suddenly make a bunch of changes in their appearance and routine. Therefore, you will move slowly and provide a reasonable explanation for every change you make. However, as it is nearly the New Year, you will use resolutions as an excuse for most of them.
This week, you’ll renew your gym membership. I don’t care about your weight, that’s pop culture trash, but you will increase your endurance. Choose your cardio method, I don’t care what it is, but you will do a minimum of 2 hours of cardio per week. You will also do a minimum of 2 hours of strength training per week. You may choose the method, body weight, weight machines, or free weights are all fine. You will send me a picture every workout, at the beginning and end of it, and the timer on the cardio machine must be visible.
Next month, you’re going to stop wearing panties at any time but during your menstrual cycle. You may begin working up to that now, but by the end of next month, you will not wear underwear on a daily basis. Occasionally, I will put you in specific lingerie sets which include panties I like. You will also eventually wear skirts and dresses at any time it isn’t dangerous to do. You will begin this week, by wearing one at least once a week, and to allay suspicion you’ll wear it on days when you will be with your husband all day. If he takes it as an invitation to fuck you, you will let him. I’m a generous master, and I share my toys.” Sara had shivered at that, wondering what exactly it meant but afraid to ask.
“You will also start taking better care of yourself. This will be a ‘resolution’. You belong to me now, girl, and no one mistreats my property.” Sara had been startled into meeting his eyes at this, and his eyes had been harder than any other time that day. “You will drink enough water, you will eat a minimum of two meals per day, and at least 5 days a week you will eat at least 3 meals. Those meals will be as healthy and balanced as is practical. If necessary, I’ll begin monitoring this.” She had flushed, aware of her poor self-care habits. “You will choose a free online course of some kind and begin taking it. I will approve the course. Half of your problem, you stupid twat, is that you’re smart and you’re bored.” Another flush.
“Lastly, you will get a Textfree or Google Voice number and download Wickr, which is a self-destructing text messaging app. You will set up Wickr with the disposable phone number. That will keep your phone history from showing up on a phone bill. You will text me as soon as is practical after waking up and as close to going to sleep as possible. You will tell me on any day in which it is practical for me to choose your clothing- which you will provide me with a complete inventory of, and buy the pieces I tell you to as soon as is financially feasible.”
“You will always address me as Sir, or Master. You will not cum without my permission again, unless not doing so will be suspicious for your husband. If you must then, you will inform me as soon as possible and I will come up with a suitable payment for it. You will always answer me, any time I speak, whether it be in-person or by text. Delayed response to text for safety purposes is acceptable but you will do so the moment it is practical. You will also inform me any time you cry, as soon as it is practical to do so, and you will tell me why.”
Sara shook her head slowly as she drove, remembering. It was a lot. And yet… most of the things he was ordering her to do were things she had half-wished she had the self-discipline to manage on her own, like working out, drinking water, and eating well. The others, well, she wasn’t particularly surprised, having read plenty of erotica. That last one, though… that was the sort of thing a lover would ask, not a property owner demand. She realized that on an odd level she found it romantic and sighed. She was a fucked up little bitch, Rick was certainly right about that.
She had downloaded the text app and set up the new number then and there, with his help. The way that messages disappeared instantly was reassuring, but also terrifying to realize how completely he had thought this out. Just before they had left, he had pressed her up against the hotel room door, spreading her legs and jamming 4 fingers roughly inside of her, gripping her cunt and ass together in one large hand, his thumb pressing against her sore asshole. She felt her pussy spasm as she remembered his growled words in her ear, “Who does this cunt belong to?” and her breathy, whispered response, “You, Sir.”
Sara arrived home in a daze, unfolding herself from the practical Mom-SUV that was a hold-over from when the kids were smaller. Now, thankfully, they were both finishing high school and needed little maternal attention beyond reasonable boundaries and the occasional support after a breakup or imploded friendship. She had been young when she’d had them, but she had devoured every parenting book she could find, and was pleased to have raised good kids with decent levels of common sense. She knew they were both having sex, but also knew that both used birth control and had conversations with their partners about STDs. She wondered briefly what they would think now of their mom getting out of the car, panties in her purse and her thighs slick with arousal under her dress, but dismissed it as well past the inappropriate-sharing point.
Instead, she went inside and took another shower, noting with relief that nothing Rick had done to her had left a single mark, but that she would definitely be feeling the soreness in her ass for a few days. After a quick change into jeans she started dinner, beginning the complicated dance that this affair would be. After a moment, her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
DID YOU MAKE IT HOME SAFE, PET?
Shit, she had been supposed to message him. She hadn’t been home more than about 20 minutes, maybe she could claim traffic? No… it would be too easy to check via a Maps app. She would have to take her lumps on this one.
YES, SIR, I FORGOT TO MESSAGE YOU. I’M SORRY.
She had a flash of inspiration- she had taken a picture of herself fresh out of the shower, but forgotten to send it, too.
MAY I MAKE UP FOR IT BY SENDING A PICTURE?
The wait for his reply was interminable, and she strangled her anxiety by finishing dinner and shoving it into the oven. The kids would be home in about an hour, her husband much later. Her phone buzzed again.
ARE YOU ALONE?
Sara whimpered, afraid of what an affirmative answer would mean, but also suspecting he would be able to call her bluff if she lied.
YES, SIR. FOR ABOUT 45 MORE MINUTES, MAYBE AN HOUR.
The answer was faster this time.
FIND A CLOTHESPIN AND CLIP IT TO YOUR NIPPLE. SEND ME A VIDEO OF YOU DOING SO, SO THAT I CAN BE SURE YOU OBEY. THEN SEND ME THE PICTURE.
Sara whimpered.
I DON’T HAVE ANY CLOTHESPINS, SIR.
He wasn’t going to like that.
THEN USE A BINDER CLIP OR CHIP CLIP. FIGURE IT OUT, SLUT.
Sara moaned out loud. This was going to hurt. She found a small binder clip easily enough, pulling one off of a half-full bag of chocolate chips in the pantry and put the phone up on the counter, turning on the selfie camera and hitting Record. Then she lifted her shirt and pulled down her bra, cringing a little at unflattering image on the screen. She spoke directly to the camera, “I’m sorry, Sir,” then closed the binder clip on her nipple.
The pain nearly brought her to her knees. It did force a squeal from her throat and she stared wide-eyed and shaking at the camera for a moment before pulling her bra back up to cover the clip- wincing as she did so- and dropped her shirt before ending the recording and sending it to her master, along with the picture from the shower.
The reply was gratifyingly fast.
GOOD BITCH. I WILL TELL YOU WHEN TO TAKE IT OFF.
Sara fought back tears as she cleaned up the kitchen from cooking, every motion of her upper body shifting her breasts and making the clip rub against the inside of her bra. It hurt so badly! She was tempted to take it off, but suspected he would also know somehow and didn’t dare. She had no idea how long she had to leave it on, and she was already barely able to function. How did people get nipple piercings?! It had only been 3 minutes and she was ready to beg him for mercy.
Her phone buzzed again as she was washing the last pot. It had been 5 minutes.
TAKE IT OFF NOW. VIDEO IT AGAIN.
She whimpered in gratitude, setting up the camera again in record time. When it was recording, she quickly yanked her shirt up, her bra down, and carefully removed the clip. The sudden return of blood to her abused nipple startled a squeal out of her and she bent forward, tears springing to her eyes and she whimpered, “Oh God,” over and over. Suddenly, she realized she was blocking the camera’s view and straightened up, managing a watery, “Thank you, Sir,” to her phone before sending the video.
GOOD GIRL. DON’T FORGET AGAIN. NOW, DELETE THE PICTURE AND VIDEOS FROM YOUR PHONE.
She gasped- shit, she had forgotten that she would need to. That was the last thing she needed someone seeing, or having backed up to the cloud.
YES, SIR, THANK YOU FOR THE REMINDER ABOUT DELETING THEM. SHOULD I DISABLE AUTOMATIC CLOUD BACKUPS?
The response was quick.
ONLY IF PRACTICAL OTHERWISE, I KNOW YOU BACK UP PICTURES OF YOUR CHILDREN. IF YOU CANNOT, MAKE A PRACTICE OF DELETING PICTURES AND VIDEOS THE MOMENT YOU SEND THEM.
Sara nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see her. Shit, while she hadn’t intended to have an affair in the first place, it was clearly a good idea she wasn’t the one in charge of it.
YES, SIR.
GOOD. NOW ENJOY YOUR NIGHT. DO NOT FORGET TO MESSAGE ME GOOD NIGHT.
Then, a moment later.
CUM FOR ME, LITTLE SLUT. WHEREVER YOU ARE, WHATEVER YOU ARE DOING, DROP IT, GO TO YOUR KNEES, AND GET YOURSELF OFF FOR ME. SEND ME A PICTURE AS YOU CUM, THEN FINISH YOUR EVENING.
Sara whimpered but obeyed. There, in the middle of her kitchen, she dropped her jeans and underwear to her knees, knelt down, and stroked her breasts and teased her sore nipple with one hand, the other darting down to rub her clit. It was frighteningly easy to take herself to the brink, and she was startled to realize that without making a conscious choice about it, she was remembering Sir’s use of her body earlier that day, and the way he had fucked her ass. At the last second, she remembered to grab the phone and press the shutter just as she came, shaking and moaning and nearly collapsing on the cold tile floor.
GOOD BITCH, came the last text.
End Part 5
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/ansxg1/the_coworker_part_5_mfdubconbdsm