It had seemed like a good idea then. Just a few months over the summer, for a years rent and tuition. You’d slept around before, so, what’s the difference really? Why not get a little something out of it? After all, you’d seen the pictures of the house, seen the list of duties. It wasn’t too much. Groceries would be delivered weekly.
Still, when the contract came in the post, as the ink dried in front of you, as you slipped it into the box to be returned… a little prickle of anxiety began to build. As the days crawled past it began to take root, building into butterflies. You checked the mail every day as instructed, and a little wash of warm relief spread over you every time it the box was empty.
You started to wonder if it was all a joke, a prank maybe? After all, who would rent a woman like this? You told yourself this, every morning, as you opened the mailbox, until you believed it.
Until you were certain.
Until you saw it.
Your heart leapt into your mouth. Inside the envelope a letter, and another, smaller package. The letter was made of thick, yellow paper, and handwritten. It addressed you by name.
>”As we have agreed, you will commence your period of bondage this evening. Half your payment will arrive today, half at the end of your tenure. Your duties are simple, cook, clean, obey. Your application stipulated your limits, these will be adhered to strictly, you have received a safe word in case of emergency. However beyond these, you are expected to comply without reservation.You will travel to the address enclosed by taxi. You may wear what you wish, new clothing will be provided. Do not bring a phone. Inside the envelope is a symbol of our agreement. You will wear it from this moment forth. Arrive for 6pm.”
You tore open the second envelope, even as it rattled in your hand. A black, narrow but broad collar with a brass buckle lay inside. At its centre, a small, tinkling bell. You stared at it for a second, unsure. You knew it was wrong. You almost surprised yourself as you slipped it around your throat. Catching sight of yourself in the mirror as you called the taxi, you felt a little spike of adrenaline. Maybe a twinge of something else.
The house was exactly as you expected. There were many rooms, but few seemed to be in use. Your instructions were comprehensive. You were to cook, clean, and wash. Then retire to your attic room, where you would remain until the next morning.
The anxiety had grown to a fever pitch as you paced around the rooms, looking for another person. Soon you realised that the house was empty. The instructions that lay on your bed explained more. You would be in your room while others were present. Your bedroom would not open until the house was empty, and would close when the Master returned.
The first night was quiet. You began to relax. The tasks were simple, and a welcome break from the complexities of your real life. Soon you began to enjoy the tinkling of your little bell as you went about the house, setting things right, putting things as they should be. Everything it it’s place. You wondered if you were doing the same thing to yourself.
At night, in your room you couldn’t help but listen, through the walls, through the floor. You tried to focus on the books you had brought, but every so often the muffled voice of another made it to you. Was it a guest? Was it the Master?
The simple dresses and underwear laid outside your room began to change as the days went on. They got a little shorter… a little tighter. Then the lingerie appeared. You began to remember what you had agreed to… and the anxiety began to return… or was it excitement?
Before changing the Master’s sheets in the mornings you had begun to look through his things, then had taken to lying in his bed. The fresh smell of his body. You wondered incessantly what he was like.
Some days he left notes on top of your folded clothes. They began as further instructions, but occasionally praise. The first time you were told what a good girl you were being, something awakened in you. Laying in his bed that morning with your dress thrown on the floor, face buried in his pillow you couldn’t help it, slipping your fingers inside the dark, lace panties he had provided, pleasuring yourself until you climaxed.
You began to write back, at first thanking him for the opportunity you had been given, and the praise you had received. He said he was pleased with you, and that you were being such a good girl. Initially you were hesitant, but soon began to gush in the notes. How you were so happy to please him. How you were grateful for the tasks.
But that you needed more. That your body hungered for *more*. For the ultimate act of submission.
For a day there was no reply. You worried, afraid you had pushed the envelope too far.Then it came. You were to attend dinner that night.
———————–
It had finally come, the day you would meet the Master. You had the same feeling as in the beginning, when you’d eagerly signed, then the worry crept in. That you’d bitten off more than you could chew.
You thought about those notes you had written him. What you had said. How you admitted to pleasuring yourself in his bed, and what you were prepared to do next. How could you have been so stupid? What if this man is nothing like you imagined?
Your daily package of clothing was waiting outside the door. It was wrapped, this time. You chose not to look inside until you were finished your tasks for the day. Time seemed to stretch out, and compress at once. You knew every tick of the house’s many clocks brought you closer to the dilemma you were churning over in your mind already. Every tick reminded you of that final scratch of the pen, as you signed the contract.
You could have left. That was permitted. And half the money was yours already. That was so much more than you could have made in this time, at a normal job. No, the money wasn’t holding you back.
And yet…
When the hour grew close, you stood in your attic room, fresh from the shower looking down at the package. Inside a pair of sleek, black heels. A sheer, close fitting evening dress. And… nothing.
You put it on.
In many ways he defied your expectations. He was younger than you thought, and had the appearance of an “ordinary man” – to an extent. He wore a pair of navy suit pants, a simple belt and a light blue shirt, open at the collar. The shirt fit close enough that you could tell he took care of his body… but revealed little else.
Over dinner he asked many questions, and smiled at your answers. About your life, your passions. Your nerves were smoothed by the simple, good-natured talk. But never quite extinguished. He complimented your cooking, and your appearance. The warmth you felt inside at these words came with a prickle of shame.
As the dinner drew to a close, he turned to you with a smirk.
“You can clean up now”.
You were taken aback. The warmth of the conversation had given way to a command. The sting of the abrupt change felt like a whip. You cast your eyes downwards, and began gathering the cutlery. You felt his eyes burning into you as you worked.
As you began to dry, you felt his presence behind you.
“Why are you here?”
“I- I needed the money”
“Are you sure? Lots of people need money but… not enough to do this…”
“I-”
“No”, he interrupted, “I think you’re here for another reason. You can’t tell me that it didn’t appeal to you…”
“Well…”
“To hand yourself over, to submit?”
“…yes.”
“You knew what you were doing. The money is important, but only as a symbol. You fantasise about it, don’t you. About a strong man, coming to take care of you. Protecting you from your problems. Making you feel like they don’t matter.”
“Yes, sir.”
His hands were wrapped around your waist, his voice coming to you now as a whisper, directly into your ear.
“And all you have to do in return… is be the perfect little whore”
“Yes Daddy”, you moaned, then instantly flushed with embarrassment.He took your hand and led you into another room. Your heels clicked on the hard wood, every step reminded you of how you had put them on, just for him. You felt warm inside.He led you to a cushion on the floor. Standing, with it between you, you felt a strange sense of ritual. You smoothed the material of your black dress, conscious of how he had chosen it for you.
“Do you feel safe?”
“Yes, sir”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes, sir”
“Then kneel.”
You did it, without thinking, without hesitation. After a day of doubt, certainty had come. Without instruction, you slid your hands behind your back, closed your eyes, and opened your mouth. You felt like his desires no longer needed to be spoken. Was this how it felt to be a priestess in ancient times?
Your thoughts were interrupted by the thing you had been dreaming of for so long. It parted your lips, forcing you to open wider. The warmth began to spread across them.
As it made its way across your tongue you became aware of the taste, and your mouth began to fill with saliva. The smooth head, giving way to ridges.The sensations were overwhelming, touch, taste, smell. You felt the pressure building, his hand resting on your head, blessing you. You finally relented, relaxed, and gave up your throat, sliding it all the way down until your nose pressed tight against his body.
He held it.
our lungs burned.
Just when you felt it could go on no longer he drew back, and you gasped. The air tasted sweeter than any breath you had ever taken.
You caught sight of yourself in a mirror. Kneeling. The mascara you had so carefully applied earlier now cascading down your cheeks in black tears, mixing with the saliva dripping from your chin. Your cheeks reddened with shame.
He knelt down and brushed aside your hair with genuine affection.
“You’re doing so well” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead.
The shame melted away. Wordlessly, you opened your mouth again. You were ready. He filled your throat. Again. And again. And again. Each time you felt more prepared, more relaxed. The pace began to increase. Soon he was simply fucking your mouth. Using it. And you gave it to him. And soon you would get your reward.
He didn’t pull out to orgasm, simply slowed down. The first pulse filled your mouth, coating your tongue. Then he thrust again, pumping it down your throat. Stroke after stroke his cum slid down inside you.He stood back, and smoothed your hair.
“You belong to me now”, he said with a smile, and you returned it. “I will see you tomorrow.”
When you returned to your room that night, before your shower you laid in your bed, still filthy, face still covered in caked tears and pre-cum, and rubbed yourself to ecstasy.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/ydd18u/owned_mf_ds_2040
!updateme please!
!updateme