Her Master's Slut

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Sun bathed Shawn’s second floor efficiency apartment with afternoon light and required attention. A torn window shade hung at an angle. The wrinkled sheets on the trundle bed stared Robin in the face, food caked dishes collected in clumps around a porcelain sink like itinerant vagabonds, and body odor invaded the air. After drinking three beers Robin considered it paradise. She swooned. Shawn’s intensity had elevated her hunger to a ridiculous level of yearning.

She radiated as he kissed her and her body seemed to expand to twice its normal size as he yanked aside her blouse, disassembled her bra, and fondled her breasts. He unsnapped her Levis, pushed them down and plunged his fingers inside her panties. “Dance for me Slut,” he ordered when she was naked.

If she could have forced her legs to move, she would have run. She had a husband and a teen-age son who would be unforgiving of betrayal; she was president of a successful string of liquor stores, and Shawn was an authoritative creep. “We should shower first,” she defended.

“We will shower later. You dance and I’ll prepare a dessert for you.” He unbuckled his belt. “You dance, don’t you, Slut?”

“Not well…”

Shawn drew out the black leather, folded the ends and slapped it across his palm. “Work at it or maybe I’ll whip your ass first… teach you a few new steps.” He pitched his shirt on the floor; shimmied from his blue jeans without removing his socks and turned on her. “I don’t like to wait; the sooner you dance the earlier you get fucked.”

The tent inside his jockey shorts left her breathless. If the bulge were and indicator, she had never seen a bigger c**k in her life. She swayed. “Whip me…?”

“Sure… your ass, and your t**s; maybe your cunt, and then I’ll fill your belly with sperm and then I’ll f**k you until you can’t take anymore, and then use your ass until you pass out. Bend over the bed.”

What an egotistical bastard he is, Robin thought, yet within her chest her heart was palpitating with anticipation, and the humiliation pulsing inside her flesh made her body shudder. She had never been whipped, and she wasn’t sure she could stand it. “Really, Shawn,” she groaned, “I’m not that kind of woman.”

“Call me Sir, slut. Sluts respect their masters.”

She reached for her panties. “I’ve had enough of this—you’re not my master.”

“So you say.” He forced her face onto the mattress and swung the belt.

She screamed.

He swung again.

She cried.

He rolled her over and belted her t**s.

She wailed.

He directed fire to her p***y. “Ask to suck my c**k, b***h. Say, Sir, may this slut suck your cock.”

“I can’t take anymore.”

“Ask!” He struck her again.

“Oh my god,” she pleaded, her child passage trying to stay calm while her body shivered like swamp grass, and her p***y leaked slime like a two dollar w***e. Her t**s sported n*****s as hard as overcooked sweet meats. “Please, Sir,” she begged, “may this slut suck your cock.”

“Get on your knees.”