Her Master's Slut

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Peg Leg, Louis Crane, hobbled toward the opened door. He was a jackleg man, a man of low esteem, a man with beady eyes, a broad nose, eyebrows that shaded his face, a tumor shaped belly with a protruding button that poked out his tee shirt as he moved, and a wooden leg.

Crain crabbed to her side; “Well, I’m damned. Aren’t you a sight for tired eyes?” He stretched out a hand for tit weighing, “got any money?”

Robin’s mind swirled. She had to get this over with, drive this asshole anywhere he wanted to go, and then closet herself in her office, “In my purse, sir.” She pointed toward the hall stand and made an impromptu glance at a picture of what used to be her upper class happy family.

“Crawl and get me a hundred, I promised the driver a tip. Take it to him on your hands and knees and let him have a feel.”

Robin watched his eyes rock and felt her knees move as he came inside, “Yes, Sir.”

Robin’s cunt moistened. She deserved whatever happened and wondered why humiliation was so exciting and important to her. As if she were a Zombie, she retrieved the money and crawled out to the waiting cab. She let the driver feel her t**s; felt his scorn and crawled back inside as if dragging the early morning chill along with each stride of her knees. “Stupid slut,” she told herself.

“So, Slut54, this is the way it goes.” Peg Leg slammed the door. He yanked her hair to elevate her head and added a nice big wet tongue lash across the face. “First, you help me undress. Then you draw us a nice hot bath while I remove my wooden leg. You will add a splash of bathing bubbles for my pleasure. We wash. I wash your cunt. You clean my c**k. I’ve got me a nice big fat c**k. No trouble getting hard... you’ll see. Second, you get on top... f**k me real good. We do the old sixty-nine routine. You munch my nuts below the suds, and I’ll run my tongue up your snatch above the bubbles. Third, we adjourn to your husband’s bed. You rim my asshole, and we f**k like monkeys. Are ya with me so far, slut?”

Robin’s heart pounded like a Jazz band’s bass drum; she could feel her eyes tremble, her betraying hormones tapping between her legs only adding spice to her already heightened anxiety. She could not imagine what this ugly one leg man and his lopsided grin would do to her. “Yes sir, I understand,” she croaked.

“Good, Mrs. Miranda...” He pushed her towards the stairs and slapped her hard on the ass. “Ever f**k a stump?” He asked.