The Professional: Master for Hire

Chapter One-2

‘You want me to let you come today, little girl?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir. If you please, sir.’

‘I need to be sure that you are obedient,’ he said. ‘Only very good little girls get to come. Ones who do as they are told.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Megan said.

‘Are you going to do as you are told?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she repeated.

‘Touch your breasts for me. Make the n*****s come up hard.’

She blushed as her hands went to her breasts, caressing them, then pinching the n*****s till they stood up proud.

‘Go to the kitchen and get two clothes pegs,’ he ordered.

She came back with the pegs, her small neat breasts sharp at the tips, her n*****s still erect. She knew what was coming.

‘Put the pegs on your n*****s, sideways on,’ Marcus said.

She squeezed the little wooden jaws apart and carefully pushed them onto her tight brown n*****s. He saw her wince as she let go.

‘Does that hurt?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

He knew it did. He’d tried it on himself. He thought he ought to have some idea of what he was putting her through.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘It’s meant to.’

He sat and watched her in silence for a while. He imagined the pain she was feeling, the pegs biting cruelly into the soft skin.

‘Is the pain getting worse?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she answered, so softly he could hardly hear.

‘Take off your skirt,’ he said.

She stood up. He saw her wince again; the movement made the pegs hurt more. She removed her skirt then sat down again, now wearing only her white cotton knickers.

‘Put your hand between your legs, inside your knickers,’ he said.

She did as he said.

‘Now put a finger inside yourself and tell me if you are wet.’

He saw that she was blushing again.

‘Yes, sir, I am wet,’ she said after a moment. It didn’t take long for her juices to begin to flow. It excited him that she was so easily aroused.

‘Show me,’ he said.

She took out her finger and raised it to the camera. He could see that it was glistening.

‘Take your knickers off,’ he said.

She stood up, pulled them down over her hips and stepped out of them. Then she sat down again.

‘Open your legs,’ he said. ‘Show me your cunt.’

He knew the word embarrassed her. And he knew she wanted him to make her do things she was ashamed of. She opened her legs wide.

‘Now pull apart the lips of your cunt, so I can see it properly,’ he said.

Her face coloured as she did so. He stared at the pink flesh between her labia, like coral; or like some exotic sea creature.

‘Do you want to take the pegs off?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

‘Ask me nicely.’

‘Please sir, I humbly ask if I may take the pegs off.’

‘Soon,’ he said. ‘Not yet. Now touch your clit and tell me how it feels.’

Slowly she circled her clit with her finger.

‘Sir, it feels a bit swollen. And it is wanting.’

‘And why is that?’

‘I don’t know sir. It just is.’

‘I’ll tell you why,’ he said. ‘It’s because you are a little slut. You’re a horny little tramp who thinks about s*x all day. Now tell me, what are you?

She hesitated before speaking. ‘I’m a little slut, sir.’

‘You pretend to be a good little girl, butter won’t melt in your mouth, but I know better, don’t I?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You want to jerk off while I watch you, don’t you?’

Again she hesitated. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said at length.

He paused, looking at her, still with her finger on her clit.

‘Take the pegs off,’ he said.

Gingerly she removed them, gasping as she took the pegs away. He could see how the skin around the n*****s was white at first, then almost immediately grew red as the blood rushed in.

‘I’m going to sit here and watch while you show me what a dirty little girl you are,’ he said. ‘But don’t come till I tell you.’

‘No, sir.’

He told her to stroke her clit. As she did so he talked to her, describing a fantasy in which she was naked except for a leather collar round her neck, to which was attached to a chain. He told her how he was going to take her into a room full of a dozen men and lead her round and show her to each man in turn, letting them inspect her, feel her breasts, put their hand between her legs. And then, he said, I’ll take you round to each one on your knees and you’ll have to fellate them. You’ll have to suck each one till he comes in your mouth, and then we’ll move on to the next one. And perhaps I’ll let one of them f**k you from the rear, doggy fashion, while you’re sucking c**k.

All the while he described the fantasy to her, he watched her. They’d done this several times before and he knew the signs when she was near to orgasm. He told her a bit more of what these men would do to her, then asked her if she was ready to come.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘If you please.’

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Slow down.’

He spoke to her some more, of how if she did not please these men she’d be whipped, and he could see she was very near now, even though her hand was moving slowly.

‘Come for me,’ he said. ‘Come now, like a little slut.’

Her eyes closed and her head went back. He saw her hips tremble and her thighs clench around her hand. Then she was still.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘I am pleased with you.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, and smiled.

He kept her naked for a while longer. Now was the time of intimacy, when they could speak freely and easily of her needs, of her pleasures. They discussed a subject that had cropped up more than once, whether they might ever meet in the flesh. In principle he was willing, and she was eager, but the logistics were difficult. There was a possibility her husband might go to on business, and a chance she might accompany him. But that was several months away.

Before they parted, Marcus let her get dressed, then ordered her to come once more, this time with her vibrator pushed up under her skirt. Then it was time to go.

‘I’ll send further instructions,’ he said. ‘Be good.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘Kiss, kiss.’

Marcus closed down his computer and went to bed. He tried reading his book for a while, but images of Megan, naked, her legs splayed while she fingered herself, would not go away. Marcus began to rub his c**k slowly. It didn’t take him long to come.

Afterwards he felt, as he sometimes did at such moments, a little sad. Is this your life now, he thought? Talking dirty to girls but never touching them, never getting close to them? And then solitary m**********n, just so he could get to sleep? He lay in the dark for an hour, musing over his past life. He still missed Jacqueline, his wife. It was the companionship, the affection that he missed, not the s*x. He’d known for some time before she died that his s****l desire for her was waning. He tried to hide it from her, but in the nature of things it was difficult. A man could not pretend a lust he did not feel. The problem was in him, not in her. He had become more and more interested in the s****l psychology of domination and submission. Increasingly it was the thought of exerting power over a woman that aroused him. But Jacqueline had no interest in such things. She was a sweet affectionate girl who enjoyed s*x but who didn’t have an ounce of kink in her body. Or rather, in her mind. Once or twice he’d tentatively tried to spank her. But it had been a disaster. He could tell she allowed him because she loved him, but it was all too obvious that she felt degraded by the experience. He hated to see what it did to her, and he abandoned the experiment.

But when she died, after a short but shocking illness, he resolved to explore the side of himself he had hitherto kept in check. For several weeks he could do nothing but grieve, but then he met a woman through his work. Something had clicked between them, and even during the first s****l encounter, he was sure that they were on the same wavelength. The second time they went to bed, on an impulse he turned her over and began to spank her bare bottom. At first she protested, but he persisted, and she soon stopped wriggling. She began to make little moaning noises, from which he took encouragement, and by the time he let her go, her bottom was bright red. He f****d her hard, almost violently, in a frenzy of lust.

Despite their s****l compatibility, they did not have much in common on a personal level and the relationship petered out after a few weeks. But Marcus now, for the first time in his life, knew exactly what he wanted from s*x, and had the freedom to go after it. He plunged into a whirlpool of erotic activity, setting up encounters with a dozen or more women during the following three months. Mostly he met them on the internet. They weren’t hard to find. It surprised him how many women there were out there who hungered after submission. He discovered scores of blogs in which women lamented that the men they were involved with had no understanding of their deepest needs. He read their accounts of how they attempted to lead their men on, tried to explain to them that their fondest wish was to be put across a man’s knee or sent to kneel in the corner until it was time for a whipping. After repeated attempts at persuading a reluctant partner, most of these women had been forced into the painful realisation that if a man did not have the urge to be sexually dominant, then no amount of pleading or cajoling would induce the exercise of the power and authority which they craved to submit to.

And so Marcus made contact with some of these women, and found that he not only had a taste for giving them what they wanted, but that he had a talent for it too. It seemed to come naturally to him to adopt just the tone of voice that set their knees trembling, that made their hearts beat faster and their breath come shorter. He knew it was only a game, but what an exciting game it was! The surge of s****l excitement he got when he ordered a woman to her knees, or forced her to show herself naked to him, or admit to some imaginary offence so he might have the satisfaction of punishing her, was of an intensity he had never known before. With many of these women, he felt that he had an instinctive sense of how their minds worked, or at least the s****l part. He knew just what to say to them so that they were powerless to resist his commands. He knew just when to force them, against an apparent show of resistance, or when to alternate cruelty with kindness. He seemed to sense when they were getting close to the limits of what they could endure, and he seemed to know just when to stop, at the very last moment, but not before. For if he ceased too soon, if the whipping was not hard enough, if the abasement was not sufficiently humiliating, they would invariably be disappointed.

Of course there were dangers, and he soon learned how to recognise them. He found that he could induce a kind of trance in many women, a state of mind he learned to call subspace, a condition almost like hypnosis, in which the submissive would feel pain as pleasure, would lose all sense of herself as an independent-minded adult and seek only to be his creature, at his service. And in that state they were vulnerable. He learned to care for them, to treat such conditions with respect, even awe, and never ever take advantage.

One day, after a long and particularly rewarding session with one woman, she told him that she had had many such experiences with men, but none so satisfying as with him. Marcus was pleased by her praise.

‘You’re so good,’ she said, ‘you ought to do it for a living. I feel greedy keeping you all to myself.’