beauty, dominance, lust, short fiction, women

Sir v2.0 To Receive

You sleep that night with an ease that normally comes from a prescription. The following morning, in the shower, you catch a glimpse of the bruising on your buttocks and smile to yourself, badges of your courage and surrender that make you tingle with a set of emotions that resist analysis. A few days pass, you are allowed to access the well-stocked library; the meals are served in a communal hall and you notice that Inge and your roommates all bear the mark of instruction.

‘Who did you get?’ Inge asks you.

You describe the guard with the brown eyes, and when you accidentally refer to him as ‘Daddy.’ they all smile at you and shake their heads.

‘I’ve not seen Sir at all.’ Penny says.

You focus on your food, but your thoughts are already wondering when you will be selected again.

By whom, is a hope you already hold of yourself, unwilling to offer it the oxygen of debate.

You are trying to be a good girl after all.

Your name is called over the intercom to report to Room 8 this time. You get out of bed, pad to the shower where you wash with a vigour and care that make you feel especially girlish. There are clothes set on a hanger, a long blue skirt, a camisole top and a blue cardigan that you put on with bemusement and curiosity. The lights flash to mark your path and you enter the room with a press of your palm.

The room is set up like an office. A desk is set against the left-hand wall and a voice comes over the intercom. There is a closed door against the far wall. On the desk sits an LCD flat monitor and a keyboard with a mouse. In the corner across from you is a sink and a black marble worktop with a coffeemaker and a white porcelain jar marked SUGAR and a small dispenser of cinnamon.

‘Please sit down. You will be carrying out some administrative tasks today and expectations are high for their accuracy. There will be consequences for failure to follow instructions.’

Your stomach lurches with disappointment. Your imagination had taunted you with more time with the brown eyed Daddy but you go over to the desk and sit down. The monitor switches on and you see a row of icons across the top. One of them has PLEASE CLICK HERE and you move the arrow over it.

‘Well, this isn’t fun at all.’ you say.

Then you wonder if anyone is listening. You bite your lower lip and play along.

You have letters to type up and send as attachments. Three in total. You see, a timer start in the lower right-hand corner and you frown before looking around.

‘I have a time limit for this?’

You take a deep breath and play along. A small voice in your head whispers that this is part of the game and so you put some effort into the work. You manage the first two letters and half of the third before the timer counts down to zero.

‘Would you please prepare a cup of coffee and walk it to the door?’ the intercom announces.

You get up from the chair and walk over. You make a fresh pot and look at the sugar container and the cinnamon. You decided to risk a spoonful in the black ceramic mug and stir it with a dash of cinnamon. You cup it in your hands and walk then open it.

The room is larger than where you have been. The floor is polished and varnished wood, and the walls are decorated with ivory paint, with a large bay window that looks out onto woodland. At the far end is a large oak desk. The lights overhead are recessed, lending a soft aura to everything and you have to narrow your eyes to see who sits behind it.

His brown eyes gleam with anticipation as you walk towards him.

2.

Your breath catches in your lungs but you hide your excitement as you set the cup on the desk in front of him. His mouth is set in a firm, tight line and he still has the stubble from the last time you encountered him. He wears a white shirt with a black tie as he types something into the computer before him.

‘I took the liberty of reviewing your letters before you sent them.’ he says.

His voice is firm and you tingle at the authority he displays, the hint of displeasure sets sparks in your imagination as you feel your nipples harden through the material of your top.

‘I did as well as I could in the time allowed.’ you say.

He looks up, gazing into your eyes and taking in a deep breath before pushing his chair back and shaking his head.

‘No, this won’t do at all. Come here.’

You walk around the desk and stand at his left. He points at the screen, the red wavy lines stand out like scars and he looks up at you with a hard, knowing stare.

‘Its sloppy work and I demand better of you, little girl.’

Your heart races. His tone is cold and mean, but you press your thighs together as you grow damp with excitement.

He gestures to his lap, his thick thighs and the black tailored trousers that he wears so well.

‘You need to lean across my lap, so we can address this, don’t you?’

You bite your bottom lip and shake your head in bratty defiance. He stands up and reaches out, pulling the hair at the back of your head and staring into your eyes. The hot sting of where his fingers pull makes your eyes damp. You go to pull away but he clenches his fist and shakes his head. He sits down and pulls you with him. His other hand goes to the small of your back and starts to tug your skirt upwards. He forces the material up and you feel the warm air against the skin of your thighs. You are laid prostrate across his lap, with his hand on the back of your head.

He leans forward and whispers into your ear. It sends a shudder of ambrosial delight down your spine.
‘Check in?’

‘Green.’ you say. You gasp it.

He sits back.

‘Now, I am going to have to punish you for this, then you will have another opportunity to make amends, won’t you?’

You suck in a deep breath, testing his will with your silence. He chuckles and you feel his fingers in the waistband of your panties, tugging them down to your knees with a slow, deliberate care. He brings the palm of his hand down hard against the curve of your ass and the sting travels through you with the first contact.

‘Now, having to do this, little girl, is for your own good, do you understand?’

You nod, wondering if speaking would invite more punishment and a devious, naughty curiosity whispered the possibility to me. The attention and affirmation held a powerful appeal.

He spanks you again and you feel the warmth of the blow ease through you. The cleansing pain and the warm tide of endorphins, the partial nakedness and the formality of the professional setting align to suffuse you with the fulfilment of your desires.
He tugs your panties up and pushes you to your feet. He smoothes down your skirt and looks at you.

‘Now, I want these letters done again and this time, you’re to do them properly, little girl. Do you understand?’

You nod and struggle against the intoxicating wave of arousal that soaks you beneath it.

You leave him sat behind his desk, fighting against the urge to look back and test him. To crack that control and experience something unhinged and authentic. Your buttocks sting with each step and you sit down at the desk before you collapse.

3.

The chair makes you wince when you sit down. Your fingers are shaking too hard to type, but you open up the folder and start to write the letter again. You manage two sentences before the intercom crackles.

‘Little girl, come in here now.’

You look towards the door as anticipation flares in your chest and you get up, eager for his authority with a compulsion that is liberation itself. Your legs are hollow and barely keep you upright but you make it through the door.

He raises his right hand. You shut the door behind you and look at him across the room.

‘Take off your panties and get on your knees.’

You maintain eye contact as you slide them down your thighs and step out of them. They are warm in your hand and you pull your skirt up as you get onto your knees. The hardwood floor bites into them and you swallow, your mouth flooded with the adrenaline of the moment.

‘Put them in your mouth and crawl to the desk. Do not look away.’

You place them between your teeth and pad over to them. The motion, the action is utter primacy and your breath is hot and slow, thickening with each breath and it feels an eternity before you reach the desk. You crane your head to look up but he does not move.

‘How do I like my coffee?’

You frown and raise up but he tells you to get back on all fours.

‘Because there is sugar in this. I don’t take sugar, little girl, do I?’
You shake your head and he sighs before he tells you to crawl around the desk and onto his lap.

He is specific that you keep the panties in your mouth.

He has the chair pulled back from the desk and you start to move your upper body onto his thighs before he points to the drawer to your right.

‘Open it. This is going to require some additional motivation for you.’

You open the drawer and see two items. A small glass plug, flared at the base and reflecting the velvet that it sits upon and a white jar with the lid screwed on. He tells you to get them out and pass them to him.

You whimper as he takes the plug, opens the jar and scoops up a glistening dollop of oil. The faint, clean sweetness of coconut oil reaches your nostrils. The material of your panties is sodden with your saliva and you squeeze your thighs together.

He tells you to get onto his lap. His voice is thick and dark with power.

You remain still as he uses the fingers of his left hand to pull your buttocks apart. You cry at the first application of the oil, warm and slick against your tender, tingling anus. He massages it in with slow, deliberate motions. You feel his erection against your stomach, implacable and urgent as his breathing deepens. You sigh through the gag he’s made of your panties.

‘Check in?’

You mumble green light, stripped of vowels as you crane your head to look at him.

‘Now, take this like a good little girl. Breathe out hard and push.’

The insertion is a careful gesture, deliberate and practiced as the rush of tingling, excited fullness insinuates itself up your spine. It lasts an eternity and when he removes his hand, you clench against the plug and sag forward.

He spanks you hard on each buttock. The plug adds a new layer of sensation, amplifying the pain with the delicious shock of taboo, the exposure and the understanding that he demonstrates in action rather than word. You lose count of the blows, each one overwhelms you and you cry out hard through the gag.

He pushes your thighs apart and you feel the flat sting of his fingers against your pussy. A cracking, sudden blow that makes your eyes roll back in your head and buckle against the punishment. He strokes your hair and tells you what a good girl you are. You whimper through the gag and he spanks you between your legs again.
He hooks the material from your mouth and tosses the sodden wad to the floor.

‘Now, after each of these, you’re to say thank you Daddy. Do you understand, little girl?’

You nod, eager to participate, eager to surrender and prove that you can take what he has to give. You are empowered, free to give up your self to his authority and the stinging, shining attention of his will.

His hand comes down hard.

Thank you, daddy.

The pain makes you melt, embedded in the riot of conflicting sensations that takes away your thoughts, your doubts.

Thank you daddy

His fingers come away soaking wet and he parts the swollen lips of your pussy, finds your swollen clit and squeezes it between his fingers, massaging it in a slow pulling motion that makes you cry out, losing the small portion of will and personality that is left. You clench hard, against the first tendril of the orgasm that is pooled within every vein and nerve ending.

He smacks you hard again and you raise your hips upwards. He pulls your hair and whispers for you to check in. You whisper green and he does something unexpected.

He kisses the top of your forehead and tells you what a good girl you are.

Then, he lifts you up and moves you so that your upper body is flat against the desk. He kicks the chair away and grabs your wrists in each hand, brings them to the small of your back and tells you to hold still.

‘This is my pussy, isn’t it, little girl?’

You place your cheek flat against the desk. You give a strangled cry, knowing that you cannot see him, but he is everywhere within you. Pinned down and with his thighs pressed against you, you hear the soft whip of his tie being removed and he slides them around your wrists. He ties your hands together in a firm loop.

You hear the rasp his fly being unzipped.

‘Please, Daddy, let me see your cock.’

Your voice sounds strangled, raw with need and he pulls you up by your hair with a firm tug. He forces you to your knees and you are level with his groin. He has a neat scrub of dark pubic hair and his cock is erect, uncut and jutting out at an upward angle. Guided by instinct, you rub it against your cheek, gasping with the resolution of your desire. He guides the head of it between your lips and you wrap your tongue around it, pushing the foreskin back until you feel the velvet pulse of the head against your lips. He pulls it out and lifts you back onto the desk. You are immobile, hearing the rustle of the condom packet being opened and then rolled on.

You arch your hips upwards to meet the head of his cock as he guides it between the swollen, palpating lips of your sodden cunt. Between the plug and the slow, inexorable thrust, you spasm and twist with the fullness of penetration.

He moves inside you with slow, hard thrusts. He reaches forward, resting his palm on the nape of your neck. He gives an uncontrolled grunt that makes you push back against him.

‘Do you want to come, little girl?’

You scream yes. The friction cuts through everything, ungluing you from everything but physical sensation and raw, ultimate fulfilment.

‘Whose pussy is this?’

‘Yours, daddy, its yours. Please can I come?’

He thrusts into you, teasing with the denial of his permission and the insistent force of his fuck. You raise your hips and urge him deeper inside you. He knows how to make it hurt good.

‘You want to come, huh, little girl?’

You scream your affirmation into the air, shuddering and gasping as he continues to deny you permission.

He is going to make you fail again, and that sets off a series of chain reactions, explosions of neural fireworks, nerve endings singing psalms to the primitive god of his dominance. You ask him again and he ignores you, laughing as you sob with the need for his permission.

He does not miss a stroke as he leans forward, pumping and punishing your cunt with the power of his sweet fury.

Yes, he whispers, you can come.

You buck hard enough that he holds you down against the desk. You cry out how good your pussy hurts, your hair plastered to your head with sweat as you scream your abandon with every fibre of your being. You feel him tense up inside you, and although the latex barrier denies you the liquid splash of his come inside you, you feel your insides suck up the pleasure of him into you with a greed that outstrips your will.

He unties you with shaking hands and pulls off the condom. He places a palm against the small of your back and tells you to breathe out as he removes the plug. He is efficient and gentle, handling you with an expert care like the animal he’s made of you. He turns you around and pulls you into his arms.

‘It’s okay, you’re safe, just breathe.’

You can feel his heartbeat through his chest and he strokes your hair as you clutch at him, weeping with the shocking force of the drop. His embrace does not alter in pressure and you let go, testing his desire and expertise with the raw, ugly force of your emotions. What comes to you as he holds you, stroking your face and reassuring you in breathy, careful commands is that there is no ugliness to your expression.

He wipes your eyes, smooths out your hair and perches you on the edge of the desk as he dresses and composes you. His smile is wide and gentle, asking you if you are okay and paying a tender attention that feels more intimate and personal than the hard, constricted fucking that he has just gifted you with.

‘The coffee was fine, by the way.’ he says.

You laugh, bringing your hand to your face to hide your expression but he takes it away.

‘Can I ask you something?’ you say.

He frowns and looks around before giving you a quick nod.

‘What’s your name?’

He smiles and shakes his head.

‘I’m Daddy, for now. You’ll have to earn that privilege, little girl.’

He kisses your forehead and strokes your hair.

‘You’re a good girl, and you’re going to earn that if you keep this up.’

He walks you back out of his office and there are two guards who escort you back to your dorm.

You look over your shoulder and he smiles at you with a nuance of emotion that stabs into you with the same force as his hands or his cock.

That night, you sleep like you’ve been drugged.

Which, as the final observation comes before you dive deep into exhausted silence, makes you wonder if you have been.

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One thought on “Sir v2.0 To Receive

  1. Pingback: M B Blissett: Weekend Omnibus. | MB Blissett

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