BDSM Erotica
"The Meaning of Words" a sex story by Marina de Luca
His cock in her mouth is everything.
She's never called him by his first name. Only "Master."
"Yes, Master." Is what she says.
At night, when she comes home to her cramped little apartment that she never moved out of after passing the bar, she finds a message on her voicemail telling her to page him and confirm a 9pm visit.
He always comes to her.
She always comes. Again, and again. On her knees, in front of him. On her knees, claimed by him. On her knees, worshipping him.
Ever since that first night.
She knew what she was doing, back then. Trying something new. Something she'd always fantasized about. Dominance. Submission. Or, if you want to get all psychoanalytical, working through some issues, maybe, about control and the lack thereof. Perhaps just shopping for a father figure.
He fucked her in the ass on their third night together. No one had ever done that before. She was virgin territory to him, for all her years of sophisticated lovers. His new girl. Waiting to be molded into his pet.
"You will obey me," he told her that first night. "You have no power, here." His voice was gentle. Firm. Expecting her to respond.
"Yes, Master." Saying the words out loud that first time caused a chill to go down her back.
It's a thrill she still can't name, still doesn't understand.
"Good girl," he called her, that first night, after she came back to the restaurant booth and stood in front of him, with her panties wadded up in her purse, the shape of nipple clamps hidden by her blazer. She wanted suddenly, in that first rush of the unnameable, to kneel under the table in front of him, to take this man's cock into her mouth as he drank wine, ate his shrimp cocktail, flirted with the waitress. Wanted suddenly to be on display, as his good girl. The desire hit like gravity, surprising, devastating, making her knees buckle, but he was there to catch her, drawing her down into her seat.
She kneels now, knees wide apart, and he permits her to open his pants and draw out a firm, stocky cock. It matches his firm, stocky, body. She looks up at his face. He is in control. She doesn't have to be.
A spasm of the indescribable rolls through her. She doesn't have to be anything. At all. Except his good girl. His obedient girl. For a moment she just leans her head against his thigh.
"Suck it, pet," he says, after she rolls the condom down over it.
"Yes, Master."
They have the safest of sex. No fluids exchanged at all. Only trust.
He whipped her with a riding crop on their second night, and she came, screaming into the gag, came so hard she actually wondered later how a woman could go through life after an orgasm like that. The memory of it had her twitching, randomly, helplessly, seated in front of her computer in the public defender's office. Had her twitching, randomly, helplessly, riding in the elevator to the 17th floor of the courthouse building.
Weeks after they met she interviewed an inmate with hands like Master's. Firm and sure, calm on the table between them. For one second she was hit by a surge so strong she was sure she'd leave a wet spot on her seat, afraid she'd fall to the floor of the county jail, shuddering, burning alive.
That night, she'd come home and there was no message from him. She'd crouched on the bed at midnight, unable to sleep, rubbing herself furiously until she came, thinking of him, thinking of his hand on her head. Then again in the shower the next morning.
After their first night he left a message on her cellphone telling her to masturbate at work. For a whole three seconds she was shocked. And then she just felt abject desire, a warm pulse between her legs.
She did it, and he quizzed her about it the next time they met, as he was tying her to the bed, making her ready to be flogged.
"Did anyone come in?"
"Right after I finished, Master." She'd stood in the stall in the ladies room, wanting to kneel but afraid of being seen, hearing his voice in her head telling her to expose herself to him, as she touched herself through her nylons.
The orgasm had roared through her, silently, blocking out everything else, at the thought of being naked in that stall, pushed up against the cold ceramic tile wall, fucked by him.
Panting, wobbling on her feet, she'd heard the door open and someone come in to wash their hands.
"What did you do?" He'd asked her.
"I came out of the stall and waited to wash my own hands." And prayed she wasn't flushed from what she'd just done. Prayed they couldn't smell it on her.
Excited to have gotten away with it.
Just before he put the gag in her mouth, he touched her lips with his fingers. "My good girl."
Her cunt convulsed at the words. All of her shook at those words.
Now she draws his cock deep into her throat, kneeling, open to him in every way she can possibly imagine. Knees apart, one hand cupping his balls, jaw relaxed. She's learned a little of what Master likes, so she keeps it deep, and then pulls back and gets a firm grip with her other hand.
That very first night, he'd lifted her skirt in the parking garage, leaning her over the trunk of his car, after telling her to not look around. "If I want to show your ass to everyone here, then I will show it to everyone here." Slapped her on the right buttcheek, just once. Lightly, his hand touching her bare flesh for the first time.
"Yes, Master," she'd whispered, trembling, legs spread. Terrified. Excited. Wanting to be discovered, to be seen obeying him. Afraid of what would happen if they were.
He'd made her pull up her skirt as she sat in his car, bare skin touching the seat as they drove to her place. At the stop light, he told her to open her legs, then reached over and felt exactly how wet she really was, digging one finger into her to the knuckle.
She sucked it as they drove. Then answered every question he asked. Had she ever been cuffed, blindfolded?
"No, Master." The words meant something as she said them. Master. Mastering me. Words have meaning, she thought, wonderingly.
Had she ever been fucked in the ass? Been with a woman?
He played with her clitoris, driving one-handed, telling her to arch up, lean the seat back, tilt her hips, open to him, yes, yes, wider, wider, come for me now, are you coming? At his command, under his fingers, in full view of anyone who might be looking into his car, she came for the first time that evening.
"Good girl," he'd said, patting her gently as she puddled back in the seat. And something like orgasm, and unlike, swept through her body and made her shudder.
Words. So much more.
That night he took her as he took her mouth, possessed her as he claimed her cunt as his, touching her deep inside in a way no mere lover ever had.
#
Tonight. On her knees. Nipples clamped and aching. Mouth working. Breathing in the scent of him, of his clothing. Of Master.
"You like sucking your Master's cock, don't you, pet." It's not a question, not really.
"Yes, Master," is what she says, drawing him all the way into her and holding him there, his hand fitting the back of her neck.
I love you, is what it means.
Originally published May 2007 - "Mmm"