S – 14

Another weekend. Paul had texted on Thursday, suggesting they get together again. No surprise, of course, but Sam liked the idea and had replied with an affirmative smilie. Paul picked her up Saturday morning, and they drove for a few minutes. Paul didn’t tell her where they were going, and Samantha didn’t ask.

A few minutes on major thoroughfares, into a neighborhood Sam recognized vaguely, a few more minutes on twisting circular roads with identical-looking cheaply built suburban homes with too many dormers looking out onto well-kept lawns without enough trees, and then a driveway, and the engine stopped.

They got out, Samantha two paces behind Paul. He rang the doorbell, and a moment later the door opened. Sam recognized the young man. Tim? I think he’s Tim.

Tim was a little pudgy, not much, a bit sloppy in his dress. Sam remembered him as one of the “loser” seniors, too fond of video games and not comfortable in his own skin. Tim had been teased a lot, bullied a little. She did not recall him as one of Paul’s friends, but Paul got along with everyone. Even the losers.

“Tim’s got the house to himself this weekend.”

as they stepped inside. Ahhhh. I see.

“Tim, do you remember Samantha?”

Tim nodded, nervous, a little upset. He had not been expecting Paul to bring a girl, although he had obviously been expecting Paul.

“I. I thought we were going to play Warcraft?”
“We are, Tim, we are. Among other things. Come on over, you can touch her.”

Tim stepped forward, puzzled.

“It’s OK, she’s into it. Just, you know, put your hands on her. However you like.”

Tim touched her left breast, hesitant, trembling. Sam stood still, obedient, and let him stroke her, and then squeeze. Then the other one. Both hands.

“Unzip your jeans, Sam.”

She did. Tim’s breath came in a sudden gasping intake, and he hesitantly slid one hand down her belly, looking at Paul, looking at her. Nobody stopped him as he dipped his hand into her jeans, inside her panties. Tim had clearly never touched a girl like this.

His clumsy fingers found her cunt, painfully groping. He moaned a little as he felt her moisture. Samantha remained still, willing, a slow warmth of pleasure coming over her. Tim’s needs were obvious, she felt his painful lust in hot waves, and she knew that she would serve those needs, and then Paul, and it would be good.

After a few clumsy minutes that seemed to stretch on and on, Paul murmured quietly

“Why don’t you suck Tim’s cock, Sam.”

Tim rocked, Samantha thought he might faint. She gently pulled his frozen hand from her crotch, the faint scent of pussy on his fingertips, and knelt. In a moment, Tim’s throbbing cock was free, and she gently released him into her mouth. It only took  a moment, really.

Tim looked miserable until Samantha stood back up and caught his eye. A slight smile on her lips let him know that there was more where that came from. Tim was going to have more chances to last longer and to explore her. In the end, of course, it would be up to Paul, but Samantha knew perfectly well what his intentions were, and they suited her perfectly.

S – 13

After her weekend with Paul,  Samantha delicious on Monday morning. Warmed through. She’d served him all weekend, and it had felt very very right.

She handed her panties over as she stepped through the door or Mr. Pertras’s home, and started toward her tiny office. A staffer, one of the several imperturbable women of indeterminate age, intercepted her within in a few paces, and led her to the bare room in which she had given the older man a hand-job.

The bondage frame on which Quinn had taken her ass was there, or an identical one. The staffer left.

Samantha stood for a moment, and then stripped, folding her clothes neatly and setting them aside. Her impulse was validated in a few minutes when Pertras entered, and nodded quietly. Working together, they strapped her to the frame, she a little clumsy and unsure, he confident and brisk. In a minute or two Sam found her self again immobile, exposed, open, her anus and cunt up and available, her limbs firmly buckled to heavy wood. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

The swiftness, the implicit control, took her aback. Paul had been visibly trying over the weekend, exerting himself to command her. Pertras, and the well-oiled machinery of his household, were something quiet different. There was no effort, the commands were silent, implied, the assumption of obedience was complete. The whole mechanism seemed almost indifferent.

I’m just a sort of a thing, an object. To be used. I’m like a chair, only for fucking, not sitting.

The thought frightened her a little, and at the same time it felt right. Right in the same way as Paul’s order to suck his cock.

Sam was not gagged, so when Pertras touched her pussy, she moaned very very slightly. His fingers were remarkably expert, or perhaps she found the situation almost unbearably exciting. In seconds she was fully aroused, and at almost the same moment she heard and felt the buzz of a vibrator on her.

Somehow this was more intensely exposing them sex. Sam had never masturbated in front of a lover, except a few pro forma touches before getting thoroughly fucked, and certainly nobody had masturbated her. Knowing that Pertras was looking at her as he got her off was embarrassing, a violent flush of red from her face down her thighs, she felt. But still, that sense of rightness, of service. She was his, to do with as he pleased.

She did not take long to cum. She was loud, and strained violently, albeit uselessly, against the mass of the bondage frame as she orgasmed. Pertras seemed pleased, grunting a noise or two that seemed positive, through the quivering hot haze in her mind. And then, into her swollen, stimulated cunt, painfully violent in her tender flesh, his cock. His hands on her, gripping her tightly as he fucked her hard and fast.

Sam yelped and wailed, but managed to choke back the “no!” that filled her throat, and settled into a low, quiet, guttural groaning in time to his powerful thrusts.

She served, willing, helpless.

Pertras came, withdrew, and left; leaving her gaping, slick, covered in sweat, trembling, fulfilled.

S – 12

Samantha jogged from foot to foot. The evening was unseasonably cool, and she was quite underdressed. Short shorts, sandals, and a tank top were not keeping her warm enough, and so she jogged back and forth while she waited for Paul to answer the door to his parents house.

Paul had graduated last year and was taking some courses at the local community college before maybe heading to college in a year or two, living with his parents. In the basement, of course. This evening, though, his parents were out of town. In fact, for the whole weekend, so he had invited Sam over to watch a movie, maybe have some popcorn.

Of course, he wanted to fuck, not watch a movie. Sam kind of wanted to fuck too, and she’d make him pay for a movie too. She liked movies. And popcorn. And fucking.

Paul finally got to the door, and took in her scanty outfit appreciatively. She could tell that he was relieved to see that she had understood the unstated part about fucking. Paul was 19, and a generous lover, but no better at communication than any other 19 year old boy. He had a nice cock, biggish but not too much, cut. Jewish family.

Sam was in the mood for a rom-com, and Paul could not have cared less. Paul made some popcorn and she nestled close. He groped her as they watched, teasing her nipples, tugging up her top. She tugged it back down and mumbled about patience, as she was enjoying the film. Paul slid his hand up her thigh. Sam rather enjoyed the low-key make-out, Paul’s insistent attempts to get her “revved up” felt rather nice. They didn’t really accomplish their goal.

After she gave in to some kissing and nuzzling, Paul pulled back.

“What is up? You’re not in to it? But you don’t seem to want to stop.”

which was remarkably perceptive for Paul. Sam was a little puzzled herself, and mulled it over as the cute girl and the cute boy in the film met for the third time, and shared an awkward kiss on screen. What IS up? I totally want to fuck, but.. what’s wrong?

Oh.

Sam swallowed hard, and struggled to find an easy way to say it.

“Tell me what to do.”
“What?”
“I want you to… tell me. what to do.”
“Um, I think you know you way. Pretty well. You know? What?”

Ugh. This was hard.

“I mean that I want you to tell me, you know, what.. what you want. me. to do?”

Paul’s eyes widened as he started to understand. He swallowed hard as well, his mouth worked a little.

“Do you want to suck… ? No. No. Suck my… suck. My cock.”

And then he paused again, and stood. Really thinking about it, feeling his way. Paul’s eyes were locked on hers as he dropped his pants, underwear, stepped out. His cock, half-erect, bounced lightly as he turned himself fully to her, two short paces from the couch.

“Get on your knees. And suck my cock. Now.”

and he became fully erect, his cock’s meat straining at the fragile skin, a glisten starting at the head’s narrow opening.

Sam felt her body respond, a harsh rush of heat. Yessssssss as she slid to the carpet, knee-walked to him, and parted her lips.

S – 56

Ouch.

Sam crawled into bed, wincing slightly. She wriggled between the sleek, expensive sheets, and found a comfortable spot. Already drowsy, drifting, remembering the afternoon.

Tim’s large cock had been all she’d imagined. She’s stroked and sucked him off, swallowing his semen cleanly, tidily. Not a drop spilled, no “accidental” facial smears, no porn-star bubble blowing. A nice warm load, straight into her mouth, swallowed neatly.

After that, the other men had risen and taken her, lifting her up, carrying her to be bound. Bound, but not gagged, helplessly open and available; each of the men had fucked her roughly until semen leaked out of her and ran down her thighs. Each of the men had been quicker than usual, urgently needful. It was clear that watching her please Tim had aroused them tremendously.

Samantha had also been tremendously aroused by it, and disappointed that after he’d cum in her mouth he wouldn’t be using his tremendous organ on her himself. She found herself distracted, as her owners used her, wondering what it was going to be like when, inevitably, he took his weekly turn with her. What was his pleasure? How did he want her? How would he use his new property?

And then, to her surprise, there he was. She heard him behind her, laughing and talking with his consortium partners, and then unfamiliar fingers on her pussy. Large, strong fingers, she could feel but not see the dark skin of them sliding up into her, becoming slick with the other men’s sperm. Somerset seemed not to care at all that she was already filled. Perhaps he was indeed bisexual, not all the members of Sam’s consortium were so casual about the leavings of the other men.

Astonishingly she felt his mouth on her. In an instant she was suddenly certain that Tim swung both ways. She was sure someone else in her consortium did as well, now, and wondered who it was. God. To watch them suck one another off.. a violent resurgence of lust. She was sure her cunt must have swelled visibly, the sensation was so abrupt, so strong. She heard and felt Tim chuckle, he must know, somehow.

And then, and then he had fucked her with that big cock, fully erect again. He took his time, unlike all the others today, nailing her thoroughly, deeply, profoundly. It had hurt, to be stretched so roughly, to have her cervix hammered. It had hurt, and she had never wanted it to end, as she moaned her helpless, harrowed desire. Tim had seemed to enjoy her sounds, but his earlier orgasm had given him great stamina.

Finally, with a vicious thrust and surge, he had cum, withdrawn, smacked her ass, and left. The others had unbound her and left as well, leaving her to limp painfully, blissfully, through the long process of showering and cleaning up. She’d left the care of the leather to tomorrow, and eaten a light dinner of salad and good bread with a small glass of wine.

Three ibuprofen, and early to bed.

Samantha slept.

S – 55

Sam returned with drinks. Highballs all around for these powerful corporate men. Tim Somerset was sprawled in his chair, slumped lower down than when she had left, a bright smile of brilliant white teeth in his dark face. He glanced up at her as she handed him his drink. She served him first, as the new man.

Tim’s eyes followed her as she handed drinks around, and then he pointed to the floor between his wide knees. Sam knelt.

“Please me.”

he said simply.

Samantha paused a moment, considering. He’d obviously intended her to be on the floor between his thighs, which suggested options, indicated what he had in mind.

Carefully, slowly, she unclasped the heavy buckle on his belt, sliding it open. The leather of his belt was the same color as the heavy cuffs she wore. Then the button on his slacks, and the second button. Zipper down, slowly. He was wearing boxers. Silk. Very nice. she thought, feeling for him.

He was massive. She’d never been so conscious of the sheer weight of a cock before, and she pulled him out. He wasn’t even hard yet. Sam hefted the weight of him, savoring it.

Oh my god. He’s going to put this in to me. A lot. How big does this even get?

She began to stroke his shaft, and leaned in to kiss the tip, swirled her tongue around it, parting her lips. Not yet, not yet. Just a hint for now.

The other men sipped their drinks and watched, fascinated. They’d given Somerset a discount,  Sam recalled, specifically because they wanted to watch her with this cock. She wondered, briefly, how they’d known. Probably some locker room. Or one of these guys swings both ways? That would be..

Sam felt a flush of excitement at the brief image of one or more of her syndicate’s members serving this cock now swelling between her palms, standing upright, huge, hot, brown and beautiful. A gorgeous stereotype of a black man’s cock, to be pleased. She supposed it was possible one of the other men in the room had sucked this beautiful thing, it was all hers now.

S – 11

1:00. 1:03. 1:14. 1:45. Time ticked by slowly, Sam watched the clock on her computer, occasionally shuffling the blank sheets of paper. Nothing to do but wait. Until quitting time? She almost fell asleep, started awake.

“Please follow me.”

The computer read 1:57. Oops, I guess I was asleep for a while.

Sam rose and followed the staffer, a vaguely pretty woman she sort of recognized. Out the door, left turn, down the hall. A small, nondescript room. No chairs, nowhere to sit. A shelf, a lamp in the corner. A small round carpet in the center.

“Please kneel.”

Samantha knelt on the carpet, facing the door through which she’d entered. The functionary left, closing the door behind her with an expensive-sounding click. Sam looked around the room, without rising. It seemed finished, even without any seating or any obvious purpose. The design flowed together with the same seamless elegance that everything else in Pertras’s orbit seemed to. The room seemed perfectly designed for.. something. For waiting, perhaps.

Sam waited. First her knees felt the discomfort, though the round carpet was thick and comfortable. Then the small of her back. She twisted a little, easing and stretching herself, still without rising. Somehow she was certain that to kneel, without changing position, was the correct thing to do. It was her purpose, her function, at this moment.

The clicked, swung open. A short man Sam did not recognize stepped through. Pudgy, mostly bald, white hair pasted in this strands to a spotted skull, an ancient man to her 19 year old eyes. He stepped silently to the carpet, placing the crotch of his dark blue suit directly in  front of her, one step back from her mouth. Odd. Sam knew well how close one stood to get sucked off, and this was not quite there.

He waited. Sam waited, one beat, two. Then she reached tentatively to him, paused, unbuckled his belt, paused, unzipped, slowly. Boxers.

The man did not object, made no move, no response. He was erect. She tugged the boxers down, and started to lean toward him, lips parting.

“Don’t use your mouth! Hands!”

he snapped, a slight note of panic.

Oh! Oh, ok.

Sam freed the man’s cock completely, lowering his boxers to his knees. Cut, unremarkable. Perfectly nice cock. She started to stroke him, slowly. He made a noise, a slight expression of exasperation and impatience. She stroked more quickly, grasping his shaft and jerking him off. No foreplay, just business, huh?

It did not take long. Sam had given a few handjobs, although mostly her willingness to fuck and suck tended to short circuit them. Still, she could read the signs, could tell he was getting close. Not wanting to splatter the expensive carpet, assuming Pertras would not approve, she leaned in, tilting her head back and opening her mouth.

As the elderly man neared climax, she slid her tongue out, careful not to touch him, and milked his surprisingly copious ejaculation onto her tongue, managing not to spill, although a small blot splashed her cheek. He came with enough force to leave very little behind, but she found her forefinger, still clamped around the base of his head, slick. The man extracted a handkerchief and handed it to her silently.  Sam wiped him down, as well as chasing that single blot on her cheek into her mouth. She assumed he would like to watch that, and he seemed to.

Another awkward pause, both waiting, and then Sam tucked his softening cock away: pulling his boxers up, then suit pants, buttoning, zipping, and buckling him back into place. She leaned back to check her work, straightened the belt and re-tucked the rich fabric of his white shirt, and patted him thoughtlessly on the cock. Ooops. Was that too much?

The man gave no hint of offence, no reaction at all, and simply left, leaving the slightly soiled handkerchief. Sam tucked it into a pocket, and remained kneeling, waiting for … whatever was next. Another man? Customer? Or perhaps that woman would return to take her back to her desk.

Sam rested, satisfied. She found a deep and pleasing calm now, in this simple, silent, service. The discomfort in her body faded into irrelevance as she sank into her simple reverie.

S – 54

Sam recognized four of the five men she had just invited into her home. The last must be Tim Somerset. Somerset was tall, had the look of a college athlete, but not football. Tennis? thought Sam, for no reason she could place. Tennis just seemed right.

“Welcome to my home.”

she said, quietly, eyes lowered. Somerset laughed pleasantly, a rich, cheerful sound, bright teeth flashing in a dark face.

“She’s very nice, even prettier than the pictures you showed me.”

The other men laughed and nodded, made affirmative noises.

Samantha served drinks all around, and the men arranged themselves around the sitting room, chatting, while Sam stood silently a little to the side, ready to serve. Somerset seemed a little uncertain, through his confident demeanor.

“So, I can order her to do… anything?”
“She is literally your property, yes.”

This seemed to amuse Somerset, who snapped his fingers caught her eye,

“I need a footstool. Down.”

gesturing at the floor in front of his chair. Sam knelt, dropped to all fours, to her elbows. Ass pointed back at Somerset, thighs spread for firm support. This is new, nobody’s needed a footstool before.

As Somerset’s heavy feet settled on her butt, Sam felt a little thrill. A new way to serve, a new master, with interesting ideas on how a woman might be used. She kept quite still, feeling his ankles cross, his weight shift. She wondered if he was looking at her pussy. He can probably have all the pussy he wants. Athletic, wealthy, handsome, confident.

“This is quite nice, ” Somerset said, “but impractical if we want more drinks, eh?”

Laughter. Sam felt the feet leave her.

“Up, girl! Refills, I rather think!”

Sam rose and went for more drinks, behind her,

“So do we get right down to the fucking her, or do we draw it out a bit? I mean, what’s usual here?”

Confident, but still feeling his way. And so incredibly handsome. With a large cock, apparently. Sam wondered how large was “large” and found herself aching to find out as she measured the shots into fresh glasses.