All for her Master

All for her Master
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ISBN:  9781907753626
Author:  Michael O'Connor
Word Count:  67,591
Format:  eBook

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Angel Faces, Demon MindsAngel Faces, Demon Minds


He stroked and prodded Constance, all the while crudely continuing to compliment her physical attributes. Eventually, much to her relief, his attention was diverted to the board game on the table.
   'I wonder what this is all about,' he mused, leaning over to carefully study it. 'Better not touch anything, just to be on the safe side. Wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of your master.' He turned back to Constance. 'I wonder how long he'll be gone for. Long enough for me to have a little fun with you, eh?'

Constance was looking for the perfect master...
...he demanded the perfect slave!

Upon her return to the bar, G presented her with a hand-written note, which read:

Dear CB, your master awaits you in the darkroom.

'Who left this for me?' she demanded.
   'An admirer,' G told her. She gestured to her right. 'The door's just over there.'
   Constance decided she needed another drink before making up her mind whether or not to accept the mysterious invitation. She could control what happened in a fantasy; whatever lurked in the club darkroom was another matter.
   'G, what exactly is it like in there?' she enquired when she managed to catch the barmaid's attention again.
   'I'd rather not spoil the surprise,' G replied. 'But you won't come to any harm, if that's what you're afraid of.'
   Constance was not sure what she was afraid of. Almost from the moment she had stepped into the club she had felt her self-control slowly but surely slipping away. It was as though she was caught in a web that was drawing her ever deeper into a twilight world where the boundaries between fantasy and reality were no longer discernible. She could finish her drink and leave the club, a wiser and more enlightened woman, but she knew she would have to come back.
   Reasoning that she ought to at least satisfy her curiosity, she summoned up her courage and strode towards the darkroom, hoping she did not look as nervous as she felt.
   Once the door creaked shut behind her she was in almost complete darkness. All she could see were two rows of tiny red lights, inches above the level of her head. There were six on either side of her, at intervals of about three feet. She heard a moan from the darkness and what sounded like a whip striking flesh. She almost turned and ran, but forced herself instead to take a forward step, her high heeled footfall on the wooden floor sounding like a small explosion.
   The darkroom was warm and claustrophobic. Her spine tingling, Constance felt like the damsel in distress in a horror film, waiting for some form of hideous monster to spring from the darkness at any instant.
   She heard the moan again, unmistakably feminine, only a few feet away. She wanted to call out, but did not dare. Besides, she did not even know who she was looking for. She sensed a movement to her left and uttered a startled cry when a leather-gloved hand brushed the back of hers.
   'No need to be frightened,' came a whispered male voice.
   'Who are you?' she responded nervously, edging backwards from the source of the voice.
   'Not knowing is part of the adventure,' came the reply. 'Take a couple of steps towards the red light directly in front of you. We both know you haven't come this far just to turn and run away.'
   Constance had the uneasy feeling that this unseen man was reading her mind. She took one tentative step forward, then another, coaxed like a reluctant puppy by his whispers. Though she knew he could only be a few feet away, being unable to see the slightest thing had her nerves on edge.
   'Now, hold out your right hand,' he whispered, after she had taken half a dozen steps.
   Constance obeyed hesitantly, her every reaction taking place in slow motion. Her fingertips brushed cool rubber, beneath which bulged the firmness of a male torso. She instinctively withdrew her hand for a few seconds, then touched the rubber-sheathed body again. The only sound from the man standing at arm's length was his deep breathing. His second skin was tautly stretched and slippery smooth to the touch.
   She formed a mental picture of the man as her hand glided slowly over his belly and chest. All she could tell for certain was that he was heavily built, though not fat. The rest she had to leave to her imagination. Her hand reached his chin, touching rubber rather than flesh. He was wearing what felt like a gas mask, plastic goggles covering his eyes. Constance found the sinister uniform perversely exciting. Even if the darkroom should suddenly be bathed in light, she would still be unable to see the person beneath.
   The rhythmic breathing from the mask became more laboured as her hand began travelling in a downward direction. She touched what she first thought was some kind of latex object protruding from between the thighs of the masked man, then realised it was his erect penis. It bulged within a rubber sheath chained to the front of his suit. She traced a fingertip along the length of his shaft and was startled when rubber gave way to hot flesh, halfway to the crown. In that instant she would have given anything for a flash-light.
   'Now it's my turn,' he whispered.
   'To do what?' she pleaded softly.
   'To get to know you more intimately. Follow me.'
   He took her hand and she allowed herself to be led through a heavy velvet curtain, into what felt like a long, narrow cubicle. He walked with slow, carefully measured paces, as though instinctively aware of the layout of where he was leading her.
   A few paces further on, he directed her to stop and raise her hands above her head. She obeyed with only the slightest hesitation, her heart pounding and perspiration dampening her brow. She heard him grunt. Something clinked, then cold steel touched her wrists. In the instant it took her to realise what was happening the manacles had snapped shut. Her cry of protest was cut short by a gloved finger pressed to her lips.
   'Trust me,' the masked man whispered.
   Chained to an iron bar, Constance had little choice. She held her breath as he unfastened her dress at the back and eased it down over her body. All she wore underneath was a black silk cache-sex and hold-up stockings. Gloved hands cupped her breasts, teasing her tingling nipples to full stiffness by squeezing them between thumb and forefinger. Though still quivering nervously, she permitted herself a gentle sigh of pleasure.
   Several delicious minutes later his hands left her breasts and moved down over the slope of her waist. Hooking a thumb in the string of her sex-pouch, he stretched it out from her back, then snapped it against her skin. He did this three more times before the elastic finally snapped and the flimsy strip of silk fell to the floor. A fingertip nuzzled the soft down of her pubis. Constance instinctively parted her thighs as his hand slid in between. When he eased his finger between the soaking folds of her labia she was unable to contain a muffled cry of ecstasy. Her only regret was that he was not penetrating her with his cock, the damp crown of which was pressed lightly against her left thigh.
   Whoever this man was, he knew how to use his finger to maximum effect. Constance could not have done it better herself if she were playing this erotic scene in her mind, rather than participating for real. The man thrust a second finger up inside her and began pushing into her aggressively with both digits. She responded by bucking her hips and moaning loudly, clenching her fists and straining against the manacles on her wrists. She did not care who might hear. Her pleasure was merely heightened by the near certainty that she and the man in rubber were not alone.
   She could not remember a climax as intense as that which electrified every nerve of her body a few minutes later. Her sex juices flowed so copiously she thought she must be melting. When the man withdrew his hand from between her thighs, he presented his soaked and scented fingers to her lips. She had no hesitation in sucking the leather clean of her own juices.
   He left her then. When she realised he was gone panic replaced the pleasant afterglow of her orgasm. She had expected him to take full advantage of her helplessness, not to abandon her in the darkness, chained up and naked.
   'Where are you?' she whimpered. 'Unlock these handcuffs, now!'
   Silence was the only response. Constance was about to shout when she heard somebody creeping up on her from behind. She turned her head, but was still unable to see a thing. A bare-chested figure embraced her around the waist from behind, his stiff cock nuzzling the cleft of her buttocks. The cold metal of a pair of nipple rings touched her back. A second man, wearing what felt like a studded leather jacket, pressed against the front of her body, rubbing the tip of his cock against her belly.
   Keeping her sandwiched so tightly between them that she could scarcely breathe, the two men began masturbating. Neither spoke to her, restricting their sounds to heavy breathing and low grunts. The man with his cock gripped between her buttocks climaxed first, his semen spurting over both cheeks and up her back. When the last drop had been spilt he wiped up the creamy rivulets, then brought both hands around to her mouth. Constance would have preferred his semen to be delivered direct, but licking it off his sticky gloves was a tolerable substitute.
   She remained standing in the darkroom for at least another hour, during which time she was masturbated upon by a further five men, all of whom cleaned her with their fingers afterwards and then presented them to Constance to be licked clean. Finally the rubber-clad master returned, unlocked her handcuffs, then departed again. She scrabbled around on the floor for several panic-stricken minutes before finding her dress. Her sex-pouch had obviously been taken as a souvenir.
   The following evening she returned home from work to discover a mysterious message on her answering machine.
   'Hello, Constance - or should I say CB? If you enjoyed last night, call me. The number is...'
   There was no mistaking the voice of KT. Constance had been expecting to hear from him again. She was only slightly surprised that he had somehow managed to obtain both her full name and telephone number.

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