Emma takes me

I took Emma her coffee at nine a.m. She was not in the best of moods, obviously a little hungover and tired from the night before. She had me kneel at the side of the bed as she drank. It was uncomfortable and really began to hurt.

She ignored me, until finally she began to speak. Emma was very unhappy that I had masturbated like a slut again, as I opened my mouth to protest the caricature of me I was cut off before I could make a sound with one word . “SILENCE”. She went on to impress on me that I would say what I was told to say, when I was told to say it.

It was maddening. I bulged painfully, unable even to get properly hard as she berated me. And even though I could scarcely even admit it to myself, I loved it.

Soon I was repeating her words after her. Confessing that when left alone for half a minute and I would debase myself. I was unable to keep my hand off my cock. I had left her no choice but to confine me. I needed to be taught some self restraint. To be punished, because I loved to play with cock. Then suddenly she said something that made me choke on the words. She said that I would play with any cock I could.

The exchange stopped. She stood walked to a cupboard and took out my creased clothes. Dumped them on the floor. A single finger lifted a pair of red lace panties. She smiled as they dangled from her finger. “I expect you won’t cum in them this time.” I hated it, but I knew in her own terms this justified my treatment. I swallowed. She left the room, telling me to dress. As I did, I noticed my pockets were empty besides a few coins. No wallet, no keys.

She called me to the kitchen; as I entered she told me she would be taking the day off. She held my keys in her hand. I fidgeted nervously, with her watching me closely; she removed the car key, held it out to me with a smile. “I expect you back early.” I nodded.

“And something else, I was right.” I was at a loss, right about what? Before I could inquire, it was made cruelly clear. “Johnny does have a big dick.” She was smiling. My face burnt. “For that reason, you are to thank him for last night on my behalf’. I was incredulous; first I half laughed, not believing she was serious. But she was; pretty soon I was repeating what I must say to him. “Emma says thanks for last night.” Repeating it and practicing a knowing smile.

It was a tough day at work. I began by walking straight to Johnny’s desk and delivering my line. I had never been so humiliated. I felt if my face burned any more that day I would burst a blood vessel. It all passed in a blur, I had a light lunch with the meager funds that had been left me. I struggled to concentrate doing my utmost to push the thought of Emma from my mind. But I couldn’t, and every time I thought of her I would throb painfully which only made me think of her more. It was torture.

At last, I returned to Emma’s place and nervously rang her bell. She opened after what felt like an age. She wore very ordinary jeans and tee, but looked as devastating as ever. Emma looked immediately over my shoulder and asked why I hadn’t invited Johnny. I felt my face crumple. She laughed and said it was a joke. Just inside the door I was told to strip to my panties, to put my hands behind my back. She commented on how nice it was to know I’d managed a day without playing with myself. Complimenting herself on how well she had managed my “problem.” I repeating her words, confessing I had “issues” around self control. How I just couldn’t help behaving like a slut. And I was made to dress. A tight bodice, red to match my panties, fastened behind me by Emma. Garters, which I had to attach to sheer stockings. Some black heels. And an indecently short, too tight, plain black dress. I stood  nervously as she surveyed me, then obediently followed her to her sitting room where we sat next to each other on the couch. I was told to cross my legs. My whole body leapt when she patted my thigh.

And she talked. Talked about how slutty I’d been. Not once, but twice now. I was getting frustrated by it. I wanted her to put the subject down, but could scarcely get a word in. I think she sensed my frustration, her voice was again filled with that hard, authoritative edge. Did I know what happened when a girl behaves like a slut? I stammered. Avoiding a direct answer. Trying to bat the question away. Emma answered it herself, in a cold hard voice. “When a girl acts the slut, she gets fucked like a whore.” The words hung in the air, followed by a thick silence. Emma rose and told me to wait, as I had dressed for her, she would put something on for me. I obediently waited. There is nothing that could have prepared me for her return. In she strode, still in jeans and T shirt, but over her jeans she wore a harness from which protruded and bounced a big, hard strap on. I felt the blood drain from my face, I sat up instinctively clamping my knees together, edging away from her as she advanced.

But there was nowhere to run to, and I could scarcely stand in the heels. She stood right in front of me, feet far apart, forefinger lifting my chin, looking down. My mouth was dry. And she asked, again. “What happens to a girl that acts the slut?” I couldn’t give that answer, but what could I say? I began to plead, ‘Please… please d…”

“BEGGING for it,” she snapped back. Taking and twisting a handful of my hair. Thrusting forward, it bobbed indecently. I tried to twist away, but she was making it hit my lips, squashing them against my teeth. I lifted my hands to try to push her hips away, and she slapped me. As hard, harder, than she had ever done.

“NO. No hands”

Suddenly her voice was softer. Coaxing, encouraging.

“You had one chance to learn the nice way, you didn’t learn. So now I get to teach you. The… not so nice way”

I could hear the smile in her voice as she said it, she paused before she continued.

“This doesn’t have to get really nasty; you just act nice, and I’ll be gentle. You don’t have to like it the first time.”

I swallowed. I was sweating. I didn’t know what to do. All the time it was poking around my mouth. I started to whimper. My eyes filled, after the day and the night before, it was too much.

“So you be a good little whore for me, and I’ll let you have lots of lube, let you start slow, get into it. You never know, you might get to like it. Lots of girls do.”

Her grip tightened in my hair, I could sense we were at the point of no return. I was totally at her mercy.

“But stop playing with me NOW. KISS it”

I gulped. Just a little kiss, what harm could it do? A simple ask, it was just a bit of rubber, and I didn’t want to be raped. So I kissed it, and she cooed what a good girl I was. And I kissed it for her again, I kissed and kissed all down the length, stroked at the head with my lower lip while looking up at her, I put my tongue out and wet it, I licked, and then I sucked. I sucked and sucked. With her hands at the back of my head, drawing me on. Sometimes she made me gag, but true to her word she really was quite gentle. I sucked and sucked, flicked at it with my tongue, slurped said, “Mmmm…MMmmm…;” told her I loved it. I did everything she asked. Even as she told me I was a slut.

I was beginning to think that was it, but then she stopped. Stepped back, pulling me up by the hand turning me, stood behind, guiding me forward.

“Up to bed. It’s time.” I hesitated, searching for a protest, some excuse. She raised her finger to stop me before I began, “Remember, be a good little whore, get plenty of lube…. now up you go, virgin or not, I AM going to fuck you. Now.” My head swam as I made my way to the bedroom, her hand at the zip of my dress before we were even through the door, roughly pulling it over my head, urging me forward, pushing me so I was bent over, hands on the bed, arse up. She giggled a little as she ran my hands over my body, my arse, pinching my nipples down my sides, gripping my hips, then one hand trailed away, as the other pulled my panties to one side and a cold wetness was poured between my cheeks. A finger trailed between, and started circling, then pushing, ever more insistently at my hole until suddenly in it went. I gasped, not knowing what to do about it. I know I had acquiesced, I had let her. She hadn’t had to really force me, but still I felt violated. “Relax,” she purred, “it’ll be much better for you if you relax.” I tried, succeeding to some extent; soon her finger was sliding in and out, my legs trembled with the strain of heels and the unnatural position. Two fingers, I breathed in time, eyes closed, concentrating, trying not to tense the fingers left me, a strange grasping of my ring as they departed, she giggled at that. She pushed me forward so I knelt on the bed, knees wide apart, bodice biting into my skin. My cock and balls aching for release, I felt her cock head between my cheeks. More cold lube, she leaned over my back, I could feel she had one hand on her cock. And she whispered, huskily, cruel, deceitful words, “Call me Johnny.” These words hurt me in the pit of my stomach. As she shoved forward, my resistance broken, the sudden burst of the head into my arse. A sharp slap to my arse cheek to ensure my compliance. And I thanked her. “Thank you, Johnny.”  Her hands gripping my hips, the slow slide in, the hot burning deep in my arse. Whimpered protests at the pain. But I knew she had me, she was quite literally having me. I was her whore. Hers entirely. And I said, “Thank you, Johnny. Yes, Johnny. I love it, Johnny. I love you, Johnny.” And she rode me.

When she was done she held me, let me lean my head on her breasts, ran her fingers through my hair, and told me I was hers. She could do anything she liked with me, and that included lending me to Johnny or anyone else. I sobbed. She patted my head, reminded me I wasn’t a virgin any more. Again I repeated, “When a girl acts the slut, she is treated like a whore.”

Tomorrow, she promised. Tomorrow, she would let me cum.

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