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Sex Slave for Hire Part 2: entertaining the Master's guests

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I don’t think, when I first contemplated taking a job as a sex slave, that I realised just how difficult it would be to do the work as directed, while being fondled and played with and, when I least expected it, fucked.

        The Master and Mistress derived a lot of satisfaction, I quickly learned, from giving me tasks they knew I would struggle to complete and then punishing me for it. My first week was filled with mistakes, and my bottom was crisscrossed with welts.

        Morning was one of my favourite times. I always woke to an empty bed, my one moment of solace and reflection. The previous day’s deeds would be relived, in vivid detail, and I would be wet before I even saw the Master. I got a kind of cruel pleasure from tormenting myself, in struggling to hold back release.

        It would only get worse.

        I showered, shampooing my hair, washing my feet and armpits, carefully cleaning my arse and pussy, checking for any unwanted hair. The Master liked my bald pussy, the smoothness of my skin, the unobstructed view it gave him. I dried my hair and carefully tied it up, knowing it would become tangled and disheveled by nighttime. Then I inserted my butt plug, and even though there was no one there to see or hear, I practiced staying quiet as I pushed it in, feeling my sphincter muscles grip it.

        Then, my costume. The tight black corset pushed my breasts practically to my chin, but I was getting used to it. The stiff black skirt hid little, especially when I bent over, which was often in my household chores. Lastly, stockings, lacy garters and my shoes with their vicious heels.

        I made my way downstairs to the breakfast room. It was a big house, and old, with numerous rooms for eating and entertaining. The Master and Mistress were not yet up, of course, and I busied myself preparing their breakfast. My first meal would be my Master’s cum, and I hungered for it. The butt plug was slowly becoming a familiar presence, though it was hard to ignore the way it constantly played with my nerve endings. It felt like being constantly played with.

        The Toy, as I called him, watched me in this duty. His hot gaze probed every cell on my body, more intimate than any touch. I ignored him as best I could. We were not permitted to speak to each other, but would have nothing nice to say if we could.

        The Master and Mistress appeared and I poured them coffee. After they had eaten and were talking lightly over the morning papers, the Toy and I got down on our knees and did our most important morning duty. I parted the Master’s dressing gown and took out his soft cock. With the skill I had learnt over the years, and the extra touches the Master had taught me he liked, I licked and sucked him to his full, hard thickness, before engulfing him with my mouth. I felt his hand on my hand, absently stroking as one would an obedient dog, as I sucked and licked. When the Master’s cock stiffened and spurted hot salty cum into my mouth I swallowed it all and cleaned his cock before putting it back inside his dressing gown. He ignored me during all this, his conversation with his wife barely interrupted by his orgasm, or hers. I relished this feeling of being used and beneath his notice.

        I cleaned the house room by room, not in one day but over the course of the week, and prepared the meals. The Toy worked in the grounds, washed windows, chopped wood, ran baths, dressed his Mistress and did other mundane tasks. He usually wore only black leather pants and his slave collar, but when the Master and Mistress entertained he wore only a butt plug and a hard-on. He would walk amongst the guests, regulars all, and let them play with his stiff cock, his taut arse, teasing and taunting him, twisting the butt plug and flicking his balls. I loved watching this torment, it was the only time I had such satisfaction. He made sure I had none when he raped me for the Master and Mistress’ pleasure.

        But at such parties I too was part of the entertainment. I kept my costume on, and would have a string of beads in my vagina. The guests could play with me too, pinching my nipples, tugging on the string dangling from my pussy, lightly touching my clit, trying to make me orgasm because then they could watch my punishment. Before such parties, the Master would instruct me to let so-and-so make me cum, because he wanted to punish me for their enjoyment. I would let my tray fall for extra effect, the loud crash announcing victory for the guest who succeeded.

        The Master would storm through the crowd, the anger on his face making me tremble with fear and thrilling anticipation. Grabbing me by the hair, he would march me over to the fireplace and tie my hands to the mounted candlesticks at either end, and order me to spread my legs. He would pick up the whip off the mantlepiece and, with a snap, strike me again and again until my arse burned red with welts. Some of the blows would snake between my legs and sting my pussy. Through all this I shook and wept and pressed my mouth into my arm to keep my cries muffled.

        The best such evenings were ones when the Toy would orgasm before me. Once, his cum spurted high in the air and hit a woman in the face. She claimed the right to punish him. His hands were bound together and drawn up towards the ceiling, where a rope tied them in place to a hook placed there for that purpose. In this way the guests could surround him and watch his cock grow as his arse was whipped.

        There were several such parties in my first week, mostly because the Master wanted to show me off. At the end of that first week, though, he had a house guest.

        A man about the same age as the Master, with dark blond hair and a quick laugh. The Master called him Sam, but I was to call him Sir.

        I had to dust the study the day Sir arrived, and had put it off till the afternoon because the Master had waylaid me before lunch, catching sight of my rosy arse cheeks, striped with whip marks, and the tassel dangling from my butt plug, as I went up the stairs. He caught me by the hips, put a hand to my neck and pushed my face into the stair carpet, and unplugged my arse. A second later I heard him unzip and then he was forcing his cock into me. I felt like I was being split apart, despite the plug that I’d worn all week, but the excitement of being pushed to the ground and assaulted made me wet and relaxed after the first moment of excruciating pain. The Master thrust and grunted and came. He withdrew with a pop and shoved the plug back in like he would a cork into a wine bottle, and left me. I got up, shaking, my heart still racing, and resisted the temptation to finger my sopping pussy.

        Now, though, I had to clean the Master’s study, and it could not be put off just because he was in there with a friend.

        I knocked and opened the door. They ignored me, sitting across from each other in big armchairs, sipping whiskey, swapping tall tales. I went about my chore, dusting with a big feather duster.

        “Good God, what a tasty arse!” I heard Sir say. My face burned with the humiliation but I gave no indication that I’d heard.

        The Master chuckled. “One of the best,” he said, and I would have gladly done anything for him then and there upon hearing it.

        There was a rustle of movement behind me and then I felt fingers touching still-tender lash marks. I stilled, and carefully went back to dusting. The fingers moved down to the tassel hanging from my butt plug, and knocked it. I closed my eyes against the torment of pleasure it caused and struggled to keep my breathing even.

        As I dusted I moved away from Sir and glanced at the Master. He watched his friend play with me with a pleased smile, as if I were a gift. The hope that the Master would jealously keep me to himself was short-lived.

        Sir followed me, running his hands over my backside and slipping his fingers between my legs. He played with my pussy lips and let his finger slip into my juices. He laughed.

        “She’s so wet! No wonder you’ve been keeping her all to yourself.”

        “It’s not easy to share a new plaything when first you get it,” the Master replied. “But it’s been a week. I suppose I could be encouraged to share her just this once.”

        I wanted to fall on my knees and beg him not to say so. I had signed a contract binding me to the Master and Mistress, but nowhere did it say they could not let their friends have their fun with me too. There was nothing I could do. Like the Toy, Sir could have me any way he pleased.

        “But I insist on watching,” the Master added.

        Sir laughed again. “I know what you like, you old dog. You’re welcome to watch.”

        The Master got up. “After dinner, then.”

        Sir reluctantly let me go. “Agreed.”

        They walked out then, neither having spoken to me nor so much as looked at my face, where I’m sure the Master would have been displeased to see the tears glittering in the corner of my eyes, the flush on my cheeks.

        At five o’clock I cooked dinner for three and served them in the dining room. Sir groped me at every opportunity. The Toy, standing against the wall near his Mistress, watched with a gleam in his eye, always happy to see me tormented.

        When their plates were cleared and while they chatted on, the Toy and I ate in the kitchen, both of us with an ear cocked toward the door, in case we were summoned.

        The Master called for me. The Toy smirked. I slapped him; he reacted quickly, grabbing my wrist and plunging his thick, well-practiced forefinger up my pussy. I whimpered, staring into his cruel black eyes, his dark handsome face gloating at my predicament. He could make me cum, and then I would be punished. Hell, I’d probably be punished for my tardiness anyway, what would one orgasm matter? But the Master would be disappointed. It had only been a week. If he was displeased he could change his mind, terminate the contract, turn me out. I wanted to serve him and obey him, and in this he had been explicit: no orgasm without permission.

        I kneed the Toy in the balls and without staying to watch him double over in pain, I rushed out to attend to the Master. I would pay for that another day.

        The Master frowned at me as I went to my knees by his chair. “You are not very prompt this evening.”

        “Forgive me, Master.”

        “Doesn’t give excuses,” Sir commented. “I like that.”

        The Master smiled grimly; he had trained me not to. He grabbed my hair and made me look up at him, studying my face as if he could read the history, the time and place, of every orgasm I’d ever had. And, I thought, he probably could. But I had not cum, and he had to be satisfied with that. “Come.”

        I followed the Master and Sir up the stairs to the guest bedroom, somewhat glad not to be led into the basement, where the whips and chains were. I did not want that from this man who was not my Master.

        The Master sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, in the shadows where I could barely see him, and watched. With him taking note of everything, I could not displease Sir. I could not disappoint or embarrass the Master like that. If I could perform well with the Toy, I could do better with Sir.

        Sir was less friendly now that he had me in the bedchamber. He pulled my skirt down in a single swift movement, wrapped his hand around my neck and kissed me with such force my lips were bruised. His tongue pushed through my lips and scoured the inside of my mouth. His other hand gripped my arse in a crushing grip, and squeezed. I squeaked, and Sir laughed. He pulled my arse cheeks apart and massaged them, pulling me against him and grinding his erection into me. Then he pushed me to my knees and drew his cock from his pants. Its big purple head pushed at my lips and I dutifully opened my mouth, mindful of the Master’s eyes on me. I sucked on his hard shaft, running my tongue along the vein and fondling his balls. He started panting and I thought he would cum when he suddenly thrust me away. He hauled me up and, sitting in a chair, draped me over his lap. With a loud smack his hand landed on my arse, first one cheek, then the other. I squirmed, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want anyone to punish me but the Master, but that wasn’t in our contract either. Sir pulled out the plug, rimming me with his tongue and probing me with his finger. He smacked me when I struggled. The feel of his tongue sent a confusing mix of pleasure and revulsion through me, like what I felt when the Toy had me for the Master and Mistress’ entertainment. Finally he picked me up, threw me onto the bed and plunged his cock into my pussy. I tried to get away; he growled and brought my hands together, holding them above my head. His thrusts were swift, hard and powerful. My pussy had been aching for cock all week, but I had never thought it would be anyone but the Master who filled it. Worse, my body was betraying me. My hole was wet and slick, my clit buzzing, my whole body buzzing as I cried out with each hard thrust.

        Sir pulled out and pushed the head of his dick against my back hole. It eased in, well lubricated with my own juices, and pinned me to the bed. Sir put his lips to my nipples and licked and bit them. I gasped and cried out, called out “Please Sir! No Sir!” to his immense satisfaction. He lifted my hips and buried his cock to the hilt, as deep as it could go. His cock pummeled my arse mercilessly, his balls slapping against my arse cheeks. Sir’s finger found my clit and rubbed it; he said hoarsely, “Come for me, little slave.” I could no longer hold back. With a cry I came, the orgasm washing over me, making me momentarily blind but still conscious enough to feel Sir stiffen and come inside me.

        Sir helped me up, looking me in the eyes with a satisfied smile, and led me over to the Master. I knelt at his feet, waited with caught breath for his approval.

        The Master stood up, his erection straining the front of his pants, and bid me bend over the armchair. Holding me firmly by the hips, he took me up my well-lubed arse, fucking me for his own release and to claim me back. He pulled out, leaving me feeling empty, and ordered me to turn around offer my mouth. I hungrily took his big slick cock in my mouth and sucked him till he shot his load down my throat. He still had hold of my head, so I kept him in my mouth while he grew soft once more, and looked up at him. He smiled down at me, pleased with his sex slave, and withdrew. I hid my disappointment, my longing. I missed his cock in my mouth already, but as I watched him put it away, I knew I would have it in my mouth again come morning.


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