Roll of The Dice

Vanessa pulled him upstairs to her bedroom, the leash tight, guiding him like a reluctant pet. She positioned him at the end of the bed, her movements firm and commanding. She turned him around and untied the knot holding his wrists. Jack let out a low, ragged moan as his arms were freed, his muscles protesting as they flexed and stretched after hours of being pulled behind his back, overstretched and strained.

She reached into her pocket and took out a small, silver key. The only sound was the click of the lock as she opened the leather pouch. With a soft thud, the heavy leather fell to the floor, and the lock clattered against the wood. The pressure on his groin disappeared, but he didn't feel the relief he had expected.

She looked deeply into his eyes, her gaze piercing and assessing. She reached down and cupped his balls in her hand, weighing them, enjoying the firmness and the weight of them. Her fingers then moved up, wrapping around his big, powerful cock, stroking it slowly. It was undeniably superior to George's, a thick, impressive slab of male flesh that put the other man to shame.

She desired him deeply and wanted him in every way, but she knew he was inexperienced. He needed guidance to use it properly. Tonight was as good a night as any to begin that intense training.

I'm going to let you fuck me," Vanessa told Jack, her voice dripping with a false promise of intimacy. "You will do what I say, when I say. Do you understand?

He nodded slowly. It was the only choice. But the silence lingered, and the nod wasn't enough. The hard slap across his face caught him off guard, a stinging blow that shunted his head to the side. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, a sudden burst of anger fighting against the exhaustion.

Vanessa sensed the tension right away. She stepped back, her face unreadable, and pressed the red button on her key fob. A second later, a jolt of electricity shot through the collar, causing Jack to convulse. He dropped to his knees, clutching the collar as his body jerked.

She didn't hesitate. She simply placed her dirty sneakers forward, the smell of rubber and old fabric filling his nose. He had learned the lesson well earlier; it was burned into his memory. He bent forward, pressing his lips to the leather of her shoe, kissing it with desperate devotion.

"Good boy," she told him, her voice smoother now, the tension of the slap gone. "Now, let's not have any more of that nonsense."

He kept his head bowed, with the heavy silence of the room surrounding him. He knelt there, quietly counting the minutes, hoping this would all soon be over. He still clung to the hope that she would let him go on Sunday night— that he had work on Monday and would eventually be missed.

"You will undress me," she told Jack, her voice soft but carrying the weight of an absolute command. "You will do it slowly and you will plant gentle loving kisses all over my body as you do. It will be your way of telling your Mistress how much you adore her."

11

She put her foot on his shoulder and pushed down, applying firm pressure until his forehead was forced to touch the carpet. "You do adore me, don't you, slave?" she asked, her voice laced with a fake sweetness that made his skin crawl.

He nodded into the carpet, a small, pathetic motion. They both knew it was a lie. He was beginning to hate her, truly hate her, but he was trapped. There was no way out, no way to say the words she wanted to hear.

"And you do want to please me, don't you?"

He nodded again, the motion mechanical and sad, a desperate bid to stay in her good graces. "Good boy," she cooed, seemingly satisfied with his submission. "Now, why don't you stand and start to prove it?”

Jack stood almost eye to eye with her, a silent challenge in his stance. He tried to intimidate her, to show a flicker of the man he once was, but she didn't flinch. Instead, her hand moved to the fob, and she pressed another button. A sharp, buzzing hum vibrated against his neck—a warning shot, a reminder that she alone set the rules of engagement.

He looked away, breaking the stare, and she smiled inwardly, her satisfaction growing. He reached for the hem of her sweatshirt, his hands trembling slightly. He lifted it over her head, and as he did, he gently kissed along her shoulder, her neck, tracing the line of her collarbone, and down her arms.

Vanessa inhaled deeply, smelling his sweat—thick, musky, and unmistakably male. It stirred her, a primal instinct she had to hold back. She needed to be cautious not to reveal too much; she couldn't let him realize how much she wanted him. She had to keep him guessing, keep him on edge.

He leaned in and kissed her lips, a quick, tentative touch. She took the chance, her hand moving swiftly to grab his hair and yank his head back, making him look at her. "How dare you?” she hissed, her eyes shining with mock anger. "These lips are for my lovers only, not my slave.”

He blinked at her, shock widening his eyes, the anger momentarily eclipsing his confusion. She let him go with a final, deliberate tug on his hair, then simply said, "Continue," her tone light and breezy, as if his humiliation was just another minor inconvenience. "This bitch is fucking crazy," he thought to himself, his heart pounding against his ribs as he knelt to slide down her jogging pants.

Beneath, she was nude, the damp, stained panties from their earlier, discarded. Beads of moisture glistened against her tight, curly hair, a sign of her arousal despite the act. He was eager to taste her— a raw, hungry instinct screaming to be fed— but he hesitated, unsure how to proceed without permission. He kissed around her pussy, his lips tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, her knees, and her calves, teasing but avoiding the center.

He slowly pulled her jogging pants down over her trainers, carefully untying the laces on each one before sliding them off, one foot at a time. At last, he removed her sports socks, kissing her feet with a reverence born of both fear and desire.

Jack crawled around behind her, his body moving with a grace that surprised even him amidst his turmoil. He planted a trail of kisses along the back of her ankles, slowly working his way up her calves and behind her knees. Vanessa closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the sensation, a soft sigh escaping her lips as his warm breath ghosted over her skin. He moved to the back of her thighs, his hands gripping her hips with firm intent, his thumbs pressing into her soft flesh.

She leaned back slightly into his touch, enjoying the weight of him, but then she tapped his hands away with a sharp, impatient command. "No." He dropped his hands to his side as his mouth moved lower. He ran his tongue along the crease of her arse crack, a moist and heated stroke that made her shiver with a sudden, electric pleasure. He worked his way up her back, his lips trailing over the sensitive skin of her spine, kissing the small of her back and working his way up between her shoulders. Every now and then, the tip of his hard cock would brush against her skin, making him gasp. 

He was a little clumsy as he fumbled with the clasp of her bra, his fingers heavy with the effort to remove it. She tutted, the sound sharp and disapproving, but he didn't look back, his focus entirely on the task. He slipped the straps down her arms and moved around to the front, his lips finding the sensitive skin at the back of her neck. He worked his way down, his hands cupping her small, firm breasts, kissing them gently before taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing with a proficiency that made her gasp.

He was so much better than George. So much more responsive, so much more skilled at reading her body. She thought to herself with a surge of dark satisfaction. She put her hands on his strong shoulders and pushed down hard.

Vanessa tapped the top of her pussy, a sharp, demanding signal that demanded immediate obedience. "Get me ready for that cock," she ordered huskily. She was almost there; it wouldn't take her long. She was going to allow him to fuck her, not out of love, but out of pure, unadulterated lust. She felt no love for a man who would submit so easily, no matter how good he was at pleasing her. He was destined to be nothing more than an accessory to her very full and charmed life.

Jack didn't hesitate. He moved closer, his face level with her core, the scent of her arousal heavy in the air, mingled with the remnants of George's scent. He parted her legs with his hands, his fingers digging into her thighs, and leaned in. He began to work on her, his tongue exploring the folds of her sex through the wet hairs, his movements precise and calculated to bring her to the edge.

She sighed, her head falling back, her fingers tangling in his hair. He was good, much better than George, but the emotion in it was all for her benefit. She gripped his head, guiding him, feeling the heat build deep inside her, a rising tide threatening to drown her in sensation. She wanted this to be over, wanted to feel him inside her, to mark her territory.

The climax hit her fast and hard. She arched her back, her breath catching in her throat as she cried out, her body shuddering against his face. Her juices flooded the panties, soaking the fabric and running down her legs, a warm, wet rush that she felt distinctly. She held him there for a moment, riding out the waves of pleasure, the thought of George's semen still coating her inside a delicious irony that only made the moment sweeter. "Good," she whispered, her hand pulling at his hair. "Now, time to show me what you're made of. Up”