Chapter 24
Maddy
The look in Zach’s eyes when I open the door of my flat and he sees my outfit is feral.
Just as I expect, given the promising WhatsApps he’s been sending me this morning.
When I come over, will I find my slave girl waiting for me?
I shivered when I saw that. Master Zach hadn’t had his fill of me, it would seem. I replied immediately.
Of course, sir
Good. I look forward to putting you through your paces.
Yesss.
My Sunday is looking up. An afternoon of being put through my paces by Zach? Now that’s my kind of Sunday.
‘Hello, sir,’ I say demurely before turning to lead the way through to the open-plan living area as he shuts the door behind him, trying to rein in my excitement.
I may have dressed up a little. Nothing quite as provocative as my Slave Night outfit, but a skimpy lavender lace bralette that shows off more than it conceals and an equally inadequate pair of panties that I suspect he’ll appreciate.
When I glance behind to check, his gaze is indeed glued to my bum. Just as it was glued to my hard and all-too-visible nipples when I answered the door.
Excellent. I’m practically rubbing my hands together in evil glee.
Zach has set this scene in motion, but he has no idea who he’s messing with.
No idea at all.
My master hasn’t quite embraced the theme as wholeheartedly as me. He’s in jeans and a soft navy sweater over what looks like a white t-shirt. Kinky it isn’t. But hot? Definitely.
‘Would you like to go upstairs, sir?’ I ask when we hit the kitchen area. I’m a competent, flamboyant and extremely messy cook, but I’ve tidied up so the place is immaculate.
‘In a sec,’ he answers, his eyes roaming over my practically naked body in a way that’s incredibly predatory and utterly amazing. He steps forward so we’re toe to toe, and I lift my face, expecting him to kiss me. But he slides his hands around my waist instead. They’re cold, and I jump.
‘I want to see how ready you are for your master first,’ he says, and I practically come there and then. He lifts me up and places my bum on the marble island. Again, it’s cold. Ouch.
He steps back and uses his hands to part my legs wide before putting his hands in his pockets.
‘Show me.’
That I can do. I’ve been ready for him since I woke up yesterday morning, sore and used and ecstatic. I pull my thong aside, exposing myself to him. I know he’ll find me slick and ready.
He grits his jaw and steps forward again, slicing a cold finger through my folds. God, it’s heaven. He makes a low noise of approval and jams his finger straight inside me. I gasp at the welcome intrusion.
‘Very good,’ he mutters. ‘Show me your nipples.’
I hook my thumbs under the delicate lace scallops of the bralette and pull it aside as best I can, presenting my taut nipples to him for inspection.
He dips his dark head and pulls hard at one, teasing it lightly between his teeth and sending shockwaves of need straight to my pussy, inside which his finger is frustratingly still.
He switches boobs. ‘Have you been in this state all morning?’ he murmurs, his breath warm against my other nipple.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good.’ As a reward, he sucks deeply and brushes a fingertip over my clit. I arch into him while letting out a decadent sigh. God, I love this man unleashing himself upon my body.
‘If I may, sir,’ I venture.
He releases my nipple and my pussy. Bugger. ‘What?’ he asks sharply. His face is right in front of mine, his eyes so blue. I adore this demeanour. I adore it when he’s strict and stern and intense and masterful—it has me so hot. Especially when he does such a rubbish job of masking his desire.
‘I wondered if I could wash you?’ I hesitate, feigning nerves I don’t feel, because this slave-girl version is a lot less brazen than I am.
‘As part of my service to you. It would be my honour to wash every inch of you.’ I drop my gaze pointedly to his jean-clad cock, which is already straining behind his zip, before returning it to his gorgeous face.
He lifts a hand and rubs one of my nipples lazily between his thumb and forefinger as he considers my offer.
Given our little scene, I need him to call the shots even if I’ve already masterminded our entire afternoon.
He watches me, a crease forming between his brows as I tug on my bottom lip with my teeth.
‘Why not?’ he says finally. ‘In the shower, I assume.’
‘I don’t have a bath,’ I say, ‘so yes. Sir.’
‘That sounds like a good way to put you to work,’ he muses. His mouth is so close to mine. ‘You can get on your knees and wash my cock. And maybe, if you do a good job, I’ll allow you a few seconds of the handheld shower against that sweet pussy. What do you say?’
He swipes a finger through my folds again at the same time as his mouth captures mine, and my strangled yes please, sir is lost in the ferocity of our kiss.
* * *
Honestly, being a kinky fantasy slave girl is most enjoyable.
My delicious master has already played with my pussy a little.
He’s made me remove my bra, and he was so happy to have me topless for him that he fondled my nipples a little more, pulling at them till I wanted to scream my head off and telling me how dusky and pretty they were and what a good girl I was.
Next, he had me bend over and pull my thong off, slowly, slowly, while he inspected my pussy a little more from behind with deft fingers that probed and poked at my needy flesh in the hungriest way.
And now, as hot water steams up the enormous walk-in shower in my bathroom, he commands me to pull off his sweater and his t-shirt, revealing miles of golden skin and soft hair over taut muscles.
I want to bury my face between his pecs.
I’m hoping the shower will give me the opportunity to grope every millimetre of him, because he truly is gorgeous.
I lay his tops to one side and make quick work of his socks before unbuckling his jeans as he watches me with wild, hungry eyes.
I slide them down his legs before hooking my thumbs into the waistband of his boxers with as much control as I can muster.
Then they’re down, and his glorious cock is springing free for me, hard and proud, veined and ridged.
I wonder how long he’ll make me wait before I can hop on it.
Lower myself down until I’m impaled on every inch.
‘Come on,’ he says, tugging me into the shower by the arm.
My enormous shower enclosure is my pride and joy, with a massive raindance shower head as well as a hand-held one (every girl needs one).
He positions himself right under the torrent of water, and I watch in drooling delight as he throws his head back and shoves his hands through his hair.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
In this stance, the guy literally looks like a god, his pecs and lats on full display and that majestic erection jutting straight at me, begging me to sink to my knees. But I stand on the periphery of the spray, hands by my sides, and await instructions until he says, ‘Wash me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I say gratefully, pumping a copious amount of my favourite Aesop shower gel onto my hands and soaping them up.
‘Back first,’ he orders. He has far more self-control than me.
That hard-on looks painful. But I scurry around him and reach up, soaping down his elevated arms before smoothing the lather over the muscular planes of his back.
I watch lasciviously as the suds float downwards to the hollows of his arse. Holy fuck, I’m drooling.
I do what I’ve wanted to do for ages and cup them. Much as I love being banged senseless from behind, I do enjoy a good arse-grope when a man is thrusting on top of me. I’ve missed that so far with Zach.
They’re gorgeous. Hard muscle, soft skin, the tiniest bit of fuzz. Mmmm. I soap them very thoroughly. ‘Permission to rub my nipples against your back, sir?’ I ask breathily.
He grits out a granted, and I step on up, pressing my boobs to his skin and shimmying so my stiff nipples brush back and forth.
Mmm. As I do so, I slip a lathered-up hand between his firm cheeks and slide my fingertips between them, grazing over the clenched ring of muscle there before locating his taint and massaging it.
I’m banking on it being so good for him that he’ll be in no place to berate me for overstepping.
And what do you know?
I’m right.
He drops his arms to his sides and sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth as I move, and rub, and massage.
I’m in a dreamlike state beneath the downpour as my wet body undulates behind his, my tits against his back and my lower stomach brushing against his cheeks.
And when I brush a tentative knuckle over the delicate fold of skin holding up the back of his balls, he jumps.
‘Come here,’ he says, his voice harsh. Uncontrolled.
‘Yes, sir.’ I slink around his body, making sure to brush my nipples over his upper arms as I do, and stand in front of him.
I stare up at him, marvelling at the beauty of his particular take on the male form.
He’s divine. His lashes are dark and wetly starry, his eyes practically all pupil, and his expression predatory as he takes me in.
Water’s streaming down my body, slicking my hair down my back.
‘Wash my front,’ he says, ‘quickly. Then get on your knees and suck my dick.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Yippee! I practically bounce over to the shower gel and pump away before smearing the lather languidly over his pecs. I rub in a circular motion, admiring their firmness, how well they fit my palms. My thumbs flit over his nipples and he hisses.
Hmm.
He likes that.
Noted.