Her Master Returns (Dark BDSM Erotica) Read Online Free PDF

them, Blondie! Put on a show and include the shade
thing – you know what I mean.”
    Emily knew all right! It had been one of his earliest taunts
during their weird courtship in the elevator, guessing a closely
guarded secret that the shade of her lipstick matched the colour of
her nipples. Deeply thrilled by the memory, Emily caressed her left
breast, massaging the flesh before pinching the hard nipple, making
herself moan with the self inflicted pain that was all the more
delicious because it had been ordered by Her Master. Then she
repeated the trick she had performed the last time she was here:
raised the tit to her bowing head and kissed the hurting bud. As
she did so she raised her eyes to the stranger – sapphire blue eyes
that sparkled through drying tears, eyes that conveyed a fearful
acceptance: I’m doing this for you because
My Master commands it. You can take what you want, but I’ll always
be His.
    There was a further few minutes of tit play, which Emily
performed for the new man, putting on a good show, acting the
wanton slut – playing the role she knew was needed. And Emily took
strength from the knowledge she was providing him a service. It
made her feel good. It made her feel shockingly horny. Then a cough
from the stranger indicated enough – it was time to get on with the
strip and show him another couple of treasure!
    When it came to her skirt, Emily looked to Her Nemesis for
guidance – should she stay kneeling or should she stand up to
remove it. The man understood her quandary without any exchange of
words, and with a firmly pointed finger instructed his bitch to
remain where she was. Emily unfastened the zipper and shuffled down
her skirt; then once at the knees she lifted one then the other so
the skirt slipped under and she could slide it along the dirty wet
floor. She took off her shoes and placed them beside the crumpled
skirt. The quiet man collected them and added them to the attire on
the Chanel bag at the basin.
    Practically naked, Emily paused for a moment. The stranger was
looking with hunger on his shaded face, and Emily could envisage
the sight she portrayed: a trim slender body with generous curves;
dressed in pearls and a collar with a leash; the last vestige of
her modesty covered by a thong, the gusset of which was shamefully
drenched and hiding a surprise that wasn’t meant to be
shared.
    With a tinge of regret but accepting her lot, Emily removed
the thong, repeating the process she had performed with the skirt.
With another groan of approval on seeing her exposed sex, the quiet
man picked the skimpy thong up. But he did not add it to the rest
of Emily’s clothing; instead he took a sniff, a dog smelling to
check if the bitch was in heat. Then satisfied he placed the thong
in his jacket pocket – a little souvenir of London for him to take
back to Milan.
    Emily observed all this out of the corner of her eye, not
daring to look directly at the Italian for fear her boldness might
offend. Her mind was elsewhere though, wondering and listening,
hoping for some form of acknowledgement from Her Master. Over the
weekend she had shaved the landing strip of pubic hair, supposedly
as a treat for her husband Les, but Emily knew fine well she had
done it for Her Master, wanting to please and entice him to use the
part of her body he had promised to rut for hours. Nothing came,
which was a bitter blow. Emily wondered if she’d made a mistake and
would be punished instead for this piece of initiative. Life was so
uncertain down here in the basement with a man that was impossible
to fathom or read.
    Silence ensued, a lull before the storm. Then a chug on her
leash heralded the first roll of thunder. Emily’s Master motioned
to the bench in the middle of the room and bade her to kneel on it.
She crawled to the bench and slowly got on it, unsure of what was
to follow.
    She could have guessed!
    With her eyes averted downward, focused on Her Nemesis’s feet,
Emily only heard the sound of