MASTERED: (The Novel) (12 page)

The first gush of hot semen
deposited itself directly into her belly, no swallowing required. She thought
she would pass out from lack of oxygen when he suddenly pulled back. James
growled for her to stick out her tongue. Once fully extended, James blew stream
after stream of a massive load into her mouth and over her tongue.

By default, large globules also
landed on her chin and chest.
I've failed him!
She paid not a moment's
consideration as to her cum-splattered appearance. She did, however, feel the
failure as keenly as she would physical pain.

Chapter 33

James, on the other hand, could
not have been more delighted. He squeezed the last droplets of cum from the
head of his cock and wiped them on her still-distended tongue. Kneeling down to
her level, he smiled into her mess of a face. His seed was congealing and
dripped down her cheeks, off her chin, and onto her chest. Her mouth was full
of it, tongue coated.

To James, she was breathtaking.
Magnificent.
With two fingers, he wiped the
mucusy
mess from her cheek and inserted it lovingly into
her yawning, cum-filled mouth. He allowed her to swallow as he repeated the
process as required. James massaged the last traces into her tongue and gums.
He smiled when her pink tongue peeked out to clean bruised lips.

Gathering her shivering body into
his arms, he nuzzled his lips tenderly into her hair. He felt her breathing
slow as her nervous system calmed. While this girl was quickly making her way
into his heart, he was quite sure she had always existed in his soul.

He whispered into her soft hair,
“Don't forget your manners, little one. What do you say when Master rewards you
so generously?” James confidently awaited the requisite 'Thank you, Sir'. He
was taken aback when her soft, cock-husky voice croaked, “I love you, Master”.

Effortlessly lifting her in his
arms, James rose to an upright position in the cramped closet. He kissed her
eager, if unmoving mouth. “Your words please me greatly, little one. You are
where you were meant to be, in my arms and at my feet.” As he carried her
towards the double doors of the private room, he murmured warmly against her
ear. “Master loves his precious whore as well, little one.”

James watched her exhale
contentedly through perfectly bloated lips before pushing open the doors to the
main salon. The exceedingly cooperative Teresa was waiting to escort them from
the darkened, deserted boutique. Unashamedly, Missy laid one cum-sticky cheek
against the lapel of his suit jacket and melted into him.

Chapter 34

The sensation of
wholeness that permeated her in this man’s presence was too blissfully pure to
disregard. Missy realized that James was her drug, and she was desperately
addicted. She would do whatever was necessary to get her next fix
.

They sat in a dimly-lit corner of
Dominic's Crab Cave. If it were lighter, the sprinkling of dried semen that
clung stubbornly to her thickened lips would be glaringly apparent. Missy's
legs were splayed whorishly wide beneath the table of the jam-packed
eatery.
 
Her breathing was more akin to
panting. It stunk of cum.

She was particularly grateful for
the cheery checkered tablecloth that spilled generously past the table's edge.
It stood as the singular barrier between public disgrace, and maintaining what
little dignity remained her.

She couldn't swear as to the details
of their arrival. Exactly how they'd negotiated the short trip between the
boutique and this opulent restaurant was beyond her.

She did, however, recall how the
maitre'd
fawned over James immediately upon their arrival.
In no time, they were seated at one of the most coveted tables in the house.
Scented candles were lit. Linen napkins materialized unobtrusively in their
laps. The hostess sashayed away with a smile so bright, it verged on ludicrous.

Now, James's index and middle finger
were sloshing audibly in Missy's still-sopping pussy. It was necessary to reach
exaggeratedly across her thigh in order to do so effectively. James Colton was
nothing if not effective. Missy's pulse trip hammered erratically at the base
of her throat. Still, she sat compliant; shoulders back, chin up, eyes down.

Submissive...

“
Master loves his precious whore as well,
little one.”
Vividly,
she recalled the extraordinary words. They'd reverberated in her head since he
whispered them against her ear.

There could be no discounting the
pervasive calm she had felt in his arms. It persisted as he carried her past
her groveling boss and out the extravagant glass doors of the boutique.

It
persisted still...

Chapter 35

“Your cock-sucking skills leave much
to be desired, my dear. You'll either learn to suck like a decent whore, or I
can simply face-fuck you as became necessary this afternoon.”

“Your choice, of course,” James
chortled amicably.

Missy was jolted abruptly back to
the here and now by the offhanded, and shockingly indecent rebuke. She gasped
aloud when her traitorous pussy clenched involuntarily in response, embracing
his buried fingers tighter yet. Her excitement was appallingly evident. It all
but gushed over his knuckles.

Arriving at the table, the eyes of
the tuxedoed waiter widened with curiosity. They studiously tracked James's
extended arm to where it vanished none-too-mysteriously beneath the table. Even
with the commotion of the boisterous dinner throng, there could be no mistaking
the sloshing sounds his fingers elicited from deep within her.

It took approximately three seconds
for the young waiter to piece it all together. He lit up as if he was just plugged
into an electrical outlet! Carnal knowledge and a leering grin spread across
his face. In tandem, scorching disgrace spread across Missy's.

Without missing a 'stroke'
,
James casually ordered garden
salads, freshly-baked garlic bread, and six ounce lobster tails for each of
them. Attentive as he and the waiter discussed the details of a dirty gin
martini, Missy suddenly became acutely aware of her ravenous hunger. For the
first time in a long while, her mouth was watering for something other than
James.

When their meal arrived, he made
quite the production of extracting the two gooey digits from between her
thighs. He held them expectantly in front of her face, having her raise her
downcast eyes in order to fully appreciate the situation.

With utter confidence in her
impending obedience, James spoke almost conversationally, “Don't you think you
should clean your mess, my dear?” Missy was positive her throbbing head was
about to explode! At the same time, the waiter's eyes bulged in anticipation of
what was sure to be the thrill of his young life. Mesmerized by the events
playing out before him, he ignored the rising crescendo of impatient diners
clamoring for service.

As if instinctual, Missy's puffy,
tingling lips parted. At the same time, James repositioned his hand. Now, just
barely out of reach, she was forced to lean forward in active participation.
Managing to maintain the perfect posture, Missy engulfed the slimy extremities
. Up to the third and final glistening
knuckle, no less!

Focusing solely on the glowing pride
and absolute acceptance shining from his eyes, she gluttonously suckled both
fingers simultaneously. Reverently, she moved on to pay each the individual
attention it merited. She concluded by lapping respectfully betwixt the two, so
as not to miss a drop and disappoint. She became woozy with prideful
self-satisfaction when she was rewarded with a simple “Good girl!”

Sitting up, she barely caught the
waiter's retreating back. At long last, he was scurrying off to attend the
swelling ranks of disgruntled and famished diners. Amazed by her newly minted
lack of modesty, she giggled inwardly at the incredible tale the boy would soon
be sharing. Vaguely, she wondered if anyone would even believe it.

Missy had no doubt that the young
man would remember the spectacle he’d just witnessed for the rest of his days.
As would she…

Whore!

Chapter 36

Missy hunched miserably on the
toilet. She felt weak and queasy after a restless night spent alternating
between hot and cold sweats. Blurry-eyed, she squinted glumly at the elevated
reading on the thermometer.

Swallowing with difficulty, she
pondered whether her aching throat was yet another symptom of the sudden
illness. Shamefully, she concluded that, more likely; it was a natural
by-product of James's cock being repeatedly jammed down it!

She might have hung her head in
morning-after indignation, was she not suddenly overcome with the urgent need
to puke. Scrambling off the toilet, she was thankful to make it to her knees
before the retching and heaving turned into violent waves of projectile vomit.
What little remained of the previous evening's mouthwatering meal now floated
revoltingly in the toilet.

And, mouthwatering it had been -
almost as yummy as the company. They spent the balance of the evening eating
and talking and laughing. The service was, not surprisingly, spectacular. Their
vaguest whim was the attentive waiter's top priority.

After the scrumptious meal, James
ordered a cognac for himself, and for Missy a bowl of ice cream smothered in
chocolate sauce. She had coveted it earlier as it floated past their table atop
a server's tray. When it arrived, James instructed her to sit up straight,
hands folded politely in her lap.

He proceeded to spoon feed ice cream
into her mouth as one might a child. Surprisingly, he was quite adept at
scooping it up with a flourish of the spoon when it 'accidentally' dribbled
down her chin.

This morning, that very same
chocolate sauce was floating in the toilet bowl along with other, less
recognizable, delicacies. Missy vowed to never eat again.

James had wanted, no,
needed,
to know everything about her.
Beginning with birth, it seemed. They snuggled close as she unreservedly
divulged all. No topic was taboo. He was an attentive listener, and appeared
not at all surprised by introspective recollections of her teenaged years.

 
Over a period of years, the frightening suspicion
that she was different from the other girls had turned to abject certainty.
This fearsome surety affected her life in a multitude of ways - none of them
affirmative.

Submissive...

While James hung enraptured on her
every syllable, he offered precious little in return. When she nearly passed
out mid-sentence into the dregs of her ice cream, he delivered her safely home.
Accompanying her to the door, he bid her goodnight with a chase kiss to the
forehead. Before she could utter a sound, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Now, she sat crumpled on the
bathroom floor, flushed cheek resting against cold porcelain.
Work was out of the question.
Evidently,
the wooziness and chills which had plagued her the previous evening were of
dual origin. They weren't exclusive to the lewd and lascivious acts that played
havoc with her nervous system. Acts, she reminded herself, in which she’d
eagerly - and soddenly
-
participated.

Her eyes slid to the chic,
monogrammed bag resting innocently against the foot of the bed.
Is it the
fever, or is it really glaring back at me accusingly?
The designer bag was
from the upscale boutique where she worked. Inside were a pricey negligee and
an equally pricey corset.

What little equilibrium remained her
evaporated at the thought of that sexy, once-virginal
corset.
Hugging the toilet bowl closer, she deemed it the perfect opportunity to assess
her decidedly unladylike conduct.
Conduct which had resulted
in the possession of these stunning pieces of lingerie.

Yes, considering she was already
nauseous, it was perfect timing, indeed.
“Maybe being sick has an unexpected silver lining.”
Missy croaked the
words in the direction of her own vomit. Her face flushed with prickly heat,
and it had nothing to do with the budding malaise. It had
everything
to
do with not being able to look her boss
or
Stephanie in the eye.

Was that really me grinding on his
leg like some desperate bitch in heat?
The
simple undertaking of shaking her head in disbelief only nauseated her further
.
Apparently, the penance for her
animalistic behavior the night before was feeling like dog crap this morning!

Groaning with effort, Missy flushed
the toilet and rose stiffly to brush her teeth. Lightheaded, she squinted at
the clock. It was still too early to call in sick. Clutching her cell phone,
she crawled miserably between still-damp sheets. It was only by chance that she
noticed the text message.

She marveled at how seeing a
solitary message from James caused her heart to lurch. This fascinating man
captivated her utterly, igniting feelings and desires never before imagined. Effortlessly,
he garnered her complete attention.

She read the missive slowly,
savoring each syllable as though the most tender of morsels.
“Good morning, cherished whore. I trust you
slept well. Have a wonderful day thinking of me. Do not forget to wear the
chain.”

Of its own accord, her hand
fluttered to her throat, around which the exquisite silver filament was
securely fastened. Astounding really, how quickly and readily she'd morphed.
Missy was transformed from the skittish, self-reliant woman she always was, to
this shockingly needy, yet oddly serene, submissive 'whore'.

Her clammy fingers flew. She
couldn't respond fast enough. She typed that she was running a temperature and
sick to her stomach. There was no way she could manage work. She added that she
was back in bed, and finished by wishing him a wonderful day. Once done, she
fell asleep instantly, phone still in hand.

Missy slept heavily. Right up until
the doorbell rang...

Chapter 37

James stood on the front steps of
the tiny bungalow, heart melting. He surveyed the dilapidation that darkness
had obscured the night before. Missy's attempts to distract the eye from the
escalating disrepair were both creative and charming. They were also hopeless.

The rotting floorboards of the porch
were painted a welcoming blue. Long ago, they had conceded to the supremacy of
the elements. Now, they laid faded and warped in defeat. Rust-covered door
hinges refused to be obscured beneath thick coats of identical blue. Duct tape
fashioned into the shape of daisies covered most of the holes in the screen
door. Vases of plastic wildflowers surrounded an over-sized wicker armchair
that was conspicuously out of proportion on the tiny veranda.

James skeptically eyed the flimsy
lock on the even flimsier front door. It joggled visibly when manipulated from
within in response to his unexpected arrival
.
This will never do!
He made a mental note to contact his
handyman and a locksmith.

The weather-beaten door swung open
and there stood a none-too-thrilled Christopher. The previous evening, Missy
spoke at length about her only child. Her edges softened, her eyes shimmered,
and her voice filled with love and pride whenever his name was mentioned.

Nearly seventeen years old, he was a
fine looking young man. James guessed his height at about five foot eight or
nine. His facial features were his own, but his build was reminiscent of his
mother's. Lean and compact, he stood in the opened doorway wearing nothing but
a pair of cotton boxers. Red-rimmed eyes squinted against the dual assault of
doorbells and sunlight.

James spoke first. “You must be
Christopher; I'm James, James Colton. Your mom may have mentioned me?” He
extended his hand and waited for Christopher to shake it. Likely unaccustomed
to greetings more formal than,
“
Hey
man,
wazz'up
?”
it took a moment or two for
the gesture to register. At last, Christopher reached out uncertainly to
perform his part in the unfamiliar ritual.

When he did grasp the outstretched
limb, his fervor was surprising. He pumped it
prolongedly
,
switching easily to a two-handed grip. A mischievous grin spread across his
young face as he invited James in. Not waiting for a reply, he practically
yanked him through the opened doorway.

 
“Yeah, she might have mentioned your name.
Maybe even told me a little about you.
But mostly, it's her
gawd
-awful singing and goofy grin that tells me what I need
to know.”

Relinquishing the stranglehold on
James's extremities, he lowered his voice, “She never used to do a whole lot of
either,” he imparted conspiratorially.

James felt his already softened
heart expand to make room for this caring boy. His mother's demeanor had
darkened ominously, her voice literally quavering whenever she spoke of
Christopher's father.

In hushed tones, she imparted how
Luke drank a staggering amount of
champagne at their wedding. The momentous occasion ended with her in tears, and
with him unconscious and drooling at the head table. Thereafter, his only
marriage was to the bottle, swapping fine champagne for cheap red wine.

Because of this unswerving devotion;
volume and consumption escalated at an impressive rate. Luke strove for, and
attained - the proficiency level of 'expert'. In any other vocation, he would
have stood as a glorious example of what was possible when one wholly dedicated
themselves to fulfilling their objectives.

As can happen in life, one talent often
leads to another. This principle proved true in Luke's case. In record-breaking
time, he was able to add
'incapable of maintain employment
'
to his short but illustrious resume.
Eventually, he was faced with the dilemma of choosing between booze and
supporting his family.

He bought half a gallon of vodka to
help him decide. Shortly, Luke was suckling at the government's teat for even
the most basic of sustenance.

“The
exact opposite of a strong paternal role model,
”
thought James.
Boys need a real man's
influence if they're to grow up with the proper appreciation of a real man's
responsibilities.

The protective son interrupted his
thoughts. “I
gotta
tell you, though, dude - if
ya
hurt her, I'm
gonna
have to
kill
ya
!” Christopher ended his attempt at manly
bravado with self-conscious giggles. Still, James very much wanted to reassure
him of his intentions.

Never once breaking eye-contact with
the boy, he emphasized every word, “Neither you nor your mother have anything
to fear from me, son. I would proudly care for both of you if you allow me the
honor. A real man takes his responsibilities very seriously, Christopher.”

Chapter 38

Christopher returned the eye-contact
unflinchingly. He blatantly scoured James’s face for any sign of deception. After
an extended silence that should have turned awkward, but didn't; he spoke, “I
believe you.”

His mom operated under the
misconception that she protected him from the brutal waste of skin that was his
father. She wanted desperately to believe that he never witnessed the
son-of-a-bitch grabbing and shoving her. That, somehow, he missed the dark
circles under her eyes, or the anxiety that too often etched itself into her
features.

Truth was
,
he never heard her say a nasty word about the very nasty man. Still,
Christopher wasn't blind. He was well aware that she regularly handed over her
hard-earned money to the bully.
After
all, the father's appetite for drink was a much higher priority than the
child's appetite for food!

 
His mom deserved so much better. She deserved
a man who would treat her right. One who would protect her where he was
unable.
Very soon, he would be leaving for college. With
these things in mind, Christopher measured the sincerity in James’s eyes against
the unaccustomed lilt in his mother's voice.

He decided unequivocally that this
man deserved at least the benefit of the doubt. With that decision out of the
way, Christopher was ready to move on to the next item on the agenda: The
business of why James, or anybody else for that matter, would drop in at this
unholiest of hours!

The son was unaware of the mother's
unheralded illness. He hadn't been to bed, staying up all night to study for
finals -
and
to play video games.
Helping James locate the fixings for hot honeyed tea, he chattered nervously
about his upcoming graduation. Older than his years, Christopher worried about
his future.

He also worried about his mom, no
matter how often she told him not to. “It's not like mom volunteering to work
overtime every day makes much of a dent,
ya
know? I
keep telling her it's not worth it to kill herself, and she keeps asking me;
“Who’s the parent around here?”
Christopher
shrugged and grinned. “
Ya
can't fight city hall,
ya
know!”