Undulate: Chapter 20

Stand up and undress your master.

Holy fucking hell. Every intimate muscle in my body clenches at his words. Being the slave girl to Zach’s master is so impossibly arousing that I’m right on the brink again.

Imagine it. Being owned by Zach. Being his chattel. Being the woman who serves him, services him, in every way. Undresses him. Folds his clothes. Bathes him. Sucks his dick at the end of a long day. Bends over his desk and presents her willing cunt whenever he needs a quick release. Stays silent and takes every inch of him while he uses her body to alleviate his boredom on his longer, more turgid conference calls.

I want it all. Every demeaning, chauvinistic, impersonal, entitled violation he can think of. I want that unhealthy dynamic where the power imbalance and intimacy are equally undeniable. Equally true. I want it so badly I’m dripping. His fingers actually squelched when he pushed them inside my body just now.

He’s towering in front of me, deliciously stern in that all-black outfit that makes him look like Tom Ellis as Lucifer.

My master.

And finally, fucking finally, I get to undress him.

I step closer so my bare feet are toe-to-toe with his shiny black shoes and allow myself a second to revel in the perfection that is him all dark and fully dressed and masterful and me, his naked, barefoot slave girl, ready to do his bidding.

Ready for whatever profanities my master wishes to unleash upon me.

My lack of heels makes the height difference between us more apparent. I reach up and undo his shirt, button by button. He’s utterly still as I do so. Watchful.

I already know the delights that await me, thanks to my thorough perving on Rafe’s roof terrace. And now I’ve sucked his dick. There are nothing but good things under this diabolical costume. Still, I’m filled with excitement at the thought of him naked and muscular and hard. At the anticipation of what he’s planning on doing to me with that dick of his.

I get the front of his shirt unbuttoned, and he holds out a wrist. Master Zach is definitely imperious, and it makes me squirm with lust. I unfasten his cufflinks and lay them on a little tray on the lacquered cabinet against the wall. He stands and waits as I reverently slide the shirt off over those gorgeous, domed shoulders.

God, he’s beautiful. I drag my eyes away for a second so I can lay the shirt neatly on a chair like a good little slave girl. I want nothing more than to flatten my palms over the swell of his pecs, to brush my lips down the smattering of hair that runs south. I must have stepped forward, because he puts up a hand.

‘No. You don’t get to touch me unless I say so.’

I bite my lower lip in frustration and set to work on his belt buckle.

‘Shoes first,’ he reminds me.

Ah, yes. I crouch down and untie his laces, slipping both shoes off and tugging his socks off his very nice feet before rising up.

Fuck, he’s hard. His bulge is so ridiculous it’s difficult to unfasten his distorted trousers. I lower the zip carefully and slide his trousers down over toned, tanned, hairy legs. I can already imagine how good those legs will feel entangled with my smooth ones. I fold his trousers and place them on top of his shirt.

Master Sexy Pants is now just in a pair of snug black boxer briefs, and boy is it a good look on him, especially because the crown of his dick is already poking out under the waistband. I have a pavlovian reaction to the beads of moisture already leaking from it and lick my lips. I look up at him, eager-eyed, and he nods.

‘Take them off.’

I tug them down gingerly, because I don’t know if I’m allowed to touch that cock yet. Don’t know if and when he’ll let me wrap my fingers around it, and bend my head so I can smear that pre-cum over my lips, and run it through my folds.

He steps out of them and stands, arms hanging easily at his sides as I lay his boxer briefs on the chair. We’re both naked now, but the power imbalance in the room is just as acute as it was when he was fully dressed. He’s every inch the master here. There’s power in the broad expanse of his shoulders. In the majestic way he holds his head. In the strong stance of his legs, his feet planted wide and firm.

I want this man to profane me so badly that I’m a squirming mess.

He raises an eyebrow sexily at me. ‘Safeword?’

I try very, very hard not to smirk. ‘Spreadsheet, sir.’

He twists his mouth. ‘Good. You see this cock?’ He fists it.

My eyes are practically on stilts. Yes I see your fucking cock. It’s not exactly easy to miss. Jam it inside me already, mister. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m going to fuck you very, very hard with it. I want to see what you’re capable of.’

Blood rises to the surface of my skin in a flush whose warmth I can feel, but most of it pools in my clit. Yes please yes please yes please. ‘I understand, sir.’ I hope I’m making effective puppy dog eyes right now. And I hope to God he has a heart, because I need this man to give me what I want. I need him to fuck me in two.

‘You can do whatever you want to me, sir,’ I add. ‘I want to please you.’

He sucks in a ragged breath. ‘Let’s see about that. Get a condom.’

I grab one off a huge bowl on the cabinet and hold it out to him. He nods.

‘Put it on me.’

Excellent. I lick my lips as I rip open the foil and position the condom over his crown. I could do this with my eyes shut, so I watch his face carefully as I roll the condom on a lot more slowly and sensually than I technically need to. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and I don’t miss the clench of his jaw as I get the latex all the way down to his base and smooth the condom over his shaft with my hand.

Just, you know, making sure it’s on right.

You can’t blame a girl for wanting to get her hands on this cock.

‘Okay.’ The strain in his voice is unmissable. ‘Now get on the bed on your hands and knees facing away from me.’

Yes.

I turn and kneel up on the bed before dropping onto all fours. The knowledge that he can see everything, that my cunt is fully exposed for him as I crawl away from him has arousal slickening me even more. I crawl slowly, making the most of the short trip up the bed, conscious of how my folds rub together as I move, sending delicious tickles over me.

I’m facing the headboard, which looks like wipe-clean fake leather (seems sensible) and is heavily cushioned (also sensible given Alchemy’s patrons presumably enjoy railing each other into the headboard).

‘You make an exquisite sight,’ Zach drawls from somewhere behind me. The light dims, and I look over my shoulder. He’s standing at the end of the bed, fisting his cock, his gaze stuck squarely on all the most private parts of me exposed for him.

‘Thank you, sir.’ I drop my head, waiting for him. My hair falls in a heavy curtain around my face, and in this fleeting privacy I allow myself to scrunch my nose up while I smirk in glee, because this is even more exciting than standing on that stage was.

That was just the warm-up.

The bed dips slightly under his weight. The space between my legs offers me a sliver of a view: he’s coming for me. Oh, goody. I move my knees further apart, both to stabilise myself and to open myself up to him as much as I can.

He stops right behind me, his knees between my legs, his hands smoothing over my bottom. Then there’s the beautiful, heavenly drag of his crown through my wetness. He rubs my clit with it before sweeping it up through my wetness and bracing at my centre. I wish we could lose the condom, but still, it’s so heavenly, so right, I cry out.

‘You like that?’ he grits out.

I brace on my hands. ‘Very much, sir.’

‘How about this?’

This is a resounding slap on my bottom. The shock and the pain and the sharp, unexpected sound of it conspire to have me gasping out loud. He smooths my stinging skin with his palm while at the same time running the tip of his dick over my clit.

OMFG. It’s so fucking good. I push my arse back against him, looking for relief.

‘Anything you want to say to me?’ he enquires, his voice cold as ice.

The safeword.

I shake my head under my curtain of hair. ‘No, sir.’

He makes a low noise of what I think is frustration before withdrawing both his palm and his dick. I brace and wait.

The slap comes on my other cheek next, hard and sharp and stinging, before he smooths his hand over my skin, rubbing his crown over my clit and through my folds. My bottom is flooded with heat. The endorphins are kicking in, making my body sing with wellbeing, and my clit is so swollen, so ready for him I might explode.

He repeats this a few times. Slap. Smooth. Rub. ‘I knew you’d get all pink like this,’ he mutters, brushing his hand over my burning bottom with what feels like reverence. ‘So fucking beautiful.’

The thought of Zach fantasising about spanking me while fiddling with his spreadsheets, or of my now-master imagining it while watching me up there on stage, provides such multi-layered pleasure that my skin warms and my clit throbs. It’s enough to know this man behind me has been wanting to profane me like this.

‘God.’ His voice is raw. Anguished. ‘Can’t get enough of this pussy.’ And then he’s shifting behind me and pressing his face against my needy flesh and licking it with long, hungry swipes of his tongue as he pants behind me. I let out a cry that’s more animal than human, because I am going to explode any moment now. I’m so in need of another release it’s not funny, and I grind my pussy into his face as hard as I can and collapse onto my elbows, burying my head in my hands because no one can endure this kind of torture.

He pulls his mouth away and I groan harshly, but he’s climbing up behind me and reaching a hand around to grab, to knead my breasts with hungry, uncontrolled movements. Then the wide, blunt crown of his cock is poised at my entrance, thank fucking God, and he’s feeding himself in, slowly.

And holy fuck, the sensation of him filling me up, inch by thick, glorious inch, is a revelation. I sigh and whimper and claw at the bed in my impatience, bizarrely conscious of the majesty of this man behind me and somehow oblivious to anything but each tiny lick of stimulation, of friction my hungry nerve-endings are being served up.

Not that there’s anything tiny about my new master. He’s huge, and this angle is seriously deep, and as much as I need him inside me, I’m grateful he’s easing his way into my body slowly.

‘Ahh fuck,’ he hisses. ‘Fucking hell.’ He sinks his fingers hard into my hips as he bottoms out in me, holding me still as I adjust to the extraordinary fullness inside me. I turn my head so my cheek is against the satin sheets, desperate to see with my own eyes how being buried balls-deep in me is affecting him.

There’s no perfect view from this angle, but the impression my peripheral vision serves me up is enough. He’s straightened up, rising up behind me, tall and proud, the hard, sculpted lines of his body softly outlined in the dim light. I get a sense of the stiff jut to his jaw. He’s as close to losing the plot as I am. I hope he’s savouring the juxtaposition of his lordly stance and my lowly, writhing one as he impales me on his cock.

He rolls his hips slowly, testing me, and I moan. I need him to give it to me hard. I really hope he doesn’t take it easy on—

Oh my God. Apparently satisfied by the insane snugness of our fit together, he pulls out practically the whole way before rutting back into me. Hard. The power of his thrust slams the breath out of my lungs. It’s primal, and elemental, and holy fucking Christ is it what I need. I groan, and it’s low and guttural.

‘Hold on tight,’ he grunts, and I scrabble at the satin sheets, which may be sexy but are anything but stable. My cheek slides, my fingers flutter, and my pussy fills with fire as he repeats the move. He sets a pace that’s slow enough for me to enjoy every luxuriantly punishing inch of his thrusts, and I crouch there, unable to do anything but brace myself the best I can while I take and take and take round after round of my huge, hot master railing his little slave girl into the bed.

Intensity radiates off him so powerfully it feels like anger. And perhaps it is. Perhaps he’s angry at me for tempting him, angry at himself for failing to withstand my allures.

Perhaps he’s punishing both of us equally.

But if it’s punishment, I’ll take every inch of what he has to give me because this white-hot fire he’s stoking inside of me is the rawest, most addictive thing I’ve felt in a long time.

He thrusts rhythmically, pulling so far out each time that his crown jabs me bluntly on the in-stroke, and the mantra I chant in my head as I hang on for dear life is fill me fill me fill me. I’d be crushed against the headboard right now if it wasn’t for the tight grip on my hips that stops me shooting up the bed.

We’re wordless but not noiseless, our cries and grunts and moans escalating above the sensual beat of the music as his assault on my internal walls continues. My orgasm is shimmering on the horizon, a beautiful thing that glows brighter and brighter as my body prepares to unspool, when he reaches around and pinches my clit, squeezing it hard as he drives into me again.

And I’m gone. Obliterated. Warmth becomes heat as pleasure floods my body, a thousand spectacular sunrises and sunsets explode behind my eyelids, and I’m sucked into a vortex of pure, wondrous sensation. I cry out as the waves course over me, wringing me out and spinning me higher and higher as Zach continues to pump into me, his breath jagged and that glorious dick and those fingers spurring my orgasm on and on.

With a low shout of what sounds like surprised triumph he follows me over the edge, his thrusts growing jerky as he fills the condom inside me with the warm evidence of his pleasure. As my orgasm ebbs away, I grow more aware of the individual fragments making up this perfect picture.

The warmth of Zach’s skin against my bottom as he holds still inside me.

The beautiful, sated pulses of his cock against my inner walls.

His hand removing itself from my clit and brushing over my stomach, between my breasts, and back down.

The raggedness of his breathing behind me.

The peace. The fulsome, pervasive peace that fills my mind and my body. The kind of peace that, in my experience, only a thoroughly good fucking can deliver.

He releases my hip and runs a hand down my back in firm, full strokes before withdrawing his dick from my body. I should say that withdrawal is my least favourite thing in the world. Not only does it usually sting, if I’ve been fucked as thoroughly as I like to be, but it reminds me that my pussy’s default state is empty. Bereft.

I’m never self-conscious after sex, but through my post-orgasmic glow comes the realisation that I have no idea whether Zach will be weird or not. I mean, who the hell knows with that guy, right?

‘Give me a sec,’ he whispers softly before clambering off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. I turn my head to enjoy the supremely satisfying sight of his nakedness from behind, the broadness of his back and shoulders tapering down to a seriously pert arse.

Absolutely delicious.

I roll onto my back with my knees up, feet on the bed. I really hope he’s not done. I need more time with him like this, when he’s in character and apparently, given the performance he just gave, feeling safe enough to unleash himself.

On me.