Whore 94 Ch. 08

CRACK.

"Useless whore," she spat. "Lie back and open your legs."

I lay back, raised my knees and opened my legs. Please don't hurt me. Please no. I'm trying to be a good whore.

"Play with yourself," she commanded.

I slid a hand down the front of my panties and ran my fingers across my mound. I tugged at my pussy-lips. I rubbed and fingered my clitoris. That was better. Maybe I could come. Like this. Maybe.

"Good," she said. "Tell me what you are thinking about."

I didn't speak.

CRACK.

Bitch. On the thigh. Why was she hitting me? Bitch.

No… Not a bitch... I deserve it... I deserve to be treated like a dog... I am her whore-slut... She owns me…

"THAT IS THE WRONG ANSWER." She screamed.

I hadn't said anything! Why was she so angry with me? I was trying, wasn't I?

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about…."

CRACK. CRACK.

"YOU WILL THINK ABOUT MY ARSEHOLE," she yelled, and then, more calmly: "Now, what are you thinking about…?"

I tried to picture her arsehole in my mind. I imagined myself poking my tongue inside it again, playing with it, tasting it.

"I'm thinking about your arsehole, mistress" I said feebly.

"I didn't hear you, whore"

"I'm thinking about your arsehole, mistress."

"Good. I want you to come for me. I want you to come thinking about my arsehole."

I rubbed myself furiously.

I was wet. Really wet. And hot. So hot. Why? Why was I so turned on? She was a woman! She was treating me like a little piece of shit. And I was letting her. Thanking her. Obeying her.

"You're not coming, whore," she snarled, and gave my thigh a kick.

She stepped around me in her long black leather boots and crouched over my face.

"Open your legs wider," she ordered. "Keep playing with yourself, and keep thinking about my arsehole. I am going to sit on your whore-face."

I obeyed each request. I pictured her arsehole in my mind. It was beautiful, wasn't it? She had let me taste it. She had let me worship it. I was a lucky slut-whore, wasn't I?

She sat on my face.

"Tongue in my arse, whore" she ordered, half-suffocating me under the weight of her buttocks.

She cracked her riding crop across my inner-thighs.

Ow. Stop. Bitch.

I stuck my tongue into her arsehole and tasted her shit again. I could hardly breathe. But breathing wasn't important. Giving my mistress pleasure… that is important…

She flicked the riding crop playfully across my breasts… catching the nipples… not so delicately as to be painless, but not so harsh as to distract from concentrating on tasting her arsehole…

…I started to quiver uncontrollably under her… I moaned into her buttocks…

Spank my breasts... yes… spank my nipples… please… mistress… Where is Mr. Khani's special necklace? I want to wear it... I want to wear his clamps on my nipples and dance for him and suck his cock and drink his semen and curtsey for him and thank him…

"Think about my arsehole, whore," she reminded me, rubbing her arse into my face.

I came. I hate to admit it, but I climaxed like that: My Brazilian mistress sitting on my face, my tongue thrashing at her anal-passage… and God… yes, I was thinking about her arsehole as I came, just as she had wanted.

…It felt… so good… to come under my mistress… so beautiful, so strong… so powerful. And I was her little fuck-toy… Her arse-licking whore-slut…

I kissed her arsehole. To thank her. To thank her for letting me lick her shit. To thank her for giving my life purpose with her arsehole.

"Okay, that's enough, whore," she said, lifting her rear from my face. "I think we have clarified your position here."

Her taste lingered. Yes. My position was clear to me. Wank-girl. Arse-eater. Spank-slut.

No. Don't think that. You are not a slut. You are Elizabeth. You are just as important as her. She is not your mistress.

I picked myself up off the floor. Why did I suddenly feel so ashamed? As if I had suddenly remembered where I was and what I was doing. Had I just masturbated myself with a woman sitting on my face and my tongue up her arse? Hadn't she kicked me? Hadn't she spanked me with her riding crop?

She was staring at me again.

I blushed and looked at her boots. I couldn't look her in the eye. No way. I had just humiliated myself before her. Oh God. She would tell them. She would tell my owners what a slut I was. That I had come for her. That I had wanted to.

"Thank you, mistress," I said, and curtsied neatly.

"Straighten my dress," she ordered.

I curtsied again to show I had understood the order. Then I knelt at her feet and unfolded her dress back down over her bottom and over her pussy. I straightened it with a few gentle palm strokes. Beautiful dress. Beautiful brown bottom. Beautiful pussy. Beautiful mistress.

What I lucky maid I was. Was I her maid? I had hung up her coat, and now straightening her dress…

Her whore-maid. That was what I was.

"Okay, whore," she said, snapping her fingers. "Get up. I'm going to take you on a little tour of the premises."

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