Master

Feeling my body being lifted, I bring myself closer to the tense body that carries me from my tear-induced slumber. The cold biting my skin makes me hold tighter around his neck. I know it's him because his warmth feels like no other. Whimpering at the time spent in the cold as my feet start to feel the cold, as I bring my face closer to his neck, feeling his rushed pulse.

Eyes closed, I let him hold me as we walk into the building, only opening them when I feel the warmth in the room. 

The lobby is black, gold, and navy blue, with a large chandelier. That's the little I bring attention to because all my attention is on the feeling of the unnamed man who carries me gently in his arms.

Under flexed muscles, I could feel slow breaths above a fast-paced heartbeat. Each breath is like he savours it or fears taking a new one because they are countable by the minute. We walk to an elevator and ride to the floor that gets opened for us by the man next to the elevator door. Unphased by the visual of the large man holding me in his arms, in a distressed dress, barefoot and damsel-like.

I am not a damsel, but I know when I need help. Right now, I had to accept it. I accept him.

When we reach the top, the elevator opens, and we step into a passageway before walking towards another passage on the right. With a maundered push he opens the door to a bathroom. That's when he slowly brings me down to my feet. The cold tiled floor brought a chill to my body. 

My arms slipping from his neck, he gives me a last glance before walking towards the bathtub.

He lets water flow from the tap while he adds salt to the white marble bathtub. Turning to me once more I look at him still in the same position he left me in, just facing him. He pulls his jacket off his shoulders, placing it on the hook next to the towels. After that, he unbuttons his wrist buttons and follows along with the buttons of his shirt. He continues until his shirt is loose, removing it to place it on the basin. 

I struggle to focus, caught between staying in the vision of his eyes or looking further down to what was bare. When I do, I see a small array of tattoos on his right arm and one lower on his torso. Looking back up at his face, I find him calm and steady.

Finished with his self-preparation, he walks towards me, stopping centimetres away from my body. My face, angling up slightly, I stay in a calm breath as his hand rises to my face to slowly remove my earrings one by one. Placing each by the basin table. He goes on to turn me around, unravelling the array of strings that tie the back of my dress.

When he lets the last string lose, he turns me towards him again. With the strings loose it takes a tug of the material by my waist until it puddled at my feet, leaving me in my thin undergarment. Slowly he takes a knee and slips his fingers through the material, his heavy breath brushing against my stomach as he pulls them down ever so slowly. When they reach my ankles, I lift my feet to free the material from me.

My body is still yet inside, I feel in absolute chaos. The lack of space between him and me at this moment is more than physical, as though he took off more than my material clothing. My attention is drawn between the disbelief that I was here, in what I could only assume was his home and the comfort being her brings when considering the night. Just the memory of it makes me go stiff, my muscles locking against each other, but the fall into panic stops when I feel firm fingers pull my wrists forward.

 

Looking down, I note that there was bruising forming by my wrist making me pull back, only he holds them in place. His lips brushed against the discoloured skin with a sunken look on his face. The feeling of his lips against my skin and worry across his brow makes me run my fingers against his hand, "Thank you for helping me." 

Raising from his position, he takes my hand and leads me to the bathtub. Stopping the water, he guides me into the bathtub and has me sit before he pulls a low chair and sits beside me.

The sound of the single water drops and my shallow breathing serenade the tiled room. In his hand, he drops some body wash into a black cloth, dipping it into the water and straining some of the water out before lifting it to my face. With unrushed actions, he washed the blood off my face, making me winch where my forehead met Jimmy's nose.

When he is done with my face, he moves the chair so that he can angle better to clean my body. I feel my nipples harden under his gaze and the feeling of being open to him in this way. I know he sees my body's reaction to him, and I see him to mine through the growing erection in his pants, yet he stays calm. A grey loofah is soaked and lathered before he brings it across my shoulders, the water flowing down my back and breasts.

Going lower, he brings the cloth across my breast making me swallow a whimper of pleasure as the material is rough over me. He continues his slow movements, my legs clenching from the feeling of need growing between them. The brushing of the material; against my breasts continues with my hands in a fist under the water.

His motions move lower "Move back, hold the tub, leg over the side." His instructions are clear, and my body is complicit as I follow, holding the tub and spreading my legs so that I can hand over the edge. He gives no care to the water dripping on the floor as he runs the wash of camomile and something earthy up and down my leg. 

Cleaning the dirt off my foot, he lifts the other leg in the tub enough to clean the bottom of my foot before placing it back into the water. He lets the leg fall back into the tub but his hand keeps them open. 

With my back against the tub and my grip on the sides of the tub as though I am restrained, I am left vulnerable to him. The lofa leaves his fingers while he continues his journey up my leg with firm messages past my calf and thighs. Shivers take my body in anticipation of what this is, and what it was becoming. My breathing increases just from his touch when a slow, deep rub from the top of my clit to the bottom shakes pleasure through me. 

He repeats this torturous pace of rubbing my clit up and down, my head falling back when his other hand comes to the back of my hair.

A gentle hold turns me to look at him, his other hand continuing its motions, my hips finding a rhythm in his. His eyes soak in the visual of my body locked in a position for his play. A sudden, chilling grin rushes into his expression when his finger, thick and long, goes deep into me. My eyes close in the sudden action as I clench around his finger as the pleasure warms through my body, "Open your eyes mi Sirena." I do as he says, and once again I am locked in his gaze when I could simply look away.

"There is a fire in you. Why do you keep hiding it?"I shake my head, not knowing how to explain the feeling of having this man take my body in a way that one could call whorish. Yet I don't feel like a whore. I feel cocooned in this bound act to him. He doesn't move his finger what he does is worse. He pulls his first finger out before pushing it back in with another deeper than before. His facial expression was hungry for not just my answer but for my body too.

Holding my breath, trying to find the words I speak "Because I won't get burnt, even by you." Not saying anything after he starts to thrust his fingers into me. Pulling out his fingertips before going knuckle-deep into me. My moans now leave my lips involuntarily at the force of his motions.

Passionate lust, like he was trying to reach the core of my lust he was not shallow in his wants. He pushed into me almost like he was possessed, yet I felt like I was the one being taken over. He never leaves his hold on the back of my head while filling me with his fingers.

 I can't ignore the feeling, the tug in my stomach and pussy clenching around him, "Please..." I beg, beg like I know I needed to. Like I wanted to, for him.

He lifts my upper body by tugging my hair, coming closer he comes to my ears "If you want it, chase it." He growls leaving a bite on the top of my neck, just breaking the skin. A pleasured scream erupts from me as I move my thighs to the rhythm he had taken too, "Oh my god... more please don't stop" I hear a sick chuckle and a heavy breath from him.

Shaking from the intensity of his never-shallow thrusts, he has kept in motion, deep in me. Coming back to look me in the eye he smirks, "God is not the one making you beg, mi Sirena." He says going faster and faster, the hold I have strong enough to rip the edges of the tub. 

"Your Master is. Scream who is..." And his demand is followed by two deep thrusts -the last thrusting still- and one last pull of the skin on my neck that brings my body to its release. "Master!" The word taking my body and mind.

My body shakes in painful shock at the intensity of my release, back arched and hands painful, hair in grip keeping me from drowning. It's like flashes of pleasure, him never leaving my core before my body finally crashes back into the now lukewarm water.

Letting me fall into the hum of pleasure Master brushes my hair from my forehead and breathes heavily as my eyes close from exhaustion. Closing my eyes, I start to fall asleep when, in the fading distance I hear his voice surrenade me once more.

"Mi sirena, mi Evita." (My siren, my Evita.)