CALL ME MASTER

In the heart of Berlin, where the air was crisp and the nights were long, lived a woman named Michela. With her curly red hair, brown eyes, and a physique that blended curves and toned muscle, she was a striking figure who captured the attention of everyone she passed. At 28, she was a talented photographer with an eye for the unconventional, often drawn to places and people overlooked by others.

In recent months, she had felt a compelling pull toward exploring another side of sex. She wanted to willingly relinquish control, to be guided and directed. This need stirred every time she heard friends speak of their sexual experiences. One afternoon, over coffee, Michela finally voiced this long-held curiosity to her friend. Smiling knowingly, her friend reached into her bag and produced a small card, placing it on the table between them.

“Call this number,” she said, her tone both encouraging and conspiratorial. “They’ll give you a time and place. Come prepared.”

Michela’s eyes fell to the card. Its design was starkly simple: FREE ME boldly printed, followed by a phone number. A warmth spread through her cheeks, and her fingers twitched with a mix of eagerness and hesitation. After a moment, she picked it up, slipping it into her bag without a word.

It would be three weeks before she found the nerve to make the call.

One night, at precisely 8:30 p.m., in her bed with the card in one hand and her phone in the other, Michela took a deep breath and dialed. Her pulse quickened as the line rang, and she almost hung up before a deep, resonant voice answered.

"Hello."

She swallowed hard, asserting control over her nerves. “Hi, I was told to call this number.”

The man’s voice remained calm, smooth. “You’re looking to be free?”

She nodded, then spoke, realizing he couldn't see her. “Yes, I am.”

There was a brief pause, and she heard a faint sound of him inhaling.

“I need proof you’re clean. Full panel, no exceptions. You’ll receive a text message with the requirements. Submit the health proof within three days; this also comes with an NDA, so read through it carefully.” Her mind registered the mention of an NDA with a sharp thrum.

“If you’re serious, listen carefully. First, I want you to be shaved.”

Her cheeks flushed, but her voice remained steady. “Pardon? Shaved…?”

“Shaved,” he repeated firmly. “Your pussy. I want it smooth. Do you understand?”

Michela’s breath caught, but she managed a firm, “Yes.”

“Good,” he continued, his tone unwavering. “No underwear. Wear a short dress and heels. Nothing else.”

Her heart pounded with a surge of anticipation as she took it all in. “And where am I going?”

“You’ll get a message after this call with more details,” he replied. “Follow them precisely. There’s also a questionnaire in the message. Answer all questions.” His voice was stern, yet it sparked a faint thrill within her. “Take this seriously, or there’s no point moving forward.”

The call ended, leaving Michela in charged silence. Her heart raced, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Moments later, a notification chimed. She opened it, hands trembling slightly, and found an organized set of instructions and a questionnaire.

The questions were direct, leaving no room for ambiguity. They began with her name and age, then delved into deeper territory:

Why do you seek a dominant?

What is your experience level?

What boundaries or limits do you have?

Are you prepared to submit fully within the agreed terms?

Are you new to this dynamic?

Do you understand the importance of trust in submission?

Describe any specific needs or expectations you have.

Other questions began to surface, and suddenly, a wave of doubt crept in. Was she doing the right thing? Did she truly want this? As a Black woman, she had always believed that experience was the best teacher, and she craved the insights such an experience could offer.

Within two days, she completed her health screening and filled out each question with honesty. She faced her long-buried desires, writing down every answer thoughtfully.

On the third evening, she hit “Send.”

The next morning, Michela’s phone buzzed, jolting her awake. She reached for it, her heart already thudding in anticipation. On her screen was a simple, concise message:

Address: 56 Friedrichstraße Time: 8:00 PM Come alone.

She stared at the text, her mind racing as she pictured the location. Her fingers hovered over the message, rereading each line, a nervous excitement blooming. Was she doing this? she thought.

All day, the instructions played over in her mind: come shaved, no underwear, short dress, and heels. Her cheeks flushed at the thought, but the thrill of surrendering control kept her from second-guessing herself. By late afternoon, her outfit lay on her bed: a fitted black dress barely skimming her thighs and her tallest heels.

When the clock struck 7:30, Michela took one last look in the mirror. Her red hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, her brown eyes wide with anticipation and nerves. Grabbing her coat, she slipped out the door, her pulse quickening with each step closer to the unknown.

Michela's steps felt slow and uncertain as she approached the door. Her knuckles knocked softly before she stepped into the dimly lit room. The air inside was thick with the scent of leather and desire, a heavy, intoxicating blend that immediately heightened her senses. She felt out of place, surrounded by scenes that were equal parts fascinating and unsettling. Couples and groups filled the room, each locked in their world of submission and dominance.

A woman, led on a leash, moved past her with steady obedience, and further back, she glimpsed two men and a woman in a position that would have once left her flushed. Yet the sight now only added to her intrigue, sparking an unexpected thrill within her.

She hesitated, considering retreat, when a tall figure stepped in front of her. The man wore a black mask, his posture poised and purposeful. “Miss Michela,” he greeted her, his voice calm but commanding. Her heart skipped a beat. How did he know her name? She felt her breath hitch but nodded, letting him guide her through the room, weaving past intimate exchanges that left her pulse racing.

They moved toward the back of the building, finally reaching a door tucked away from the main space. The masked man opened it, motioning for her to step inside. "Stand here," he instructed simply. She stepped in, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she moved to the center of the room. The door closed quietly behind her, leaving her alone. She could hear nothing from outside the door. Her legs ached as she stood waiting, her pulse pounding with suspense, but she stayed as instructed.

After what felt like an eternity, the door finally creaked open. A man entered, closing the door softly behind him. He was striking: tall, with hair a distinguished shade of grey and dressed in a finely tailored suit that only enhanced his air of authority. Michela’s breath caught as she observed him, instinctively wishing she could capture this image in a photograph, to hide it away somewhere only she could find.

He moved toward her, his gaze steady, inspecting her with a quiet intensity that made her feel completely exposed. “You will call me Master,” he said, his voice smooth and authoritative. “You will do everything and anything I say. Your safe word is ‘black.’ You may use it three times; use it wisely. You have three sessions with me. Times and locations will vary, but this arrangement only continues if I am satisfied with your performance tonight. Do you understand?”

A shiver ran through her as she met his gaze. She nodded, feeling the gravity of his words. “Yes, Master,” she replied softly, her heart beating faster.

“Good,” he said with a small nod of approval. He turned and gestured for her to follow, and she did, her heels echoing softly as they moved down the hall.

He led her into a room both simple and elegant. The walls were painted a deep, velvety red that seemed to pulse in the low light.

Dominating the center of the room was a bed adorned with soft, delicate lace. Its canopy, draped in deep crimson fabric, flowed from the ceiling like a waterfall of satin. The bed, though soft in appearance, seemed starkly functional, ready for whatever might unfold. The sheets were smooth and dark, contrasting with the lighter lace trim that hinted at both romance and restraint.

To the left, she caught sight of a table, neatly organized with an array of tools. Leather cuffs and silk ropes sat in pairs. She silently congratulated herself for remembering the research she’d done on BDSM tools; she didn't want to look foolish. A flogger lay beside a riding crop, its smooth handle glistening under the dim lights. Nearby, a spreader bar and clamps rested. Two vibrators were carefully positioned beside the tools: one small and discreet, shaped like an egg, while the other was much larger, thickly veined, and designed to be anything but subtle.

The man removed his jacket, moving with a deliberation that drew her focus entirely to him. He folded it neatly on a chair in the corner, then reached up to roll each sleeve, exposing his forearms with practiced ease.

A slow, haunting opera began to play softly from hidden speakers, its melodies filling the room, amplifying the scene's intensity. He looked directly into her eyes, his thick eyebrows drawing together. “Are you shaved?” he asked, his voice a low hum.

Michela, a thrill of nervous anticipation coursing through her, nodded, then quickly corrected herself. “Yes, Master, I am.”

He nodded, a subtle gesture of approval. “Good. Go stand close to the bed,” he instructed, his voice soft, almost a suggestion. “And take off your clothes. Your back faces me. Understand?”

Feeling the full weight of his gaze, Michela moved closer to the bed. Her fingers trembled faintly as she began to undress, every sense alive with the undeniable desire to please him. She slipped out of her dress, standing fully naked before him.

He watched her, his eyes meticulously roaming over her body, absorbing every curve and line. “Turn around,” he commanded, his voice like brushed velvet.

“Let me see you.” She complied, a blush creeping up her neck as she turned to face him, her hands instinctively rising to cover her breasts.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice firm, unwavering. “Let me see all of you.” Slowly, she lowered her arms, exposing herself completely to his unwavering stare.

He did not waver. She felt utterly exposed, laid bare. This was not her first time nude before a man, but it was her first experiencing such intense scrutiny, a raw power that made her body thrum with an urge to flee, to vanish.

“Good,” he murmured, the single word a dark approval. “Stay still.”

With measured steps, he circled her, his gaze never leaving her form. His fingers brushed down her spine, tracing each vertebra with featherlight touches that made her shiver. They skimmed her hips, then drifted lower, lingering on her thighs, a deliberate test of her patience, her burgeoning willingness to submit fully. She fought the instinct to close her eyes, determined to keep them open, receptive.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he tilted her chin up, compelling her to meet his gaze.

“Tonight, you are mine to shape, to mold,” he said, his voice firm, yet laced with profound intensity. “There are things you should know about me, about what I do, and about what I will make your body feel. Your pleasure, your pain, all of it will come from me.”

“Yes, Master.”

He took a step back, his hand gliding over the table of carefully arranged tools. He lifted a sleek leather cuff, holding it up before her.

“Good. I want you on your back!”

“Yes, Master.”

“Hands above your head,” he continued.

Heart pounding, she obeyed instantly. He guided her wrists to the headboard above her, securing them with the cuff. As she lay there, bound and vulnerable, she felt a paradoxical sensation: total presence and utter weightlessness, everything and nothing all at once.

He leaned in close, his voice a warm current against her ear. “When I tell you to release, you release. If you fail or disobey, I'll correct you with a spanking, or perhaps the flogger.”

His hand traced slowly down her chest, her nipples taut, begging for attention, yet he withheld his touch, creating an exquisite, sharp longing. She took in a deep, unsteady breath, her entire body exquisitely attuned to him, her pulse racing in sync with the distant opera's beat.

He continued, his fingers grazing her shoulder, then her collarbone, before swiftly moving to the hollow between her breasts.

“My goal,” he murmured, his voice a steady thrum, “is to watch those walls come down, one by one, until you understand what it means to truly surrender. To let go, to trust. Me.” The directness of his declaration made her draw in a sharp, involuntary breath.

Slowly, deliberately, he slid his finger into her mouth, brushing along her tongue, exploring. He pressed in deeper until she felt him against her throat, a demanding presence. She struggled to catch her breath, but he did not relent, holding her there as if to prove a point, to demonstrate what yielding truly felt like. Finally, he withdrew, his hand leaving her mouth with a soft pop.

Suddenly, a cold press against her skin made her flinch. Instinctively, she pulled back, but his hand held her steady. Ice. It's shocking chill traced down from her collarbone to her chest, making her skin erupt in goosebumps as she fought the urge to squirm.

“Do not make a sound until I tell you to,” he instructed. She nodded, whispering, “Yes, Master,” just as the ice circled her left breast. It teased, never quite touching her nipple, leaving her gasping quietly, every nerve alight and desperate for more.

“Lovely,” he murmured. “Are you aroused, Michela? Do you need me?” The question, a velvet whisper in her ears, heated her even as the ice trailed down, cooling her skin. Her arousal was unmistakable, a warm trickle down her thigh. “Yes, Master,” she breathed, barely holding herself together.

“You have nothing to feel ashamed of,” he whispered, placing the ice squarely against her nipple. A small moan escaped her, realizing her slip a second too late. A sudden, sharp sting followed as his hand impacted her breast once, then again. Pain and pleasure melded into a dizzying sensation that made her gasp.

Then, he pressed the ice against her again, this time with two pieces, rolling them slowly over each nipple. “Such perfect little breasts,” he said, his tone almost arrogant. Her body hummed with pleasure and need, every touch pulling her deeper into sensation. She shuddered as he leaned in, warm breath ghosting over her skin. He then took one nipple into his mouth, the ice still cold on her other breast, his tongue flicking and sucking until her mind felt like it would unravel.

He pulled back at last, letting her catch her breath. Her mind spun, wondering what he would do next, as the music swelled into a faster rhythm, almost in sync with the vibrations filling the air. Footsteps approached, then the sound of buzzing grew louder, and she felt a tremor of wanton anticipation.

“Open your legs, Michela.”

“Yes, Master.” She spread her thighs, her heart hammering as he brought the vibrator closer, brushing it against her. It was the egg-shaped one, small. The soft hum against her most sensitive spot was electric, and she felt herself trembling as he circled it over her.

“Now, relax. You may moan, but you are not to release. Understood?”

“Yes, Master.” He was unrelenting as he worked the egg-shaped vibrator, sliding it deeper, pressing it inside her, while another, thicker vibrator hummed against her clit. Each pulse sent escalating waves of sensation through her, her body tensing and shaking as she struggled to obey. She felt herself teetering on the precipice, her muscles clenching, her breath growing shallow.

“Master,” she whimpered, her voice strained, “please, please let me cum.”

“Not yet.” His refusal was calm, final, holding the vibration steady, prolonging her exquisite torment. She fought to hold back, to cling to control, but just as she was about to lose herself entirely, he withdrew the vibration. She lay empty and throbbing, her need unmet, a raw ache consuming her.

“Master…” The word hung in the air, small and trembling, desperation thickening each syllable. Her body ached with unrelieved tension, every nerve still alive, pulsing, her mind hazy with the fierce desire for culmination. Yet he did not move closer; instead, he stood back, his gaze as steady as steel.

She looked at him carefully, trying to gauge what was going on in his mind. But she stayed quiet, watching as he moved back slightly from the edge of the bed. Her eyes traced every movement as he unbuttoned his suit shirt, each undone button leaving her breathless. His body was beautiful, powerful, his chest covered in a smattering of curly hair that only made her want to trace her tongue along every inch,  from his neck down the trail that disappeared below his waist. She bit her lip, and her eyes drifted lower.

And then, she noticed it: the outline of his cock pressing insistently against his suit pants, unmistakably large. A flush crept over her skin as she shifted restlessly against the bed, aching to feel him closer, but knowing she needed to be patient.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his arousal evident, yet completely under control. He wanted her to experience pleasure and pain so intense it would push her beyond her limits.

Slowly, with solid movements, he lowered his pants, allowing his erection to spring free, hard and glistening with precum at the tip. She swallowed hard, her mouth watering, her mind spinning with the need to feel him, taste him, to trace her tongue along his cock and feel every inch of him fill her until she could barely breathe.

He climbed on top of her, steadying himself as he pressed her breasts into his hands, his weight balanced but not too heavy on her. She felt filled but not overwhelmed; his body hovered above hers, his legs on either side, keeping her pinned in place. His voice was low and commanding: “Open your mouth.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered, opening her mouth as he instructed. He placed the tip of his cock against her tongue, his warmth pulsing against her. “Lick,” he ordered, and she obeyed, tasting him, salty, warm, and intoxicating.

“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly, before pushing himself further in. She let out a muffled gasp, the sensation filling her throat, but he did not stop. His rhythm became steady, in and out. 

“Look at me,” he moaned, his voice impatient with need. She gazed up, her eyes wet and vulnerable, as he moved faster, his breathing turning ragged. “I’m going to cum, and you’re going to swallow everything. Do you understand?”

She tried to nod, her throat tightening around him as he pushed deeper, his movements becoming erratic. With a low groan, he came with a cry, spilling into her mouth in thick, hot spurts. She swallowed every bit, his approval clear as he ran a hand through her hair.

“Good girl,” he whispered, pulling back and allowing her to catch her breath. He eased off her with a satisfied sigh.

“Tell me what you want,”  he coaxed. His feather-like touches drifted absently, first here, then gone. It was like she could melt into him without anything but sex on her mind.

She shivered, feeling his presence surrounding her. “You, Master. I want you.”

He tilted her chin up, making her meet his gaze. “No, I want specifics,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I want to hear exactly what you need from me. I’m going to release your hands,” he continued, his fingers already working at the cuffs, “and I want you to tell me what you want me to do to you, in detail. Show me as you touch yourself; let me see what you need. I’m going to relax and watch… so make sure I’m not disappointed.”

Her heart pounded as he freed her hands, leaving her feeling exposed.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered, feeling the intensity of his gaze as he took a seat in the chair at the edge of the bed, spreading his legs. His arousal was prominent in his hand. She could see the way his grip tightened, stroking himself slowly, his eyes locked onto her as though he was taking in every movement, every sound.

She pressed her back against the bed, shifting down until she reached the headboard. Her hand slid down her body, fingertips grazing the softness of her thighs before slipping between her folds. She moved slowly, letting out a low moan as she dipped a finger inside herself, feeling the slick heat and beginning to move in rhythm with him, mirroring his strokes.

"Tell me what you want," he said. 

"I want you, Master," she began, her voice breathy and soft. "I want to feel you filling me up, taking me... every part of me," she said, shivering as she added another finger, beginning to circle her clit. She gasped as the sensation built, her fingers moving faster as she pictured his hands on her, pulling her close.

He nodded, still gripping himself, and she continued, her cheeks flushing as she felt her fingers slide deeper. "I want you to bend me over," she whispered. "I want to feel your hands on my hips, pulling me back to you, to lose myself in how deep you go."

"I want you to kiss me... everywhere, Master, to leave marks on my skin so I can feel you, even when you’re gone," she whispered, circling her clit faster, her body arching up toward him. Her hands moved to her breasts, pinching and pulling at her nipples, gasping as she felt the pleasure surge through her. She moaned, barely able to contain herself.

He stroked himself faster, his gaze never leaving her. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "Keep going."

Encouraged, she continued, moving her hand back between her legs, slipping a finger deep inside, gasping as she felt the wet heat surround her.

"Please, Master," she whispered, feeling the wave of her orgasm building, her body trembling as she stroked herself with abandon. "Master, may I cum?”

"Yes," he murmured, his mouth immediately descending on her. She cried out as his lips latched onto her clit, his tongue pressing and flicking relentlessly. Her hand moved to her breasts, pinching and twisting as waves of pleasure flooded through her, her body trembling against his mouth. A guttural cry tore from her throat, a breathless, broken litany of 'Yes! Oh, yes!' she cried, her body yielding in an intense shudder.

But he did not stop. Her vision blurred, seeing stars as he kept caressing, his mouth never relenting, even as she tried to close her legs. She pushed at his shoulders, her body over-sensitized, but he held her firmly, his mouth devouring her as he pleasured himself, moving faster. Her body trembled again, a new wave rising before she could even catch her breath, building higher than before until she shattered once more, moaning as he brought her over the edge.

She lay breathless, feeling the shivers still running through her as he groaned, coming into his hand.

"You have the most beautiful breasts," he suddenly said. She moved to sit herself, her eyes in close contact with his very much still hard cock.

He stared down at her, her breath shallow as he cupped her breast. She blushed.

“Thank you, Master.”

He admired her breasts; they were small and perky, her nipples pink, much like her clit. He felt the urge to suck them again, to pull out even more pleasure from her, but he resisted.

"Get up and be on your hands and knees," he commanded.

"Yes, Master," 

"Have you ever tried anal play?" he asked.

"No, Master," she muttered.

“Have you ever wanted to?” he asked again.

“Yes”

“One day, but not today,” he said.

Without another word, he thrust into her, the sudden fullness drawing a cry from her lips. The rhythm of his movements built quickly, intensely, and consumed.

He wrapped his hand in her hair, pulling her flush against him, her back pressed to his chest. The connection was electrifying.

“Play with yourself,” he directed, watching as she brought her hands up to cup her breasts, her fingers twisting her nipples in perfect time with his thrusts, her other finger touching herself, finding her clit and moving in quick, desperate circles.

The sounds of their bodies filled the room, and each stroke brought her closer to the edge.

“Not yet,” he growled, his voice thick with control as he sucked on her neck. She moaned in response, trembling, her hands continuing their ministrations, helpless to the rising wave within her.

There was nothing she could do but feel. The sensations devoured her, melted into her soft skin, pulsed through her chest like a second heartbeat. Her breath hitched. Her legs began to tremble. The orgasm came rushing toward her, unstoppable, overwhelming. She couldn’t find the words, I'm going to cum. Please let me cum. All that was left her was a sharp cry as her body flushed, her thighs twitching, her orgasm crashing over her in waves.

“You came,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered, breathless.

The answer came fast, a sharp smack across her thigh, then another. She moaned, barely able to hold herself up as he continued. The pace blurred her edges. Her body felt like it was dissolving into nothing.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” he groaned, his body tightening. A final thrust, a low sound from his throat, then release. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in.

Thirty minutes later, she sat clean and dressed, her body still damp. He stood near the door, watching her.

“You did good,” he said.

“Does that mean I get another session?” she asked, hopeful.

He looked over, smiled.

“The organization will be in touch.” He closed the door behind him. She laughed.