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There was no way I could move on Wednesday, let alone teach, so I called in and cancelled my classes. (I could hear the disappointed moans all the way from campus.) I moved around in a weird daze, pain and post-coital glow together. I felt better after a hot bath. That sounds like a real girlie thing to do, but, hey, I’m quickly turning into a real girlie, or ‘bitch,’ if you prefer. I prefer ‘bitch,’ actually, but of course I don’t get a vote.
I’d have liked to call Master Jason, but he’d made it clear that I must not. I assumed that he had one or two more post-hypnotic sluts, like me, around town, but I’d never presume to ask him. If I needed to know, he’d tell me. Otherwise, I was simply to be available to him, whenever he wanted me.
At least, today, I had the confidence not to worry when my Master didn’t call. He’d know that another round like last night would come close to killing me! And although I ached through and through from the mauling I’d taken from his belt and his buttfuck, I understood that my Master was not a cruel or sadistic man. My Master was simply selfish, and didn’t care about the damage he did pursuing his pleasures. This was absolutely proper. From that first day, I’d understood that I’d been useless my whole life, until this superman came along and found a use for, at least, my mediocre body. My mind? What a joke! My students tried, and succeeded, in forgetting everything I’d told them by the end of the final exam. I’d done the bare minimum on the ‘publish or perish’ gerbil wheel, but I strongly doubted that anyone ever read my stuff, let alone found it useful in amazing scientific discoveries. I had been born to serve this young god, and I was grateful that he was not any crueler.
Later in the afternoon my cell phone rang. I hobbled to the night-table, where it was charging, and caught it on the third ring. It was Master Jason!
“Hello? . . . Oh, hello, Master! I hope you are feeling well after all the favors you granted me last night?”
“Shut up, bitch. But DON’T assume The Position. I know you’re all bruised up. I don’t care about your pain, but I do want you to last for a few more weeks, anyway. So take it easy. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you.”
“I’m calling to say I’ll be coming by this evening. I won’t tell you when. Be ready for me, starting now. Naturally, if you have any plans you will cancel them.”
“Of course, Master. But you know I have no plans. You are my entire universe, except for my job and necessary functions like buying groceries.”
“I know, although you’d better get used to the idea that if my desires conflict with teaching all those dopes, or buying groceries, I take absolute precedence. I’m sure you agree. Don’t even bother to say it.”
“Yes, Master. Do you desire any special preparations for this evening?”
“You have coffee, and beer; that’s plenty.”
“Very well, Master. I eagerly await your arrival. I shall keep the door unlocked, so you can enter at will.” But he’d already hung up. I don’t know where I picked up these expressions like ‘very well,’ as if I were a well-trained English butler. Probably Public TV. But they automatically came to mind as I listened to Master Jason’s demands.
I popped the button on the doorknob (Master had not thrown the bolt when he left last night, and I hadn’t thought of it today); then set up the coffee maker to start with the press of a button, got out mugs, sugar, spoons, and such ready, and put a couple of tumblers in the freezer. I don’t have any real beer glasses. I hoped that these simple preparations would find favor, but the nauseating nervousness was gone. Unbelievably, my confidence was growing. I even remained in my cheap, but comfortable, lounging outfit of cotton pajama pants from Old Navy and an old t-shirt. The pants, especially, were therapeutic, because they didn’t squeeze or constrict the welts on my butt cheeks.
I’d salved and bandaged said butt, to where sitting was uncomfortable, not agonizing. I cleaned the dried-up fluids from last night’s gymnastics off the couch and the rug. It felt good to be moving, even if only slowly, giving my muscles something to do besides remember how they’d strained to keep my ass steady for its whipping. Inside, where that long, golden shaft had blazed a very new, very wide trail, I still felt wonderful. Little shudders of anal orgasm delighted me, at random, all day.
Master Jason arrived at about 6:45. I was sitting on the couch looking at the TV, but not paying any attention. When I heard the first rattle of the doorknob, I leapt to my feet. I hadn’t moved that fast all day, but now I was back on duty.
I didn’t speak; the last instruction I’d had was always to wait for permission. I stood at attention, facing him, as he looked me over. “Turn around. Drop your pants. Bend over.”
I complied instantly, but anxiously. Was he going to take my ass again? Bruised and bloody as it was? He ripped off the bandages, and I could feel his fingers pulling this way and that on the cheeks. Inspecting şişli escort the damage, I assumed. “You don’t look so bad. I’ve seen worse.” He giggled that self-centered giggle. “I’ve done worse. But you’ll recover. I’ll give you a couple of days. Then, if we’re going to break in this asshole properly, it’ll be entertaining my cock every two or three days.”
Mixed emotions. The pain! The immeasureable, orgasmic pleasure! And most important, my Master intended that I would continue to service his cock! Compared to this, the pain was nothing.
“Go put some new bandages on, if you want to, and put your pants back on. Then come to the table. I’m having trouble with your math homework.” I did so, and we sat side by side, discussing calculus. I, wisely, I think, kept my hands off his loins, and didn’t even stroke his thigh. After a while I asked, “Master, are you hungry? Shall I order some pizza? Chinese?.”
“Good idea, Doctor Bitch. Chinese. You be careful what you eat. You don’t want some rocky stools coming through that tunnel I blasted out last night.” “Most considerate of you, Master.” I ordered the food and returned to the table. As I pulled out my chair, I felt this hard, open-hand smack! on my ass. I bit my lip to suppress the tears, but said nothing.
“Just a reminder,” he said, grinning. “No punishments tonight. I promise.”
I wondered if that meant I wouldn’t get to at least see his organ. Sighing, I switched back to math teacher mode as we worked through the homework, and even some unassigned problems. He really should have been in the rigorous calculus class. Forgetting my station, I said so.
“Yeah, I know, Doc. But I had you spotted and needed to get into position. Besides, we can do the hard stuff sitting here, together, right?” Of course he was right. And I was glad to be of service to his mind and career, as well as to his libido. But ‘get into position?’ What did that mean?
As usual, he was reading my thoughts, and grinned. “Doc, after dinner let’s put this math away and chat. I’ll tell you about how I went from little Jason, who didn’t even know he had the biggest dick in the school, to Jason, Master of slaves.”
My enthusiasm and curiosity must have shown, although my words were cautious. “I have been very curious about your powers, Master. But should I, whom you sometimes call ‘slut,’ or ‘worm,’ be entrusted with your secrets?”
“Why not? I’m certain that you’ll never tell. Besides, who’d believe you? It’s not as if I came from that town where the UFOs go. I’m just a human, but one with a special gift.”
After dinner, we sat on the sofa and did a little passionate necking. He must have liked kissing for its own sake, not as “first base,” because we both knew that he could bypass the foreplay whenever he wanted to. He was sprawled on the cushions in the corner of the arm and the back, with his arm around me as I leaned upon him. I was half turned so I was looking into his face. Once in a while my glance drifted downward. He noticed, of course.
“Oh, all right!” he said. “I’ll pull him out so you can touch him. But no sucking! I want to have a conversation, and if you start sucking you’ll be stuck on like a leech.”
As I fondled his cock, he started to talk. “First, let me answer some of the questions you are thinking,” he began. “Yes, I have a girl friend, on this campus. She’s cute, but not gorgeous. B cups. And I don’t dominate her, even a little. For one thing, she’s ten times smarter than I am. And she’s damn good in bed.”
“I’m sure I’m not gay, and I don’t even think I’m bisexual,” he went on. “Last summer I had some psychotherapy. The therapist said that he thought my interest in fucking men was about dominance, not sexuality. Something about my father, probably. I’ll never know; it was my last session.”
“Why?” I asked, recognizing my cue. He was actually pulling my attention away from the flagpole attached to his crotch.
“Because as soon as the arrogant little cunt said that, I put him under and fucked him right there. No K-Y jelly, no vaseline, nothing. Just my angry dick and his flabby butt. I suppose he was in a lot of pain; I never asked.”
“But Master, did you release him from the post-hypnotic trance?”
“No need, because he was hypnotized the whole time. When he came out of it, he remembered everything, but not under any suggestions from me.” He smiled. “He talked about calling the cops, but let it drop. Probably he realized that if our little session became known, he’d be ruined.”
“You know,” he continued, “I should start at the beginning, when I first discovered this hypnotic power. It’s nothing supernatural, I don’t think. It’s just concentrated charisma, and a little self-confidence.”
“The first person I hypnotized was Mrs. Graham, my fifth grade teacher, although I didn’t know it at the time. I think I was on some kind of watch list, because of my family. My mother absolutely dominated everything and everybody in the family, especially my father and me, but my sisters as well. mecdiyeköy escort One of them spent a year in a mental hospital. My mother isn’t magic. It’s pure meanness. I think she beats my father. He’s almost the slave to her that you are to me.
“Anyway, I didn’t fuck Mrs. Graham.” He shuddered at the prospect. “During class free time, she called me to her desk and started trying to do some amateur therapy. Eyes wide and moist, conscientiously trying to help a troubled student. The thing was, I didn’t want her help. So I returned the look in her eyes, and made up a hokey story about a family that had all the issues, some of them twice. I could almost see her heart knotting up, then going out to me. When I stopped, I asked if she’d let us all go spend the rest of our free time on the playground, and she did.” That was that. I don’t know if she’s still alive, or still hypnotized, because I didn’t know what I was doing to start with.
“In seventh grade, my symptoms got worse, and I had regular appointments with the school psychologist, who had just the same manner. The soulful gaze, the empathy, but indifferent about actually helping. She went under almost immediately, and confessed that she was burned out, she didn’t care about my problems, she was just serving time until retirement. That was when I realized I had some sort of hypnotic power. I suggested that her report say my symptoms were not clinically significant. I didn’t like therapy. Worked perfectly.
“Naturally, I tried it on other people, beginning with Natalie, who had big tits for the seventh grade,and I wanted to feel her up. Failed miserably. She didn’t even start to go under. She just giggled. I tried to get a convenience store guy to sell me some liquor. No dice. I didn’t work on my friends, either.
“The next time was also not on purpose. I was in tenth grade. By then I’d had sex — first time with Natalie, as a matter of fact — and the word about my prick was getting around. Why a girl would share information like that I’ve never understood. You’d think she’d keep it to herself, reduce competition. Anyway some of the faster girls came on to me and I was running a pretty good score. No mind control, just the promise of the monster cock.”
Impulsively, I kissed my Master’s monster cock, to tell him I wasn’t much different from those high school girls. He rewarded me with a smug, contented smile.
“Tenth grade. I went to church every week — hard to believe, eh? — and was active in youth groups there. As far as I knew, gossip about my cock had not reached the church, but everyone of course knew about my family. Anyway, one Sunday afternoon, I was helping rearrange some furniture. In walked Mrs. K___, wife of the fattest of our church fat cats. She was 35 years old and hot, for 35; at 22 she’d probably been a trophy wife. You wouldn’t mistake her for 22, but you wouldn’t mistake her for 35, either. Suddenly, I wanted her. Bad. I wasn’t that horny. In fact, I’d been up, fucking, half the night before. Something about power, and possession and dominance, I dunno.
“But this woman, she had some kind of effect on me, because while ogling her, I suddenly understood. I realized that my successful hypnotisms were successful because the subject was listening, caring, sympathetic, non-judgmental — minds totally open to invasion. Impulsively, when Mrs. K___ and I were alone I asked if I could talk to her about a personal problem. ‘Of course,’ she said. And, well, I spun a half-true account of some of my home life, all the while gazing into her eyes. I didn’t know how fast it worked, so I went on 20 minutes. Then I readjusted my expression to normal Jason mode. She hadn’t been asleep, so I don’t think you can say she woke up, but she looked just a shade different.
“To test her, I first asked her to make a Burger King run for all us volunteers; she said, ‘of course. Anything you want.’ I raised my eyebrows — it was so hokey I wanted to laugh — and she clearly caught the meaning. ‘Anything,’ she emphasized. Then I took what I thought was a risk. When she came back with the burgers, and we all went out to have a sort of picnic on the lawn, I sat next to her, close up, so our legs touched. She didn’t acknowledge me, but she didn’t pull away, either. When the coast was clear, though, I leaned over, reaching for her French fries, and asked, quietly, but without mincing words, ‘Do you want to fuck?’ She slapped my hand for stealing her fries, then whispered, ‘Of course. I said “anything,” didn’t I?’ Fifteen minutes later, I’d taken about three inches of her virginity — she said I was about three inches longer than anyone she’d had before — and she had a triple load of my cum and a serene smile. Then I released her from the spell, because I didn’t know what would happen when she was out of my sight, and I didn’t want her to be hurt.
“Well, that was the beginning of our affair, which is still going on, now and then, when we’re both in town. I never even tried to put her under again. She’s my sex slave anyway. She’s simply mad for my cock. Her ass was a virgin, too — not my first ass, but my first virgin ass. I didn’t know how to break in a virgin ass. By now, I’ve had three virgins, including you. I wasn’t nearly as gentle with her as I was with you.”
I contemplated my internal bruises, and smiled.
Master Jason continued: “Since then, I’ve had a few cunts by the post-hypnotic suggestion method. Nice, caring, women, like two of my high-school teachers, both married, who enjoyed the privilege of entertaining me, separately and sometimes all three of us together. There was the chair of a scholarship committee, two nurses at my HMO doctor’s office (another threesome), and the high-school secretary, who wasn’t much to look at but was a great fuck, and besides she’d give me keys to closets and such where I could fuck high school girls during the school day. Having a huge cock is sure an advantage. Even if size doesn’t matter, curiosity does. No mumbo-jumbo needed. I could never get the girls to stop thinking about themselves long enough for me to do the hypnotism routine. I guess they were just self-centered teenagers.
“To really test the power, I decided to try subjects who were very unlikely to tumble — a woman in my neighborhood, she’d known me since I was a baby, and the therapist I told you about. Both went under, snap! and the woman stayed under. She’s mine. I mostly use her mouth for relief, once in a while, when I’m home.
“Like I told you, that makes two women at home under my thumb, but when I came here I had no one. I’d had some time to think, and decided that I wanted to stop fucking every girl I saw and sort of settle down with just one girl friend, and the two at home for old times’ sake. But that therapist, the one I fucked, had me convinced that I’m into dominance, not just sex.
“But, I decided not to try to find a girl who was into S&M. Instead, I figured, I’d just spot a few professors who seemed likely, maneuver myself into their classes, and start with a sob story that was weird and spicy enough to keep their undivided attention, while they, without knowing what hit them, accepted my absolute authority. Then I could get my violent rocks off with them, whatever I felt like doing or saying, whenever I felt like it. I decided straight men would be better because they’d be more confused by their sudden delight in fucking a man, and because they’d feel like they had more to lose if the affair became known. Dominance and control. I took Professor Bridgman in September, and taught him to be one excellent cocksucker. Then I went home to my captive women, which of course I’d told him all about, and he died. Which leads us to you, and our conversations last week.”
By now I was cuddled very close, legs curled up, with one arm behind him in the V of the couch. He had his arm around my waist. From this position, I had a very good view of one fact. As he talked, his woody got harder and harder, and became a steelie. Mine, too. It was vertical, hard, and trying to find a way out from behind my pajama pants. My hard-on was from the wonder of it all, how my young Master Jason was smart enough and brave enough to step forward and demand the obedience that is due to him. His, no doubt, was due to some of his memories of great sex and perfectly bending people to his will.
From my vantage, looking straight down on his member, I was reminded of one of those big NASA rockets waiting to take off. Hard, vertical, ready. Ten, nine, eight, seven, . .
I don’t know if my Master caught me staring at his rigid, godly organ or if it was just his own whim. Either way, I was taken by surprise. His arm moved from my waist to gently stroke or massage my shoulders, then suddenly became a pile driver, forcing my face down to the red-and-gold shaft directly below. It was abrupt, and fast, but just slow enough for me to think, open my mouth, and lock my lips around my teeth so as not to scrape that work of art. Thank heaven for small favors. Small favors for a huge prick.
My lips also formed the suction seal around the shaft, so the cock followed my mouth as he pulled my head this way and that. I got a little support from one arm, but the other was trapped behind my Master as he lolled on the couch.
“Well, my fine little Bitch,” he said, in exactly the same tone he’d told his stories, “let’s add a chapter or two to the tale, eh?” Up, down, up, down. “I bet you thought we were getting to be lovers, and not Master and slave. Hah! That’s a laugh. As if I could ever love a worm like you.
“Did you think you could have the day off, because of yesterday? Wrong again. My prick gets serviced when my prick needs service, and your bruises and your day off are totally meaningless. Agree?” As my mouth was busy servicing his prick, I could not answer, but yes, I agreed, 100%.
“Remember, I’m dominant, not sadistic. I don’t want to humiliate you. I don’t want to hurt you. I just don’t care if you’re humiliated or hurt. If fucking your mouth by pushing down on the head, pulling up by the hair” — which he’d been demonstrating for several minutes — “makes me feel good, then that’s that. Does it hurt? Sorry, Bitch, but it makes me feel good. End of story.”
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