Steam

It was already the last days of July but it didn't feel like summer at all. She hadn't been in London for much more than a month and she was still not used to the constantly overcast, drizzly weather and all that suffocating humidity that makes you feel hot and cold at the same time. But no matter how this city beat her down the last few weeks, she still liked it here. She needed the challenge, she needed the separation from all that was familiar and at this point quite boring for her, and being away from everything that reminded her of all the shit she'd been through the last couple of years made her breathe that bit more easily. But at the same time it made all of her issues and insecurities surface and look like a giant mountain she had to climb in high heels and a handbag. It gave her no choice but to stare right back at her spoiled little self and doubt every one of her achievements, every praise she had ever gotten -and she had gotten a lot of them for her age; about half of them for no good reason but just to build her up, she reckoned.

She got dressed to go out- maybe visiting some of the many landmarks she hadn't seen yet would cheer her up. Just walking out the door and around the corner to the shop made her feel tired, and she realized it was one of those days that getting out of the flat was not a good idea. As she was paying for her tobacco, forcing herself to smile back to the cute guy at the till, she decided to stop kidding herself and go home.

As soon as she walked back in, she ran the tap and rolled a smoke while the bathtub was filling up, and took a cold bottle of beer to the garden. The smell of smoke and hop woke her confident, no-nonsense side right up: "pull it together, you wimp" she told herself "it's just a rough patch, we all have them, suck it up- you're gonna be fine". She grinned at herself; it always amused her how her soft and sentitive side irritated the hell out of the more dynamic and practical parts of her.

Back in her room, she took her shoes, dress and leggings off. The curvy girl in navy blue underwear in the mirror caught her eye, and she began examining her. She lightly ruffled her long blond hair with her fingers. She licked her lips a bit nervously and for half a minute her eyes kept stopping on all her flaws, or the things she perceived as such. After a little while though, she relaxed a bit and started to observe her own body in more detail, like she did when she was studying a picture before drawing it: the steep, full curves from her waist to her hips, giving way to softer ones down her thighs to her knees; her strong and shapely calves and ankles that gave away her love for dancing. She then looked back up at the little stretch marks at the top of her thighs, her lower stomach, the visible part of her breast; she loved those marks, as to her they were a badge of honour from dealing with a couple of different eating disorders a few years back. Her eye then wandered up to her glowing white neck, long and soft, her ever so slightly visible collarbone, her broad shoulders; her ample breast that was one of the parts she loved most about herself, and so did all of her previous lovers. She smiled at herself, awkwardly at first, a bit naughtily after a bit. Her smile was big and sweet as ever, her lips soft and well shaped, her eyes now a kind of indiscernible greyish green colour.

She looked away and started humming a song as she took her bra off, ran her hands over her breasts, massaging them just for a couple of seconds, savouring the feeling of the soft, warm flesh finally being set free, and then quickly slid her knickers off and headed to the bathroom.

In the steams of her bath, she found the comfort she needed lately. That hard, icy feeling of having to stay positive and strong at all times melted away for a bit and she felt the vulnerability of desperately missing him engulf her; yes, she missed him terribly, there was no denying that, no matter how hard she tried to brush off the feeling in her everyday life. And who could judge her for trying to fight it, it was just plain crazy. She barely knew the guy. They'd met online just a few days short of a year ago, they were thousands of miles away, and she had met him only once in real life, when she decided to visit him for a couple of days on her holiday. Sure, they'd been talking regularly for months, and they had begun to trust each other with a few of their life details, which she obviously did way more than him, but most of it was still either small talk or amazing sex chat, a lot of the time better than actual sex with most guys she'd been with. Really, the passion and the nerve on this guy made her head spin in a way that sometimes even pissed her off. How did he do it? How did he know exactly the words to make her wet in a matter of seconds? How had he managed to turn this free-spirited, laid back girl into a wet desperate mess, into a rabid fucking nympho, willing to do anything he told her, willing to go and find the most unimaginable places, private or public, at any time of the day to get herself off, to make herself cum and let him know, just to feed his- her Master's- lust, and sometimes not even that, but just his ego?

But she knew, he could not hide, that this was nothing more than a character. Under all of this dominance and intensity there was a gentle, sensitive soul, that he wouldn't let her but catch slight glimpses of. A man that, oddly, does not think a lot of himself. A man that is capable of love and affection, who is intelligent – brilliant, in fact, she thought – and genuine, a man who is sweet, respectful, appreciative, who loves his friends and family, who is social and fun; all of that was the reason that she was able to trust him so much to be her Master – and he kept proving himself more than up to the responsibility. Knowing, or rather feeling all of that made all the challenges he put her through not only bearable, but utterly intoxicating. That depth in his personality from a smart, friendly guy, to a merciless Master treating her, his little whore, like a sex toy, made her melt inside in a way she had never felt before.

As she relaxed and immersed herself deeper into the soapy water, absent-mindedly lifting each one of her legs in turn and watching the steam coming off of her skin, she reminisced of how she first started talking to Master, and she couldn't help but feel that little sting of guilt again. Because when they first met online, when she had her first, incredibly intense orgasm for him, when they first exchanged their fantasies which then gave way to pictures of her naked body and video clips of himself stroking his magnificent hard cock over her, when he first started taking control of her and her orgasms, she was in a commited relationship with another man. Her now ex-boyfriend, no matter how pointless and frustrating their relationship had become around their last year, was a good guy and loved her to pieces. He did not deserve what she had been doing behind his back, even for just a couple of weeks before finally breaking up, while she tried to hide behind the cheap technicality of "it's not cheating if you don't physically have sex with the guy". Sure, it was not the same, but it was still an absolute bitch move on her part and she knew it, not to mention really out of character for her. Although she did enjoy flirting and even sleeping around quite a bit when she was single, she had always prided herself on her loyalty inside relationships, and now she had somewhat tainted her own opinion of herself. She did not believe in that "no regrets" nonsense; she deeply regretted what she had done. Not the part where she had started talking to her Master, of course- she would never regret that. After all, it was exactly what she needed, and the relationship was doomed a really fucking long time before Master came along. But she regretted not being honest with herself most of all, and not breaking up with her ex before she went around sending a stranger pictures of her tits. But what was done was done, and the only thing she could do now was to acknowledge her guilt, and move on. "At least something good came out of all that", she thought.

And how fucking good it was, indeed. The mental image of her Master was forcing its way into her brain again, and made her wriggle in the bathtub a bit. She started thinking about his sexy, deep but lively voice breathlessly growling in her ear, his hot breath on the side of her face "Who owns you, whore?", and her whole body shivered. She rolled her ass a bit further down the tub, so her shoulders were completely under the hot water, rested her head on the rolled towel behind her neck, closed her eyes and saw him before her.

***

She was back in Master's room, like she'd been three months ago. He closed the dood behind her, and took her by the hand. He sat at the edge of the bed facing her, swiftly pulled her close and ran his hands from her waist to her ass, down to the rim of her skirt, carefully inspecting his property. He slid both his hands under her skirt up to the waistline of her flimsy black thong, and quickly pulled it down and off her ankles. He felt the tiny, silky piece of cloth, already wet with her juices in his hand for a second, and put it in his back pocket without saying anything. She was shaking in her vulnerability, exhilerated by even the slightest touch of his fingers. When he turned her around, pulled her onto the bed and stood above her, lifting her shirt and exposing her big soft tits before he started hungrily grabbing and sucking and biting them, it already felt like she was in a dream; then, suddenly, she felt a rush of electricity, starting from her cunt, up her spine and straight up to her head, making her let out a loud moan. His fingers had just barged inside her, and curled right up to meet her g-spot. That needy little pussy had been so ready for him that he didn't need to work his way inside her at all. Then everything went hazy; she was writhing, so lost in the sensation of his fingers inside her and around her clit, that he had to tell her to open her eyes. She loved taking orders from her Master, but this didn't sound like one at all; his voice was much softer. Of course she was happy to oblige anyway, and when her eyes met his and saw him smiling at her, her heart leapt. He kept furiously rubbing her clit though, and the smile she gave him back as she bit her lower lip was a mix of pure happiness, desperate lust and total surrender.

***

She trembled and gasped a bit. Her hand was now between her slightly open legs, and her middle finger was slowly drawing small circles around her already swollen clit, down to her wet hole and back up to her clit hood again. Her left hand was cupping one of her tits, her finger softly flicking up and down her stiff, pale little nipple. She could feel her own wetness, the juices around the entrance to her tight cunt being thicker and a bit more slippery than the water, which was starting to get a bit cold. She savoured that mildly turned on feeling in the therapeutic silence of her bath for a bit, then let out a big sigh, the top half of her breast briefly emerging from the water and sinking back in again, and she sat up to run the tap to warm up the water. Her Master's smile to her was still lodged in her brain.

A heavy feeling settled on her chest; his absence was unbearable right now. This couldn't just be lust. If it was, then how could she explain the feeling she got when she thought about the moment she'd first seen him walk towards her, when she saw his clever, kind eyes drawing closer until he wrapped an arm around her waist, kissed her hard, bit her top lip and grabbed her ass tightly. Or the wide, silly smile on her face when she remebered walking with him, holding his hand, as he made his Pythons impressions that made her laugh. Or the fluttering in her chest when she thought of the moments when he'd tease her, she'd look shyly onto the ground and mumble something and then turn to see him smiling widely, laughing almost, running his eyes all over her face and telling her how sweet she looked. Or the bittersweet feeling she got when she remembered the evening they had to say goodbye, how she had missed her taxi because they had been holding each other and kissing for so long and how he held her face in his hands. She knew that to him it was all probably just a basic amount of attention and affection that you give to the cute girl you just fucked if you don't want to be an ass, but even so, these memories made her deeply happy.

She'd known for a little while now that she was in love with the guy and had already stopped trying to make sense of it all, because it just didn't make any sense whatsoever. She was so mad at herself for feeling that way and tried desperately to stifle her affection for him when they were talking, but way too often she failed and had to clumsily change the subject. She had been this close to telling him a lot of times, but luckily she just didn't. She knew and appreciated that the last thing he'd want would be for her to get hung up on him and stop looking out for herself, and of course she was not going to put her personal life on hold for someone that didn't seem to even remotely reciprocate her feelings, no matter how strongly she felt about him; but still, having to not tell him was torture sometimes. Then again, she was just too chicken, plain and simple. She was terrified that she'd just freak him out, or give the very false impression of a stupid little girl that couldn't tell lust from love. Even worse, maybe now that he was going through some pretty tough shit, she would just be another source of worry for him and she didn't want to be the kind of obnoxious asshole that somehow manages to make it all about themselves and their own feelings, when the other person is obviously in a crappy place. Plus, she didn't want him to think for a second that telling him was a way to achieve anything, or hear something back, because it wasn't. There was no ulterior motive behind her urge to just wrap him in a whirlwind of affectionate words and touches, but to just express herself, but no; no matter how it pressed on her chest and blocked her throat and tumbled around the tip of her tongue, she should just shut up and not risk ruining a perfectly good thing. Especially over something that was this crazy, stupid and senseless and nothing could be done about it anyway. She had a lot more things to keep her busy – as he was very right to remind her after another one of her tiny little expressions of affection the other day – and she knew he had definitely more pressing matters to worry about.

So she held her tongue. More or less the only thing she'd ever let him know was how fucking sexy she found him. That was all he needed from her apparently, and the truth is, she needed the same thing. He was objectively an excellent Master, and giving him control over her body, letting herself be owned like that by him, felt liberating and strangely built up her confidence like few things ever had. It felt like she could be herself completely, express the needy, naughty, slutty part of her and not only feel safe, but be proud of it. Dropping one's defences like that was a challenge not many are up to, but when she did – man, it was fucking ecstasy. Her hands slid up her stomach to her tits; She squeezed them and started pinching her nipples, twisting them slightly, as she recalled that melting feeling she had in Master's arms that Sunday evening, when he cornered her in a little nook on a quiet street.

***

He kissed and bit her neck, with his hand in her hair, pushing her to the corner of the wall. "Is MY little cunt getting wet, slut?" he hissed in her ear. Just hearing these words from his mouth made her pussy quiver and she felt her juices drip down her pussy lips, soaking her knickers. "Y-yes" she whimpered."Yes what?". Her head was swimming and she was fumbling for the right answer, even though it should have come naturally to her by now. "Yes, my Master" she said finally, and hearing herself say it filled her with a strange, proud surrender. He pressed his body on hers, kissed her, bit her top lip hard, then the bottom one, then again the top one, her earlobe, her neck, like he was preparing to devour her. His breath started to get short as he reached under her shirt and squeezed her tit, and he let out a grunt. Looking at her for a second, he pulled her shirt up over her breast, and popped her tits out of her bra, exposing her stiff, sensitive nipples to the cool air. He stepped back and took a good look up and down, admiring his doing. "Fucking look at you" he said smiling, took his phone out and took a picture of her. She almost blushed, but not out of shame. She was just so flattered, the luckiest bitch, a toy proudly owned by Master.

He stepped closer, undid her jeans and pulled them down, then grabbed her by the hair and turned her around, bending her over just a little, holding her ass steady and pushing her face onto the wall. Her pussy was screaming for him by now, but she dared not, she could not speak. She felt a soft touch on her ass, then came a loud crack as he slapped her ass hard. She gasped. "Please, may I have more, Master?" she said, breathlessly. Then came another slap; and another; and another; each hurting better than the previous one. Suddenly she felt his tongue on the red, burning asscheek, slowly, lovingly moving up and down, soothing the sting – when another slap came, on the same tender spot, and hurt even more now that it was wet. She jumped and let out a high pitched whimper, but her hips still rolled back to him, trying to find his crotch to rub on.

But Master was not going to let her have him just yet. He loved to tease her to within an inch of her life, making her as desperate as possible, the "needy wee puddle of lust" he loved to take and use. So he turned her around and started to kiss her again, this time his hand down her knickers, cupping her desperate little cunt, but not quite touching it. Just feeling her wetness around her pussy lips, and the heat coming off of it. She wriggled and rolled her hips, trying to press her slit onto his hand, but he just followed her movements without touching her cunt at all. "What is it, slut? What do you need?" he said, the knowledge of what he did to her drawing a cocky smirk on his face. "I need you – Master – I need – your fingers inside me – now" she managed to say, her breath so short and heavy that she had to pause every couple of words. "Beg for it, whore" he ordered, and beg she did. Only when he finally felt like his little whore had suffered enough, he placed his other hand around her throat and pushed her against the wall, choking her while his fingers slid inside her.

She didn't need more than a couple of minutes, and her body started to writhe and convulse, her cunt forcefully contracting around his fingers, her mind a haze, her knees weakening. Only when she calmed down, he raised his fingers from her pussy to his mouth and slowly sucked on them, savouring the taste. "Mmm, you are one good tasting little whore" he said and she thanked him, before he offered her these same fingers, wet with his saliva and her own juices to suck on. He gave her a piercing look; he wanted more, he wanted everything his little whore had to give; so he looked to make sure no one was around, crouched down, pulled down her knickers and buried his face between her legs. He pushed his tongue to the entrance of her little hole that was still dripping with her cum and let out a moan as he tasted her wetness. She was still tender after her orgasm, and the feel of his tongue circling around the opening of her cunt, the rough feel of his beard between her thighs and on her pussy lips was amplified by how sensitive she still was. She was so lost that she even got the nerve to softly put one hand on his head, and start grinding on his face. The sensation of his hot breath, his tongue that was now flicking up and around her clit, together with the cold air was making her nipples so hard they were starting to hurt.