The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The room seemed absurdly home-like: warm paneling, a soft blue deep-piled carpet, tasteful sofa and chairs, subdued indirect lighting, and floor-length pale blue curtains. It was a far cry from the Spartan dorm room that Tracy had known for the last four years of her life. A shivering Tracy stood naked amid the opulence, waiting for Myra’s orders. “Lift your chin,” Myra said quietly, and Tracy did.

“Now hold still for a moment.” Myra fastened a wide black leather collar around her neck, then clipped a chrome chain lead to it with a sharp snap. “This will be your only clothing until you are completely subdued to the Master’s will,” Myra said gently. “You cannot ever leave the house without our permission. You can do only what we wish you to do. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Tracy swallowed. Her voice had sounded fearful and unsteady, because she dreaded what she knew was coming: her deflowering by an unknown man. They had arrived in the house that afternoon, but Blake had not been present. Now he was about to see Tracy for the first time.

“You belong to us now,” she said. “We will take good care of you, and you will never regret becoming our slave, but you have no rights any longer. You are ours, mine and the Master’s. You will desire only what we desire. You know this?”

“Yes, Mistess,” Tracy said in a whisper. “I belong to you. I want you to use me any way that gives you pleasure. I am yours.” She wished Myra would take her into her arms and offer her comfort, but she knew better than to beg. Myra wore only the tiniest skimp of black panties, so thin that the fabric vanished between the pouting outer lips of her pussy. Oh, Tracy wanted her to embrace her, wanted to feel those pliant breasts, wanted her Mistress’ mouth to cover her own—but she would not, she must not, beg.

“Good girl.” Myra patted her bottom fondly. “Now this.”

Tracy felt her slip the blindfold on and closed her eyes as it slid down to cut off her vision. It was merely a domino-like mask, but without eyeholes. It felt soft, padded, and the elastic holding it was not tight. When Tracy opened her eyes again, all was darkness. The chain tinkled, and Tracey felt it tug at the collar around her neck. Myra said, “Come with me, slave.”

Trusting her Mistress completely, Tracy allowed herself to be led. Blindfolded as she was, she noticed small things: the spring of the carpeting beneath her bare feet, the subdued scent of sandalwood incense, the cool flow of air over her body. She could also smell the clean aroma of a gentle soap and shampoo, for in preparing her for her first encounter with the Master, Myra had bathed her head to toe with long and loving attention to her gleaming skin. A golden bath oil had seemed to smooth away all the minor imperfections of her skin and had left her feeling eager and, well, admit it, horny.

The chain jangled gently. “Sit.”

Tracy obeyed, feeling something very soft and yielding under her buttocks, a sort of padded, backless bench that felt as if it were upholstered in—fur?

“Lie back.”

She reclined, feeling the caress of fur along her buttocks, back, and shoulders. The bench was fairly narrow, but wide enough for her to lie down. Her knees were still bent, her feet on the floor, and her ass was right at the edge.

She heard Myra say, “Master, here is your new slave, Tracy.”

“Very good,” a masculine voice said in approval. Tracy concentrated on it. It was deep, resonant, authoritative, but it sounded kind and approving. “She really is beautiful. You made a nice choice, slut.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Tracy felt herself blushing, proud that Myra found her beautiful, pleased that the man Myra was giving her to liked the way she looked. She felt as if she were some fantastic doll, like the ones she had read about in children’s stories at the orphanage. The doll that wanted to belong to someone who would love her.

Now she belonged.

From down near her feet, the Master said softly, “Make her ready, slut.”

Myra said humbly but eagerly, “Yes, Master.”

Tracy’s stomach muscles were fluttering uncontrollably, and her heart beat wildly. She had never been with a man, had never—how much would it hurt? Would she be able to please him, to please Myra? What if he didn’t like her, what if she were too clumsy, too ignorant to bring him to climax?

She felt Myra’s gentle but insistent hand slip between her thighs, pressing, urging them apart. Obediently, Tracy spread her legs wide, so wide, exposing herself completely to the gaze of the unseen man. Her sex tingled with a mild pins-and-needles pain—that was the aftereffect of the previous day’s waxing that had removed her pubic hair and left her privates incredibly smooth to her touch. Was he inspecting her pussy? Tracy felt a surge of shame mixed with excitement. She had never seen a woman’s pussy before, not up close, until she and Myra—Myra was so sweet, so loving. Myra wouldn’t let anything hurt her.

“Stroke your tits,” Myra ordered in an amused, dreamy voice. “Pinch your nipples.”

Tracy’s throat was dry, but she felt herself responding without question, doing as she had been ordered. She felt no conscious resistance, though somewhere inside her that old shame stirred, the shame of touching herself in this way, with people watching her. But her breasts felt firm yet soft beneath her palms, and her nipples were already tense with desire. They tingled as she swept her palms over them, as she took them beneath forefinger and thumb and tweaked and twisted them. She squeezed hard, and even the pain was sexy. She felt the soft touch of Myra’s finger in her slit and she moaned softly, straining to open herself even more.

Myra knew just how to stroke her to give her the most stimulation, the most pleasure. Tracy knew that her pussy must be glistening now, flowing with moisture. “She is so wet, Master,” Myra cooed. “Look how wet she is. She’s ready for you.”

“Help her through it,” the man said.

Tracy sensed that Myra had knelt beside her. She felt the brush of a kiss on her cheek, felt Myra’s breath warm as she said, “Now the Master will take you, Tracy. He will join with you and will become your master and your controller. Surrender to him. You will find his service sweet and rewarding.”

“Yes,” Tracy whispered. “I—I want that.”

“What do you want him to do?” Myra urged. “You must say it out loud, slave.”

Tracy pinched her nipples, pulled them, felt her juices flowing wantonly. “I want him to. . . to make love to me,” she whispered.

“No,” Myra said. “That’s not how you should make your request, slave.”

Oh, God, she would have to . . . to say it.

“Fuck me,” she murmured.

“Louder,” Myra said.

“Fuck me.”

“Louder, slut! Say it louder!”

“Fuck me!” Tracy pleaded, feeling the moisture of tears beneath the blindfold, but all the same the hot flame of desire pulsed within her. “Master, please fuck me!”

A moment later she felt something round and pliant probing her slit. She desperately tried to spread herself even further, to open herself to this monstrous pressure. God, it was big! She could never take it inside, she would split first—ahhh! She felt a quick tear of pain, a flash that passed almost as soon as she was aware of it, not as sharp even as the pain of waxing, and she almost laughed inside. That was it? That was what she had feared? And now the curved shaft of her Master’s cock moved oh slowly in and out, and she felt herself clenching around it, and Myra kissed her full on the mouth. “You will come,” Myra told her a moment later. “You will come and it will feel so good, Tracy, better than anything.”

Tracy wrapped her arms around a muscular torso and smelled the masculine aroma of Blake. His heart hammered in his chest, and as her nipples rubbed the firm muscles of her chest, Tracy thrust her hips forward, enclosing him completely, holding him tight. Oh, God, she felt the heat building in her, felt the breath catch in her throat. Yes, she was getting close, feeling her clit ride the slick, ridged rod of the Master as it slipped in and out, in and out of her pussy. She frantically thrust with her buttocks, began to grind her bare pubis against the hard arch of his pubic bone, and the pleasure so obliterated her momentary pain that she had to catch her lower lip between her teeth. She heard herself mewing, and aloud she said, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Master, yes, that’s so good!”

Her release came like a stroke of lightning, turning the dark world to a blaze of purity. Oh, it had never been so good. . . .

The second night, and now Tracy wore handcuffs, her wrists locked behind her ass so that she could not stroke herself or tease herself. She knelt with her knees spread wide apart, and she could feel a trickle of pussy juice on the inside of her leg as she watched nd learned. “You see?” a breathless Myra asked her. “You see how, slave?”

Tracy, who knelt only a few inches from the coupled pair, said, “Yes, Mistress.”

Myra groaned and stepped up the pace, rising and sinking, impaling herself on Blake’s cock, then pulling nearly off it before she drove herself down again. “He will take you like this. In the ass.”

“In the ass,” Tracy repeated, feeling the old dread rise again. He was so big, and her virginal opening was so tight. It would hurt, it would be bound to hurt.

But later that evening, as she took the handcuffs off and then bathed Tracy—that had become a ritual, Myra naked, Tracy in the tub, bubbles slipping over her seal-slick skin—Myra said, “Stand up.”

Tracy did as she was told, and she felt Myra spread her ass cheeks. Then a pressure against her asshole. “What are you doing?” she asked in a small voice.

“Making you ready,” Myra said. “You’d be too tight otherwise. We want you just right for the Master.” She pressed something into the narrow opening, distending it, and Tracy felt for a moment as if she urgently had to use the toilet. “This is a plug, slave. You will wear it until you are stretched to the necessary extent.” Tracy felt a chain being fastened around her waist, like a belt, and the butt plug was secured by a thong-like strap that passed between her buttocks and then up through the split of her pussy before it clipped to the belt again.

Myra pressed on her shoulders. “Your mouth is free,” she said, pulling Tracy’s face to her own bare pussy. Tracy began to lap her cunt, squeezing her anus around the intruding rubber cock. It hurt, but it was tolerable. And if it made her ready to receive the Master, so much the better . . .

Myra loved to play with her and Blake. She loved to beat Blake off, to make him squirt his cum in long hot lashes, and to direct it at Tracy’s naked body. Tracy learned to welcome the cum bath, to massage the heated liquid into her tits and stomach and ass cheeks, loving the silky feel of it, even its cut-grass smell.

And when the day came that Blake did take her from behind, while Myra ate out her pussy, Tracy realized how wrong she had been to fear this new intrusion. Her body, after all, belonged to Blake, not to herself, and for the use of it, he would reward her, he would fill her, with that wonderful hot cum.

For weeks after her arrival, Tracy lived in utter humility. Myra wore only the briefest of panties, Master Blake usually only a robe that hung open to reveal his sex. Tracy wore only her collar and chain. By day she learned the requirements of her job—and it was a real job, one that demanded her skills and education—and submitted herself to the whims of her Master and Mistress. If Myra said, “Lick me, slave,” then Tracy had to stop her work, drop to her knees, and tongue Myra’s hot slit until her Mistress came. When Blake demanded, she fucked him or took his cock into her mouth or into her ass.

The first time he came in her mouth, on her third evening in the house, she gagged, and a displeased Myra had made her sleep that night with her wrists cuffed to her ankles, the chains hooked to the posts of her bed, so that she lay in a grotesque posture, knees drawn up, thighs spread. Myra had worked mercilessly on her pussy with a dildo, leaving her gasping but short of release. “Swallow the Master’s cum next time,” Myra had warned.

The next morning as Blake finished his breakfast, Tracy knelt beside his chair and begged to be allowed to suck his cock. Myra watched the performance, stroking Tracy’s hair, cooing into her ear, telling her the cum would be good for her, would help her bind herself to the Master, and this time when the hot spurt came into her mouth, Tracy fought back the urge to retch and swallowed it, swallowed it all.

She felt so strangely free in those days, free of all need to make any decision, free of the impulse to regret any wanton action. Her will was not her own, and no depravity touched her inmost soul, because her body belonged not to her but to Master and Mistress. She tried hard to obey their every wish. When she sat, she sat with her legs spread wide, her pink sex exposed. Every day her Master fucked her or had her suck his cock, and the more of his cum she took, the easier it became, until finally she vaguely wondered why she had ever thought the taste unpleasant. She became a depraved connoisseur of cum, drinking it eagerly, as eagerly as Myra drained her daily cup of honey.

And undeniably she grew more beautiful, thanks to the cosmetics she used, thanks to Myra’s loving guidance. Once a week Myra’s tits filled with their strange, spicy milk, and Blake loved to watch Tracy nurse her Mistress, swallowing greedily. She grew to love that taste and to associate it with the taste of Blake’s cum, so that before many weeks had passed she craved both inordinately. At times of high delight, Myra and Tracy both joined together to suck Blake’s cock, the springy head passed between them, their tongues meeting lasciviously. Sometimes Myra rode Blake’s cock and permitted Tracy to kneel, her busy tongue lapping at Blake’s balls, at the momentarily exposed rod of his cock, at Myra’s clit. She loved it when the two of them came together, Myra crying out and Blake moaning in pleasure. She lived to give them such moments.

So passed six months, and when at the end of that time Myra unfastened the leather collar and Blake presented Tracy with a black thong, the first clothing she had been permitted since moving into the house, she wept with a fierce joy. She belonged now. No longer merely a slave, she had become a seasoned slut, second only to Myra.

Myra, more voluptuous and beautiful than ever, was proud of her. Myra had changed too, losing her myopia because of the healing properties of the corrective eyedrops Blake prepared for her. She seemed to grow younger, not older, and when caught up in lust, she shone with an inner light like that of a flame. Now all three of them slept together in the big bed in the master bedroom, naked flesh pressing naked flesh. Now Tracy woke in the mornings and felt no hesitation in sweeping her hand down Blake’s muscular abdomen to caress his flaccid member, to stir it to life, or to move stealthily down so she could tongue Myra to a pleasant awakening. She suggested games of sex, and with no reserves of shame at all, she offered her asshole, her mouth, her pussy to the service of Master and Mistress.

Finally, something more than six months to the day after her arrival, Myra asked if Tracy wanted to leave the house the next day, to go shopping. Tracy lowered her eyes and said humbly, “That would please me if you wish it, Mistress.”

“Good girl,” Myra said. She kissed Myra deeply, her tongue probing. Their bare breasts pressed together, and Tracy could feel the swelling stiffness of her Mistress’ nipples. She never thought of the orphanage these days, and the convent had become lost in the fog of memory.

The clothes Myra dressed Tracy in for her first outing were blatant, silky and see-through, short and frankly inviting lascivious looks. Winter was coming on, and both women wore coats against the chill, but Tracy loved the fact that beneath the coat and the trampy clothes she wore no bra, no panties. She felt dirty and delicious.

“We should begin to look for another slave,” Myra told her as they looked through the clothing at an upscale shop.

“Yes,” Tracy agreed. Myra had told her not to call her “Mistress” in public.

“A woman a little different from you, I think. A different type. Maybe Latina, or maybe Asian. Would you like to fasten the collar on the next slave, Tracy?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling herself becoming wet.

Not long after that, Myra, Tracy, and Blake spent a weekend at an exclusive spa. Myra and Tracy had scouted it first and had discovered Julia, whom they agreed was just the right type for Blake. She was twenty-four, slim, and very dark, a smoldering Latina beauty. Myra especially felt attracted to her, and she loved the attention that Julia gave her, shepherding her through the lazy routine of the sauna, a pedicure, and then a wonderful, sensuous full-body massage. Julia chatted with her as her strong hands kneaded all tension from Myra’s muscles: Julia had been in this country for ten years now. Her father had died and her mother had gone back to Brazil, where sadly she had passed away only two years ago. Julia had remained in the States with friends. She had had a boyfriend, but he was not serious, and they had broken up. Now she spent her time mostly alone, or going out with girls she had known since high school, on the nights when the other girls found themselves without a date. She adored pina coladas. She was not a virgin, but she was, Myra judged, charmingly inexperienced.

And all the time Myra strongly sensed that Julia was attracted to her, though the younger woman probably did not admit that even to herself. Still, Myra could tell it in the sensuous way that Julia’s hands slipped across her flesh, glistening with a light, gardenia-scented oil. Julia’s palms lingered teasingly on the inside of her thighs, caressed the mounds of her buttocks. Her dark eyes flashed at the sight of Myra’s perfect breasts. Her breathing became a little faster when Myra leaned close to whisper some little joke to her.

On this particular Saturday, Myra asked Julia to massage Blake. “Oh, I don’t do the men,” she had said.

“Oh, come on,” Myra said with a smile. “You’re the best here, and my man deserves the best.”

“It wouldn’t be proper,” Julia said. “There are male masseurs who would be glad to work for him.”

“I don’t want a man’s hands on his body, though,” Myra said. “We’ll give you a big tip, Julia.”

Julia bit her lip. Myra knew that she could use extra money—only last week Julia had complained of some unexpected and costly auto repairs. “Well, I don’t know. . . ”

“Tracy?” Myra had said, and immediately Tracy was there with fifty-dollar bills, ten of them. “Will this be enough?”

“Oh—yes, thank you,” Julia said with a gulp. “This will be plenty.”

“But we want to watch,” Myra said, and Tracy smiled a secret sort of smile.

“Yes, with a man it would be better if we were not alone,” Julia replied.

So it was arranged. When Julia came into the private room, Blake lay on his stomach, a narrow towel over his hips. Julia sprinkled oil on her palms and then began to work on his shoulders and upper back. “He’s very good looking, isn’t he?” Tracy asked as if Blake couldn’t hear.

Julia blushed and nodded silently.

Myra said, “But I wish he’d do something about his hair.”

Blake turned his head. “What’s wrong with my hair?” he asked with mock gruffness.

Myra laughed. “It’s still in that geeky haircut. Try something new.”

“Would you like to select the style?” he asked.

“Yes, I would.”

“Very well,” he said. “I’m in your hands.”

“No, you’re in Julia’s,” Myra teased. “She’s got very nice hands, hasn’t she?”

“They’re great,” Blake agreed.

Julia, at first so reluctant, began to joke with Blake and the girls, and she loosened up enough to remove the towel and knead Blake’s buttocks. Suddenly she stopped, and Myra heard a sharp intake of breath from her. “My God!” she said.

“What is it?” Blake asked sleepily. He had parted his thighs a few inches.

“You’re big!”

Tracy giggled. Myra said, “Turn over, Blake. Show her.”

He did as she asked, and Julia’s eyes widened in frank admiration and surprise. Blake’s compounds had increased his potency . . . and his size. His flaccid cock was easily six inches long, and thick in proportion. In fact, Myra realized, looking at him as though with Julia’s stunned eyes, Blake had become a magnificent physical specimen in the time she’d lived as his slut and his slave. He worked out with weights and exercise machines, he kept himself in prime health, and he had lost all his awkwardness.

Julia took a deep breath. “Oh, my God,” she said with a nervous laugh. “When you, when you, ah, become, you know, aroused, well that must be something.”

“Want to see?” Myra asked. “Tracy, lick him a little.”

“Yes, thank you,” Tracy said. She dropped the towel she had wrapped around her and bent naked to flick her pink tongue over the head of Blake’s cock. It responded at once, first pulsing, then swelling and growing erect and hard. Myra admired the way Tracy’s shapely breasts hung, pink-pointed and full, swaying as she nibbled and teased Blake’s cock with lips and tongue.

Julia licked her own lips. “I don’t really understand,” she murmured, her cheeks flushed red. She darted a quick look at both of the women. “You, Myra, and you, Tracy—both of you and—?”

“He doesn’t complain,” Myra said.

Tracy glanced up sideways, impishly, her blonde hair falling in strands across her face. “Want a lick?”

Julia shook her head. “No, no, this is wrong. I mean, it’s, yes, it’s so—so attractive, so manly, but—”

“But you’re at work,” Myra said. “You’re a professional, and you don’t do this kind of thing at work. I understand. You’ll be off in an hour, though. Come home with us.”

“H-home?”

“Do,” Blake said. His cock stood up stiffly now, eight inches or more, and thick, so thick. Myra felt wet at the sight of it, and she knew Julia must be imagining how it would fill her up, how its pumping would lift her to orgasm.

“Come with us,” Tracy urged. She took Blake’s cock between her wonderful swelling tits and slowly began to move up and down, fucking his cock with her gleaming, sweaty mounds. “You’ll like it.”

“I promise you’ll like it,” Myra said. She reached to caress the bulb of Blake’s cock head, tickling and teasing with just the pressure that he couldn’t resist, and suddenly he shot a load of cum. It splashed against the underside of Tracy’s chin, and she giggled. Myra bent to lick it off, and their mouths met, pressed together, and Tracy’s tongue stole some of the stringy cum from Myra’s mouth. They pulled apart, a drooping strand of cum still tethering their lips together, and both of them smiled at Julia. “Come with us,” they said in perfect unison.

Julia was gasping for air now. She shook her head, blushing furiously. “I’m sorry, I can’t. It wouldn’t be—”

“Come with us,” Blake said in a voice that seemed to make Julia feel faint.

Julia refused, of course.

But somehow she found herself in the car anyway, in the back seat between Myra and Tracy.

7

The household expanded steadily, and before another year had passed, Blake purchased a mansion in the country, though it was convenient to the city. It was another sprawling brick house, with a separate bee-loud laboratory just for him. Acres of flowers surrounded the house. A steady stream of bees passed between meadows and laboratory in the summer. In the cooler months, the bees slumbered, but Blake’s experiments continued, refining the products he took from the creatures, making them more efficacious, causing them to become agents of surprising change.

Now the compounds he made didn’t merely smooth imperfections and heal the skin. They could reshape the body, could rejuvenate it. He grew more potent, the slaves and sluts more shapely, more eager to please. Sometimes groups of them went out hunting, and sometimes they brought back a girl who wasn’t really suitable as a slave, but who would pass a mind-blowing week at the mansion with them and who would depart in a daze of satiation, who would forever look back to her time with Blake and his harem as a peak of desire and its release.

On the second floor of the opulent mansion was an enormous space that once had been a ballroom. Now it was the Master’s bedroom. A double king-sized bed, specially made, accommodated Blake and as many as six of his harem. The others slept in other beds at no great distance. Two of them wore the chain and collar of the proto-slut, of the slave. The others were permitted skimpy underwear, except at the times they served the Master or the Mistress.

There were so many of them, like. . . like bees in a hive. A very happy hive. They had their own spa now, their own Olympic pool. Mostly naked girls did the chores, kept the place clean, and longed for a session with Blake.

But Myra, their Mistress, had carefully made sure that they were all fully bisexual, and when they could not love the Master, they happily loved each other. They had a treasure chest of sex toys, and they spent long hours probing each other’s pussies and assholes with them. When two of the girls had nothing else to do, it was not unusual to see them joined together, fucking a double, headed dildo, panting in frantic sexual frenzy. Kisses and caresses happened any time two of them passed each other. Except for Myra, a delightful sexual democracy prevailed, a sisterhood of sluts. Any of them was available to any of the others. Myra alone reigned as queen. She could be approached, but unless she gave her consent, the other girls could not lick her succulent tits, could not flick their tongues over her clit.

Fortunately, they all felt, she was truly gracious about sharing.

Tracy had become such a financial expert that the household ran with no money worries at all. Myra went on expeditions from time to time, to the Caribbean, to Eruope, finding other candidates for sluthood and, with Blake’s permission, seducing a boy here and there along the way. Blake’s compound had made them all immune to disease, but there could be only one ruler in a hive, and so Myra never brought any of the dazed and grateful young men home.

Nor did she want to. Diverting as they were, charming as they could be in their puppylike devotion, none of them could . . . measure up to Blake.

On a cold winter evening, with snow outside and a blazing fire in the big fireplace, she and Blake snuggled close and naked on that great bed. She lazily stroked his cock with one hand, while she tickled her clit with the other. “My sluts and my slaves,” she said on impulse, “daisy chain.”

Immediately all the naked girls lay on the carpeted floor, mouth to pussy to mouth to pussy. A dozen of them in all. Tracy’s eager tongue worked at Julia’s clit, and Julia buried her face in Denise’s crotch. They writhed and thrashed, fingers slipping into pussies, tongues polishing clits, hips rotating and thrusting with an uninhibited sexual hunger. Gleaming firelight glowed on their moist skins, yellow highlights on tits and on the mounds of their ass cheeks. The whole room began to be fragrant with their musk, and their whimpers reminded Myra of the hum of bees she had first heard in Blake’s poky little lab at the cosmetics company.

“Are you happy, Master?” Myra asked.

He stroked her hair. “Very happy. And you, slut?”

“I’m in heaven,” she said, and bent, opening her mouth, stretching it wide, to take in his fantastic cock. The great purple head crushed her tongue, but she loved the feel of it, the tangy taste of it. She loved the way Blake looked now with his angular face, his light growth of beard beneath his high cheekbones, his close-cropped hair. She loved the way his hips moved, driving his cock in and out of her receiving mouth. He would come soon, and she would suck every drop of cum from his cock. And thanks to his amazing stamina, he would be ready to come again in five or ten minutes. Which one of the sluts should she select for him to fuck tonight? He had done the two new slaves the night before, and it wouldn’t do to let them get the idea that they were special. They’d have to watch and maybe finger each other off, if they behaved well. Not them, but one of the sluts, then. Well. . . . it had been a long time since Blake had taken Julia, and the dark Brazilian girl did so adore his huge thick cock, and she took it so well in her adorable pussy. Yes, that seemed right. Blake would fuck Julia while Myra had Tracy sixty-nine her by their side, yes, so Blake could glance over and see Tracy’s hot tongue at her slit, that would excite him, yes, that would be the way to go—

Blake’s cock throbbed, and a hot gush of cum filled her mouth. She swallowed and swallowed greedily, grateful to him for this mark of favor, for this kind release of his seed to bind her and bond her ever more closely to his desires and demands.

He was such a kind Master.

And she was such a good slut.