This story is an excerpt from "Slave Girls: Erotic Stories of Submission," edited by D. L. King. It has been reprinted with permission from Cleis Press. This excerpt is sponsored by LELO.
A male form filled the lighted rectangle of doorway. She sucked in her breath.
It was only the Master, holding something shiny in his hand.
"We’ve decided it will be easier if we blindfold you," he said, holding out a satin sleep mask.
She exhaled quietly. So it was just a mind game. While blindfolded, she could pretend she was giving herself to another man, when it was really the Master "testing" her. She would play it perfectly, too, never letting on until the scene was over.
In the new, deeper darkness, she felt his warmth recede. She smiled. He drew near again.
Every muscle in her body stiffened. This was not the Master. She could feel it. Smell it. The faint scent of aftershave, whisky, unfamiliar male spice.
"Laura?"
Now she could hear it, too, a stranger’s voice, slightly higher in pitch, but melodious and assured.
"Yes…Sir?" she croaked.
"I don’t mean to be rude, but he’d rather I not give you my name. Please call me 'Professor,’ since I’ll be administering your exam." His voice was silky with amusement.
A man with a sense of humor. That was good. Still, she was finding it difficult to breathe.
"First I want to make it clear that you are totally in charge here. Please feel free to tell me exactly what to do. I won’t let a bit of reserve on your part stop me, but of course I will immediately respect the safewords—'cancel the final’ was it?"
"All right…Professor." Her own voice sounded so agreeable. Could it be this simple to slide from virtue to sluthood by any definition of the word?
He laughed amiably. "Usually I like to take my time courting a beautiful lady. So I was thinking that a nice back massage might be a good way to get to know each other. Would that be amenable to you?"
"I suppose so, Professor."
"Excellent. Then if you would take off your robe and turn over on your stomach?"
The cool air on her back made her realize her whole body was moist with anticipation.
"May I unhook your brassiere? I wouldn’t want to get massage oil on it."
"Yes, of course, Professor."
With an expert click of his fingers, the bra fell open. They hadn’t met a minute ago and already she was allowing him to undress her.
His hands were large, strong, hot. Her muscles gradually relaxed under the flowing, oiled strokes. All the while he spoke to her in a soothing voice—about a Swedish massage course he’d taken in college and different styles of massages he’d experienced in his international business travels. Japanese shiatsu, Thai, hot stone.
"May I go farther down now?"
"Y-yes, Professor."
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Now he turned his manual skills to her lower back, dipping down to knead her buttocks rhythmically. In spite of herself she moaned. Loud enough for the Master to hear.
"You’re all flushed and pink now. So beautiful. Could you turn on your back now, please? We mustn’t neglect the other half."
Dizzy with pleasure, she obeyed.
"We won’t be needing this anymore, will we?" He pulled the bra straps down over her arms.
She fought the urge to cover her breasts.
"My god, you are a lovely, lovely girl. May I…kiss them?"
Blind as she was, she could feel his gaze warming her bare flesh. Her faithless nipples stood up high and hard. She nodded assent.
Wet heat encircled her left nipple, while the right received gentle flicks of a large, knowing thumb.
"Oh Jesus," she groaned.
He kissed and fondled her there until she squirmed, helplessly aware that the skimpy thong had done nothing to stop her juices from pooling on the sheet beneath her ass. But only the tiniest part of her cared about such things any longer. Why not surrender to these delicious sensations, so pure; permitted, yet sinfully sweet? The Master wanted her to do this. She was serving him by letting this courtly stranger have his way with her.
If only the guy weren’t so goddamn slow about it.
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