Vesper’s Word Whore – Mistress 2

I woke up on the cold concrete floor with the taste of latex, cum, and my own shame still coating my tongue. Every muscle screamed. My back burned from the flogging, my ass throbbed from the brutal strap-on fucking, and my cock — that treacherous bastard — was already half-hard again just from the memory.

Mistress Vesper stood above me like a goddess who had stepped out of a nightmare I never wanted to wake from. She had changed. The red corset was gone. Now she wore nothing but those glossy black thigh-high boots and a wicked smile. Her naked body was perfect — cruelly perfect. Full breasts with dark nipples, a narrow waist, and that smooth, swollen pussy that had already ruined me once tonight.

“Get up,” she said softly. Too softly. That was always the most dangerous tone.

I pushed myself onto all fours, then slowly rose. My legs were shaking. She stepped close, grabbed my chin hard and forced me to look into her eyes.

“You thought that was the end?” she whispered. “That was just the warm-up, writer. Now I’m going to take everything that’s left of you.”

She snapped her fingers. The two silent male subs appeared again, this time carrying heavy chains and thick leather cuffs. They didn’t ask. They simply locked my wrists behind my back, then forced me down onto a large, padded leather bench in the center of the room. My chest pressed against the cool leather, ass raised high, completely exposed. The position was humiliating. Degrading. Perfect.

Vesper circled me slowly, her boots clicking like a metronome of doom.
“Look at this ass,” she said to the small group of voyeurs who had stayed for the second act. “Still red from my cock. Still twitching like it wants more.”

She ran her gloved fingers over my sore hole, teasing it. I groaned. Then she spat directly on it — warm, wet, deliberate — and pushed two fingers inside without warning. I gasped, pushing back against her hand like the desperate whore she had already turned me into.

“You’re opening up so nicely for me,” she purred. “But tonight I don’t want your ass. I want your soul.”

She removed her fingers, leaving me empty and aching. Then she did something that made my heart slam against my ribs.

Vesper climbed onto the bench, straddling my back facing my ass. I felt the heat of her wet pussy pressing against my spine as she leaned forward. Her breasts brushed my bound arms. She reached between my legs and took my cock in her hand — not gently. She squeezed the base hard, then began stroking me with long, torturously slow movements.

“Beg me to fuck you,” she demanded.

“Please… Mistress… fuck me.”

“Not good enough.”

I swallowed what was left of my pride.

“Please fuck me like the pathetic pain slut I am. Use my body. Ruin me. I don’t want to be a writer anymore tonight. I just want to be your hole.”

She laughed — low, dark, satisfied.

“Good boy.”

She shifted forward, raised her hips, and slowly lowered herself onto my cock.

The moment her hot, dripping cunt swallowed the head of my dick, I saw stars. She was impossibly tight, velvet and fire at the same time. She sank down inch by inch until I was buried to the hilt inside her. A deep, guttural moan escaped both of us.

Then she started riding me.

Not softly. Not sensually. She fucked me like she wanted to break my pelvis. Her ass slammed down against me with brutal force, her pussy gripping my cock like a wet fist. Every downward thrust sent shockwaves through my body. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the warehouse — wet, obscene, perfect.

I was helpless. Hands bound behind me, body pinned under her weight, I could only take it. She rode me like a wild animal in heat, using my cock for her pleasure and nothing else.
“Fuck, you feel good,” she growled, her voice breaking for the first time. “Thick… stupid… writer cock. Made for this.”

She leaned back, bracing her hands on my thighs, and changed the angle. Now every stroke dragged the head of my cock across her G-spot. Her moans became louder, more animal. I could feel her getting wetter, her juices running down my balls.

The voyeurs watched in silence. The only sounds were her heavy breathing, the wet slap of her pussy devouring me, and my own broken whimpers.

She suddenly stopped, lifted herself completely off my cock, and left me throbbing in the cold air. I almost cried from the loss.

“Not yet,” she hissed.

Vesper climbed off the bench and motioned to her subs. They quickly unlocked my wrists and flipped me onto my back. Before I could catch my breath, she was on top of me again — this time face to face.

She grabbed my throat with one gloved hand and guided my cock back inside her with the other. The moment I slid back into that scorching heat, she squeezed my neck harder.
“Look at me,” she ordered.

Our eyes locked.

Then she began fucking me again — slow, deep, devastating strokes. Every time she sank down, she ground her clit against my pubic bone. Her breasts swayed above my face. I wanted to suck them, bite them, worship them, but she kept me pinned by the throat.

“You’re mine tonight,” she breathed, her face inches from mine. “Every word you’ve ever written belongs to me now. Every dirty thought. Every secret fantasy. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I choked out. “Everything… I’m fucking yours.”

Her pace quickened. She was riding me harder now, chasing her own orgasm with savage determination. Her pussy clenched around me rhythmically. I was so close it hurt.
“Don’t you dare cum until I say so,” she warned, tightening her grip on my throat.

I was floating. The pain, the pleasure, the lack of oxygen — everything blended into one white-hot wave of pure sensation. I could feel her getting closer. Her thighs started trembling. Her moans turned into desperate, filthy gasps.

Suddenly her eyes rolled back slightly.

“Cum,” she commanded, voice raw. “Cum inside me. Now.”

The orgasm hit me like a freight train. I roared as I exploded deep inside her, pumping rope after thick rope of cum into her spasming cunt. At the same moment, Mistress Vesper came hard — her whole body convulsing, her pussy milking me violently as she screamed her release. She kept riding me through both our orgasms, drawing out every last drop, every last shudder, until we were both shaking and drenched in sweat.

For a long moment, there was only heavy breathing and the sound of my heart trying to explode out of my chest.

She finally collapsed onto me, her breasts pressed against my chest, her face buried in my neck. I could feel our mixed juices leaking out around my softening cock, still buried inside her.

Vesper lifted her head slowly. Her makeup was slightly smudged, her hair messy, and somehow she had never looked more beautiful — or more dangerous.

She kissed me then. Not softly. A deep, possessive, hungry kiss that tasted like victory and sin.

When she pulled back, she whispered against my lips:

“Welcome to the real story, writer. Chapter one is over.”

She smiled that razor-sharp smile.

“Chapter two starts at sunrise.”