Viewing Member - justfadingaway

I push the doorbell with my thumb and glance nervously at my reflection I the foyer mirror again. My hair is pulled up into two pigtails, I’m wearing a crisp white, nearly see-through button up shirt over a black bra, a short tartan plaid pleated skirt, fishnet stockings, and carefully shined mary-jane shoes. You open the door, and smile at me, the corner of your eyes crinkling in delight.
“Wow, you look hot,” you say. “What a little slut!”
I smile shyly, and you take me by the hand and pull me into the apartment, closing the door quickly behind me. You slip one hand under my skirt and rub my ass as you guide me into the living room, where you sit down in your chair and eye me expectantly. I kneel between your legs, resting my hands lightly on your knees.
“Sir, what is it you would have me do?”
“You’re going to take my cock out and stroke it, I want a hand-job from a slut today.”
I unzip your pants and pull your cock out, sliding my hand up and down your length.
“That’s right you little whore. You know just how to handle a cock, don’t you? You’ve probably had every guy in this town’s cock in your hand at some point, haven’t you?”
I shake my head and open my mouth to deny your accusations.
“Shut up slut, maybe those other guys want to hear what you have to say, but I don’t.” You lean forward, unbutton my shirt, and pull my bra down so my tits are hanging, exposed. You fondle first one, and then the other, pinching my nipples between your forefinger and thumb painfully. “What’s the matter, slut?” you ask, seeing my wince of pain. “Get your other hand down there, I want to see your fingers in your little cunt. Look, I’ll bet you’re already wet, you probably got fucked by three or four guys on your way over here.” I reach down and begin to stroke my clit, sliding my fingers in and out of my wet slippery cunt. My hand continues to stroke your cock, up and down. A quiet moan escapes me.
“Shut up cunt, you’re probably numb by now, with all of the cock that you take.” Your breathing quickens as my pace increases. “God you’re such a little slut, I can tell by how you handle my cock, you really know what you’re doing, don’t you, whore?” You stiffen in your seat. “I’m going to cum all over those big tits of yours,” you say, pulling me closer. You twitch and your cock spurts hot cum all over my chest. I smear my fingers through it and raise them to my lips.
“That’s right, you’re just a cum-hungry little whore, aren’t you?” you ask. I nod, I can’t deny it. You notice that I’m still playing with my pussy and pull me to my feet, bending me over your knee. Your hand pounds against my ass and cunt, in a stinging spanking. I squeal and squirm on your lap. “Oh, I’ll bet this dirty cunt wants to come, doesn’t she?” you say as your fingers find my clit. You rub your hand against me as I begin to pant and lean back to meet your friction. My toes curl and I begin begging you for permission to come. You withdraw your hand.
“Not this time, little slut, maybe you can get one of your fucks to get you off,” you say as you stand me up. I pull up my panties and you lead me to the door. “Maybe that will teach you to be such a whore,” you say, slamming the door behind me.

Your voice crackles over the phone line, “Meet me at the room,” you say, fading in and out.
“Yes, all right, I’m on my way,”
I hang up and survey my closet, quickly pulling out a short black skirt and the lowest cut of my low-cut tops. I dash to the dresser and pull out a pair of fishnets, and slide them up my legs, cursing at a snag in one of them. I yank my skirt up, and pull my top over my head and run to the bathroom. I peer into the mirror, I am a lost cause. I run my hands through my hair, trying to make some sense out of the ringlets, and give up. I hurry to paint my eyelids and lips and step into my shoes, tripping as a lunge through the front door.
I arrive at the hotel and make my way quickly to the door of our usual room. I rap softly and edge closer to the door, nervous as always about the poorly lit parking lot, just off the interstate. You pull the door open and wave me in, stepping back to admit me. As usual, you knock the breath out of me, in your black suit and tie, and wingtip shoes. A bottle of whiskey, still in its paper wrapping, stands on the dresser. You step back and appraise me, the corner of your lip curling up into a smirk.
“Don’t you look a slut?”
I smirk back “Just how you like me,” I reply.
“Go get some ice,” you say, handing me the bucket and ushering me out the door with a slap on my ass.
I return with the ice and place it on the dresser. You come up behind me, and position my hands, palm down and shoulder length apart on the surface, so that I am bent over. You pull up my skirt and rub my ass, all the while smirking at me in the mirror. Suddenly you rear back and slap me, one, two, three, four, five, six times. I gasp sharply and bite my quivering lip, trying not to cry, but I lose control of myself, and tears begin to course down my cheeks, drawing a black trail. I watch you watching me in the mirror, my lipstick smeared, black tracks under my eyes, a whore’s face. You again begin to stroke my ass, slipping an exploratory finger into my cunt.
“Just as I thought, you whore, you’re wet,” you say, your eyes lighting up.
You pick up the whiskey bottle and slip it into my cunt, watching my face closely in the mirror as you fuck me with it. My hands clench into fists as I meet your thrusting, unable to control myself. I bite my lip against my low moans, but before I know it, I am crying out, begging for more. You pull the bottle out of me, and slide your fingers into me again, rubbing your thumb against my clit as the rest of your fingers pound in and out of my dripping hole. You reach up with your other hand to grip me by my hair, pulling my head back, as you continue to thrust in and out of me.
“Come,” you command. “Come on you slut, come for me.” I whimper, little yelps escaping me as I grind back against your hand, my cunt convulsing and gushing. I steady myself against the dresser, my breath escaping me in short gasps, and you withdraw your hand and saunter over to the bed, removing your jacket and tie. You lean cross-legged against the headboard and motion at the whiskey with a nod of your head, a silent order for me to pour you some. I drop a few ice cubes into a plastic drinking cup and pour you three fingers of the whiskey. I pour some into a cup for myself, straight up, down it in one gulp, and pour another. Watching you as you eye me over the rim of your glass. You set the cup down on the night stand.
“Come here,” you say, unbuckling your belt and unzipping your pants. I walk over to the bed, and kneel between your now spread legs. I free your cock from your pants, and it stands out stiffly from you. I take it in one hand, and lean over, pulling it between my lips. My head rises and falls as I fuck you with my mouth, delighting in your shudders and little moans as I craftily swirl my tongue against your length. Soon your hips begin to buck to meet my rhythm and pace, and I respond enthusiastically, working to give you the best cock sucking you’ve ever had. Your hand again finds its way into my hair, and you begin to pull my head up and down, suiting the rhythm and pace to what you want. You stiffen and moan as you come in my mouth. I sit back on my heels, wiping my lips daintily, and grin at you.

The phone drilled its way into my slumber, shrilly and grinding, yanking me from the warmth and comfort of my bed.
“Hello?” I whisper, squinting one eyed at the alarm clock. Seven a.m.
“Where are my pictures?” Your voice seeming brusque and unkind to my tender ears.
I slap a palm to my forehead. “Shit!” I exclaim. “I’ll have those for you in just a few minutes, I’m so sorry!”
“What time is it?” You demand.
“Seven, I overslept by mistake.” I sit down at the computer, frantically attaching files to an outgoing message. “I’m sending them now, they’re on their way. “
“Are you playing with your cunt?”
“Nooo…” I respond, my fingers unconsciously stealing between my legs.
“You’d better get them down there, I want you to come at least five times by noon!” And you hang up. I sit for a moment, staring at the screen before I climb into bed where I lazily stroke my clit. I feel my wetness growing and seeping from me as I my movement increases, my fingers rubbing against my clit and slipping inside of me. My entire body tenses and shudders as I feel my first orgasm of the day wrack through me. I lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, and before I know it my hands are between my legs again, as I bring myself to another shattering climax. I stretch in bed, relishing its warmth for a few more minutes before I reluctantly leave its embrace and trudge towards the bathroom to shower.
Before I can make it there, the phone rings again. “I’m looking at your photos, cunt,” you whisper.
I feel myself blush. “Really,” I say casually. “What do you think?”
“I think you look like the whore you really are, all of your clothes off, and your legs spread… what a slut!”
I smile and twist the phone cord between my fingers. “How many times have you gotten yourself off, slut?”
“Twice,” I whisper, my face flushing and my eyes downcast in shame.
“Twice! You really are a greedy little whore! Can’t keep your fingers out of your pussy?? It’s only been thirty minutes since I talked to you last.”
“I’m sorry,” I answer softly. “I really am a slut. I just can’t leave it alone.”
“Well,” you growl, considering. “You’d better make it… six more times before noon, and I want pictures. I want to see that cunt spread open and those fingers jammed inside of that tight little hole.” You hang up with a click and I gently cradle the receiver and make my way to the bathroom, my face burning with equal measures of shame and lust.
I stand in the shower beneath the hot spray, rinsing the shampoo from my hair, running my hands through the soapy rivulets of water that course their way down my body. I quickly lather up my sponge and fastidiously bathe myself, paying careful attention to my tits and between my legs.
I take the hand held showerhead from its mount and thoroughly rinse myself. I eye it for a moment, and blushing, switch it over to the massage setting. I bite my lip and lean against the shower wall, aiming the jetting spray at my clit. My legs begin to shake and I find myself moaning quietly as the water hammers against my already sensitive cunt. I sink down, my back sliding against the shower wall to sit with my feet braced against the outer rim of the tub. My legs tremble wildly as I come not once, but three times, the contractions nearly doubling me over.
Shaking, I stand and replace the shower head and turn off the water. I stand in front of the foggy mirror on weak legs and gaze at myself for a long moment, my face glowing with vibrance that’s visible even through the condensation. I dry off and rub my ever increasingly sensitive skin down with lotion and wrap myself in a warm robe.
I wander out to the kitchen and pick halfheartedly at a bowl of granola and yogurt before I return to my bedroom, shedding my robe and carelessly dropping it on the floor. I make the bed and lay across the foot of it naked, absently rubbing my hands over my tits, lightly pinching and twisting my nipples. I remember your orders and set my camera up on a time delay. I part the lips of my cunt and begin to tease my clit, and the flash goes off. I continue for a few minutes more before setting up the camera again. I slide my fingers down my glistening cunt and into my wet hole as the camera captures my image again. I fumble for the camera again, and it flashes just as my pussy explodes forth with a gushing orgasm. I lay there for a moment, panting before I rise and carry the blanket that I had been laying on to the washing machine.
I take my camera into the office and sit nude in front of the computer, where I transfer the photos into a folder and edit them for e-mailing. No sooner do I click the “send” button than does the phone ring. I glance at the clock as I answer, nearly eleven, where has the time gone? “Hello,” I answer, knowing it’s you.
“Where are my pictures, whore?”
“Check your inbox, they’re there.”
You’re silent for a moment and I can faintly hear your mouse clicking. “Jesus, you’re a hot slut, aren’t you? How many times have you came since I talked to you last?”
I giggle and quickly count them up. “Four,” I answer shyly.
“Get those fingers in that cunt!” You bark. “You owe me two!”
Obediently I begin rubbing my clit again. “Yes sir, I am right now,” I answer.
“That’s right, because you’re a whore. I’ll bet that’s all you do when I’m not home, lay around all day playing with your pussy like the slut you are. I’ll bet that when you’re not fucking yourself you’re fucking the mailman and the delivery boys. If we had a milkman you’d be fucking him too!”
I moan. “What’s that slut?” You ask.
“Please, sir,” I beg.
“Please, sir what?”
“Please sir may I come? Please, sir?”
“Come on you little bitch, come!”
My body clenches, nearly tipping me out of the chair. “I’m coming, sir. I’m coming, thank you sir.”
“Don’t stop, slut, you owe me one more!”
I beg you again. “Do it, whore, come for me!” You command as my cunt erupts again. I grow quiet, my breathing slowing. “That’s a good girl,” you say. “I’ll be home in an hour, and I want that pussy ready for me!” We both hang up and I stretch in my chair, a lazy grin on my face.

I dash into the restaurant, brushing the hostess aside. “I’m meeting someone,” I call back to her as I push through the French doors and rush to your table, my high heels clicking on the stone surface. You fold your newspaper and press a button on the stopwatch resting on the tabletop.
“You’re late, seven minutes,” you say, your eyes appraising me admiringly for a moment, then growing cold.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sliding into the chair across from you after you motion for me to sit. “I left my purse in my apartment, with my keys in it,” I wave my hands around impatiently. “So, I had to get the super to unlock it for me.”
You shrug in dismissal. “I told you to be here at half past noon. You didn’t walk in here until thirty seven past noon.”
I hang my head in shame and peer up at you. “I apologize, Sir.”
You clear your throat and pick up your menu. "Let’s order, I’m having the grilled fish, iced tea.” I motion the waiter over to our table and order for both of us as you ignore the waiter and gaze absently at the passing traffic on the street. The waiter leaves and you look back at me. “You look lovely, you’re wearing everything I asked you to.”
I nod, blushing and pull up one side of my skirt to reveal the stockings and garters you had ordered me to wear. “Right down to the underwear, Sir, I’m glad you like it.”
We sit there and discuss mundane details, your eyes continuing to explore my face and body. “Oh,” you say, as if it had just occurred to you, as the waiter brings our food to the table, “I’ll need you to accompany me to the house afterwards.” It’s not an request, but an order, and I nod in agreement. You pick up your fork and begin to eat, and I follow suit, crossing my legs and barely rocking in my chair, feeling the thong panties you had commanded I wear ride up and rub against my clit.
You smirk at me. “What are you doing?” You ask, leaning forward conspiratorially.
I shake my head. “Nothing, sir,” I reply, a flush creeping up my neck.
“You’re trying to get off, aren’t you, you little slut? I’ll bet that if I took you to the bathroom right now and shoved my hand up your skirt, your cunt would be dripping wet, wouldn’t it?”
I shake my head, denying it. You lean back and continue to eat, watching me carefully as I pick at the meal in front of me. After we’ve finished we leave the restaurant and walk the two blocks to your house, where you keep an office that you work from.
You unlock the door and usher me in ahead of you, pointing the way to the office as you stop to drop some mail and the newspaper on a table in the foyer. You are close behind me and shove me forward into the desk so I am bent over it, my hands bracing me. You position yourself behind me, pressing against me, your knee firmly wedged between mine. You reach out a hand and yank my head back by my hair.
“You little slut, late!” You shout at me.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I apologize, squirming against you.
You yank harder on my hair and wedge yourself even tighter against me. “No excuses, cunt. If I tell you to be somewhere at a certain time, I expect for you to be there! You kept me waiting! Do you like to keep me waiting? Do you like to inconvenience me?
“No sir, I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again, sir,” I beg, my bottom lip quivering, and tears threatening to spill from my eyes.
“You’re right, it won’t happen again. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” You pull up my skirt and stroke a hand over my ass. Every muscle in my body tightens as I await the blow that I know I will receive. You rear back with your hand and strike me, the slap echoing like a gunshot in your office.
“One, sir, thank you sir! Two! Sir, thank you, sir. Three, sir, thank you sir! Ohh, four, sir, thank you sir! Five sir, thank you sir! Ouch! Six, sir, thank you sir!” I continue to count to fourteen, one smack for every thirty seconds I was late, the tears that had threatened to spill now tracking their way down my cheeks.
You stop and jerk my panties aside, shoving your fingers into me. “Oh, you little whore. You like it, don’t you? You do this on purpose so I’ll punish you, don’t you, cunt?” I hear you unzip your pants and you enter me from behind, pounding against me mercilessly. “A late bitch doesn’t even deserve her master’s cock in her. You don’t deserve me fucking you,” you shout, as your cock hammers in and out of me, your hand still wrapped in my hair.
I cry out and you slap my ass again. “Don’t you come bitch, don’t you DARE come!” You bark out at me, as your movements become more frenzied. I fight back the urge to climax again and again until finally you collapse against me, your energy spent.
You withdraw and zip up your pants, release my hair and pull down my skirt. I stand, still braced against the desk as you walk around it and sit in your chair, leaning back to gaze at me with contempt. “Clean yourself up whore, and remember this lesson. Sluts who are late are punished, and they most certainly do not get to come.”