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Warning for heavy cuckolding, creampie eating and femdom themes.
Another spacious hotel room. Another faceless European city. Another evening waiting for Mari to come back.
The faraway glitter of artificial city lights spread their faint glow through the glass doors and over the soft carpet. The familiar chorus of car horns, shouts and bus engines swirled over me from the open window. The noise was still vibrant, the night was still young. It would still be a few hours before Mari returned, if previous experience was anything to go by.
I gently fingered the leather collar around my neck. It had become second nature to me now, worn whenever Mari and I were away from the public eye. I had blushed when she first presented it to me as a symbol of my servitude to her. A small metal plate on the front read “MARI’S BUTLER”, but the truth was that I was closer to a slave. Not a manual labour, field-work kind of slave; a house-slave, the toy and pet of the mistress — her companion and amusement.
And amuse her I did. In the weeks before we left for Mari’s world tour, I had moved into her mansion. My role shifted from a best friend to a permanent fixture of her daily routine. I was her full-time chef, cleaner, and manservant; no errand was too petty for me, so desperate was I to please her. At that time, she was spending most evenings in with me. Together we would talk, laugh, play silly games and watch films together. I was completely overwhelmed and flattered by the attention Mari was showing me. I felt like the most special man in the world, and if my love for her hadn’t been strong before, it had now taken over my whole heart and being.
Had she felt the same way about me? I wasn’t sure. I cherished our time together more than anything, but there was little indication that she desired anything more physically intimate than the close, virtually codependent friendship we shared, despite the words she had spoken to me that fateful day she convinced me to follow her on tour. We still slept in separate rooms. Occasionally she would plant soft, sweet little kisses on my cheeks while we were watching films, or, tired out from a day of shopping with me, she would present with a knowing smile her small, brown feet for me to massage. But nothing that could coax my shy nature to make a move on her.
The major exception, of course, was her underwear. It might seem strange to an outsider that she could come back from a night out clubbing, press her cum-filled panties into my hand and whisper a sugary but naughty “for your enjoyment” into my ear, and that our friendship could remain platonic in all other ways. But she could, regularly, and it did. I simply accepted that this was her way, and dared not push it any further for fear that the arrangement would end if I inspected it too closely. My sexual desires were more than slaked by my night-time escapades with these treats, pressed to my nose or my tongue while I jerked my cock vigorously and fantasised about the filthy, slutty adventures that Mari was having without me.
Those weeks at the centre of Mari’s universe seemed like hazy dream to me at that moment, sitting in the cool, breezy hotel room with the collar around my neck. Since the tour had begun, I soon found that Mari’s busy schedule didn’t leave much time for me. Though I still acted as her closest personal assistant, our “alone time” was severely reduced. A constant swarm of managers, publicists, musicians and guides surrounded us, and the strain of so much travel and so many performances was making Mari irritable. In public, the forced smile and prepared jokes kept the circus rolling. In private, she developed a mean streak which most often directed itself at me.
For one, her love of nightlife, previously confined to a couple of nights a week, now found an almost daily outlet in the limitless variety of the world cities we were visiting. Mari had associates everywhere, each one ready to treat her to a fancy bar or nightclub and show her off to their friends. This I learned second-hand, because I was never invited. It hadn’t bothered me to stay home when I lived in her house, but in unfamiliar, unfriendly locations, I pined for her in the evenings. The mean streak manifested itself in often chaining my collar to the bedpost, or another fixture in the room, severely limiting my movement. Ever-reasonable, she had explained why it was absolutely necessary to prove that in my loneliness I wouldn’t seek another companion or go making any mischief with journalists.
“I always trust you,” she had pouted, “but why can’t you *show* me that I can trust you? I’d have thought my closest friend would be happy to wear it if he knew it would make me feel better…”
Of course, lovestruck, I accepted. But I despised myself for doing so. Here in this leather collar, padlocked around my neck with the key in Mari’s handbag, I couldn’t help but feel the real reason had nothing to do with trust and everything to do with enjoying exercising her power samsun seks hikayeleri over me.
This everyday sadism wasn’t limited to the passive cruelty of denying me her presence or the freedom to roam. As the tour went on, the strain of performing increased, she began to physically punish me when I didn’t perform a task to her standard. A sharp slap across the face was always the quickest way to let me know I had displeased her. And I seemed to be displeasing her more often.
Once again, my acceptance of this caused me some not-insignificant self-reproach. Why did I let her treat me this way? Had I no self-respect?
The answer, as always, was that any instinct or emotion — self-respect, self-preservation, anger — was subsumed always under the vast weight of my attachment to Mari, and my almost obsessive need to serve her. Even worse than that — some part of me craved that mean treatment from her. A slap or a kiss; either way, I found myself aroused and needing her more afterwards.
My reverie was broken by the sound of the keycard beeping again the door. Mari was back already! But it wasn’t even midnight… what could have happened?
My goddess strode in coolly and dropped her handbag by the bed. Without speaking a word, she rummaged around, brought out the key and unlocked the chain. I held my breath to see what mood she was in. But she just opened the balcony doors and beckoned me out.
She sat on the metal balcony chair and lit up a cigarette. As was our custom in private, I sat on the floor next to her.
We watched the streets below as she took a few drags. Two great lines of light stretched out on the highway in the distance; one white and one red; one set of people coming in and another leaving. Soon, we too would be a red light, off to another city and another anonymous hotel. The fresh night air carried the sweet smell of Mari’s perfume towards me, mixed queasily with the bitter scent of her smoke.
Mari touched my chin gently and turned my head to face her. “Open your mouth,” she instructed.
Instinctively, I obeyed. I started in shock when a sharp, fiery pain bit my tongue. It lasted for a mere moment, and was replaced with a horrible taste. With a sudden flush, I realised that she had flicked her ashes into my mouth.
She held me with a level gaze, and I stared back at her, too dumbfounded to say anything or even to close my mouth. What was in that gaze? What expression was it in her deep brown eyes, looking out at me from that most perfect and terrible face? I searched for love there, and did not find it. There may have been a kind of cold curiosity in there. Disdain. Intrigue. Pity. Cruelty. But no love that I could see.
She turned away from me back to watch the streets and I became acutely aware once again how beautiful she was. Previously, I had found her irresistibly pretty, but tonight her features were wreathed in an icy, removed beauty. The soft brown lips that had seemed designed for soft kisses now seemed the command-giving lips of a harsh queen; her delicate fingers that had once traced patterns on my palms seemed ready to turn me to stone at a touch.
After a few more seconds, Mari looked back to me again. When she saw my mouth was still open, a brief look crossed her face — approval? Disgust? – and she leant over to tap more ash into my mouth.
Again the brief shock of pain, though I did not flinch this time, and the dry sensation of cooling cinders.
I still did not move. Unable or perhaps unwilling, it would make no difference now- I had proven once again that I would accept her treatment.
Sweet and acrid, that was the smell of the smoke and the perfume. It was probably how I felt about Mari, too. A union of opposites. Innocent and slutty. Kind and cruel. It matched the opposites in me; the degradation of the ash on my tongue and the arousal of my penis, pressing against my trousers.
Another tap of the cigarette into my mouth. I barely even felt the pain. Perhaps it hadn’t been pain at all, but rather just the shock of a new sensation. I habituated myself to it, as to all the other punishments and rewards meted out by my mercurial mistress.
“This is almost done.” It was Mari that broke the silence again. She was indicating to her hand, and I noticed that the cigarette had burned itself almost to the end. She paused a moment, perhaps gauging my reaction. The implication was clear, but I simply waited, mouth still open, breath caught in my throat.
With a little shrug, she stood up and looked straight down at me. Holding back her hair with one hand and parting her lips, she let a long string of saliva drip into my mouth. Once again, I hadn’t been expecting that, and the filthiness of it almost made me ejaculate right then, despite my predicament. Long had I fantasised about her spitting on me, or being allowed to taste her saliva, but the feeling of it on my dry, ashy tongue at that moment was beyond anything I had imagined. To have my cruel queen bless me with her nectar, her spit, in this debased and degraded position was almost more than I could handle.
The long string of drool pooled in my mouth, and when it broke, Mari caught the last bit dripping from her lip and wiped it on my tongue with her finger. There was a strange taste on it which made my imagination run wild. Of course, it could be the taste of the saliva mixing with the smoke and ash… but what if she had met a man that night? What if she had stolen outside with him, giggling down a side-alley, and unzipped his pants? Was that him I had tasted on her? Was it the taste of his dick, even his semen? Surely Mari would not have been so dirty to kneel down outside in the damp air and let a stranger cum in her mouth. Surely not. But I hoped she had.
Immediately, the purpose of spitting in my mouth became clear. Mari raised her other hand and stubbed out the cigarette into the little pool of saliva on my tongue. I winced in preparation but found that the pain was no worse than the other pieces of ash. My heart warmed a little as I realised Mari must have known this. She had used her saliva to stop the cigarette from seriously hurting me, though I had been prepared for the worst.
She shut my mouth with the cigarette butt in it. “You can spit this out in five minutes, no sooner,” she said, and went back inside the room.
I sat rooted to the spot while Mari bustled around in the room behind me. Looking out at the city, I reflected that the only chain keeping me tied to Mari was my mental one. I was back in Europe, I was a young man — I could make it to England whenever I wanted. I could walk out into that city at any moment and catch a train. Only a fool would stay in this place, shackled to a girl who wasn’t around most of the time, and would stub out a cigarette in his mouth when she was. “Then I am the biggest fool of all,” I thought.
Mari came up behind me. I felt her soft hand on my shoulder, leaning on me as a glass ashtray appeared in front my face from her other hand.
“Spit,” she said, and I gratefully spat out the butt. “Swallow the rest,” she commanded, and I equally gratefully swallowed the remains of her saliva, now long mingled with my own.
She gave a delicate peal of laughter and my heart grew stronger. That was the laughter I hadn’t heard in a few days; the sound that let me know I was back with the old Mari. I swizzled round to face her with renewed hope.
Her features were looser and softer again. Her beautiful dark caramel skin glowed like a warm sunset instead of the cold gleam of an ice cave.
“I’ve had a bad night out but a good smoke always makes me feel better. Show me your tongue,” she said, and I stuck it out to her.
“Oh no!” she cried. “It’s all black and ashy. My poor butler. But we can sort that out in a minute. Come and lie with me.”
I followed her inside and lay down backwards on the bed, my head cradled in her lap as she sat back against the pillows. The fingers on her left hand ruffled tenderly through my hair while her right thumb traced my lips. For the first time in a little while, I felt safe and protected by her.
“I’m sorry, butler. I know I haven’t been kind to you these past few weeks. I think the stress of this tour is getting to me. I’ve never played so many dates in a row before, I think I’m feeling burnt out. But that’s why you’re here — you’re keeping me going.
I’ve been testing you and pushing you. But you’re doing so well putting up with it all. I’m so proud that you can bear all that without complaining. You must really think I’m worth it.”
I gazed up at her and saw the same glint in her eyes as when she had flicked the first piece of ash into my mouth, and I had kept it open for her. I couldn’t believe I had ever thought it might be contempt; it was clear to me now that the mystery expression on her face had been a quiet pride. My heart swelled.
“You are worth it, Mari.”
“I’m so happy to hear you say it. It’s hard to find men who will really put up with me. But this is who I am. I have rages and tempers towards the people I love. I’m a fiery person. But this is why you’re special. You know that your place is to quietly abide, and keep me happy, no matter how unreasonable I’m being. Sometimes I just want to abuse and hurt someone, and I think you know that person should be you. But that’s just another expression of my love. Most people don’t get it.”
She fell quiet for a moment, and continued tracing the line of my lips.
“You have such beautiful lips,” she said, “Such a beautiful mouth. I like being the one to control that mouth. I like being able to put what I want in it. To kiss it or to use it like an ashtray if the fancy strikes me. Do you understand?”
I did understand, and nodded. Though I had no such drive to control another, I wanted her to use me in any way she thought fit. I liked being useful to her.
“You’re the only one who does,” she continued. “I can tell that you worship whatever I put in your mouth, as long as it comes from me. My ash. My spit. My panties. I love that about you. You worship me as a goddess. And I am a goddess,” she said firmly, a flash of determination in her eyes. “I am worth it, exactly like you said. And I need a devotee. This is why I can’t do without you. Oh, promise me you’ll never leave me, butler? No matter how cruel I am to you?”
I promised her. Silently, I promised myself that I would even revere her cruelty.
Mari smiled at me. “Tomorrow,” she said, “I will have a special treat for you.”
Another spacious hotel room. Another faceless European city. Another evening waiting for Mari to come back. But this time, I was naked. Except for my collar of course.
Mari had convinced me to undress. I had only done so at her very insistent urging. Despite everything, I was still shy in front of her — and worse, I had got an erection when she looked at me. I was mortified, but she just laughed and laughed.
She wouldn’t tell me why she wanted me to take my clothes off. It was just another one of those strange acts that we had, that would have been perceived as an invitation to sex for anyone else, but was just another extension of our strange friendship for me. But after I had done so, she had simply chained me to the bedpost and left for her night out as usual. I had felt a twang of disappointment. She was leaving me again, after what she had said yesterday? I would have to spend another night alone? That didn’t seem like a very special treat to me.
I hadn’t raised a fuss though, and now I was in the hotel room once again, the sounds of the street washing over me. It was the same time as it had been last night when she came home, but I heard no sign of her. She must have been having a better night out. At least it was much warmer tonight; something I was very grateful for in my disrobed state.
At some point, I fell asleep, though I had sworn to myself to wait up.
Around 2AM, I heard the familiar beep of the keycard as it touchesd the lock. Mari was back. I woke with a start and realised my body was aching all over. I had fallen asleep sitting on the carpet at the foot of the bed, my head against the cold hard frame.
She stumbled in and turned the lamp on. The sudden burst of light after so many hours of darkness made me wince. I could immediately see she was tipsy; her cheeks were flushed, eyes slightly unfocused, and her movements were clumsy as she threw her bag to the floor and kicked off her heels.
Seeing me, she smiled a mischievous smile. I could tell she was in a strange, confident mood.
All I could do was nod dumbly, tongue caught in my mouth at the beautiful sight of my Latina popstar goddess. All my aches were forgotten now, and my cock was standing once again at attention. I had nothing to hide it with.
Mari, it seemed, didn’t care. For the very first time, she fixed me with a gaze that could be called seductive. Slowly and deliberately, she removed her underwear under her dress. She tossed it next to the bed, where I would be sleeping later that night.
Unencumbered of her panties, Mari walked towards me, ran her fingers through my hair, and crouched in front of me. Her face was so close to mine that I could smell on her breath a heady mix of alcohol and, unmistakeably, cum. My whole body tingled and surged.
“Oh, you know what that is, don’t you?” she drunk-whispered, and giggled. “But that’s not your treat. He came in another place too. You’re a lucky boy today.”
And with that, she stood up, and pushed my head back. I was still sitting, still collared and chained, and now my head was nestled into one of the gaps in the frame at the bottom of the bed. She lifted her dress and brought her pussy very close to my face.
It was the first time she had ever shown it to me. I had seen it in low resolution on the screen of her phone the night she had captured me as her servant, but it didn’t compare to the real thing. Her pussy lips were an intoxicating dark brown, though reddened and swollen. They were parted slightly, exposing her engorged clitoris and just a hint of the tantalising darkness below. From the crevice a sticky line of liquid ran down the paler caramel skin of her inner thigh. There could be no doubt she had taken a large and hard cock inside her that evening, that the man had probably not been gentle, and that he had left his semen inside her.
The smell of sex, sweat from the dancefloor and their combined juices was overpowering and exhilarating. I now saw that the remnants Mari had left me in her underwear were just feeble echoes of the real thing. I wanted nothing more than to just grab her, to shove my tongue deep in her, but I wasn’t like her boytoys, who would just take whatever they wanted. I wasn’t an alpha male, that wasn’t why she had chosen me. I would wait for her permission.
Mari touched her delicate finger to her used pussy lips, then pushed it between them, into her secret place. She let out a low moan and stood motionless for a moment, with her finger inside her, before removing it. Before I had a chance to react, she pushed it into my mouth.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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