He commanded me to only wear my collar around my neck when he comes back home, and, the

moment he steps inside, to find me in a praying position in front of the door, waiting for him. His
will, my bidding.
I watched the clock intensively, counting the minutes. When it was almost time, I got naked and
caught my hair in a ponytail. I slipped my collar around my neck, after I'd put some hydrating lotion
to take care of the mark that had tarried on my skin for wearing it a week straight, even at I work,
under my sky-blue turtleneck. I made sure the ring hung on my nape, my master might want to tie
me or take me out for a ride with my leash. I glanced at the clock. In five minutes, he would be
here.
I hurried to the door and got in position. I didn't want to disappoint him if he had decided to come
earlier. I got on my knees and waited patiently with my head down.
I heard the sound of his keys on the door. I buoyed up and felt the familiar squeeze of anticipation
in my stomach. He opened and came inside.
How's my little doggy? he asked.
I knew that I shouldn't answer; dogs don't speak.
He left his things on the table and went straight to the sink. He filled a bowl with water and left it
next to the couch, where he sat. Let me see how she's doing.
I moved closer, crawling with joy that he invited me.
He grabbed me by the collar, and after he freed my hair, he stroked it gently. Let your master
caress you, baby.
I radiated inside. He started from my hair and reached down my back. His hands always drove
me crazy there. I let myself enjoy his touch a little, then I began rubbing my body against his feet.
He hunched and spread his hands to grope my breasts. He squeezed them, and closed his eyes.
He's starting to get hard, I thought. My pussy already wet.
Your boobies are beautiful, my little doggie, he said, especially bruised by my hand.
He lifted up my collar an inch to take a look at my mark. He let go off me and unbuttoned his
belt, letting his pants topple slovenly on the floor; he didn't pull down his boxer shorts along with it.
That image of fast unraveling turns me on, makes me feel like a cheap whore.
Show me how much you've missed me, he said.
I knew what he wanted. I wetted my tongue in the bowl, drinking water, then I spread it and
tasted his right calf. I began licking it like a playful dog. I wetted my tongue again and again and I
licked. He reached his cock and groped it smoothly.
I enjoy seeing him seated like this while I'm on my knees in front of him, makes me understand
my place.
He gave me a hand to lick, and I sucked his fingers one by one with passion.
Turn around, he commanded.
I turned around on all fours and protruded my holes, offering them to his satisfaction. He spread
his hand and checked my pussy. I melted feeling his hand, my condemn, my salvation. He stretched
my lips, and I moaned with pleasure.
You like it, bitch, don't you?
I didn't respond.
Tell me, bitch, he commanded.
Yes, master, I answered.
He shoved a violent finger inside my pussy and played a little, then crouched and spat at my
asshole with momentum, like spitting down the dirt. He stuck a finger there too. Fucking whore,
he said and smacked one of my ass-cheeks, hard.
I held on, didn't moan. I wanted more. I enjoyed being smacked by his hand, anything he chose to
do to me, I enjoyed.
With his other hand he fucked my hole again, circling it around my labia, torturously barely
touching my clit, storming slaps on my ass. My pussy ran like a river. He hit me again and again

and again. I don't know for how long; I didn't count. My brain had gone elsewhere. Thoughts and
emotions had become one, a mass that screeched fire and burnt body and mind.
I'm his bitch, stood out inside the numbness and fuzziness. With his every hit, he makes me all the
more his. I'm his bitch, his slave. I want him to leave me marks, to look at them and remember that I
belong to him.
He left me. He stood up and knelt beside me, sliding his belt away from the clutches of his pants. I
knew what was coming. I waited eagerly.
He thrust inside me abruptly. I moaned, he moaned too. My master moans for his bitch. The pain
on my flesh, whispers: he's tearing you apart.
Yes, he's tearing me apart, I respond silently, I'm his and his tearing my pussy apart.
He started to fuck me, slow and deep. I felt his very last inch fill me up with his every shove, not
just my pussy but my brain too. His balls sweetened my clit with their every touch.
I bended ever further. I wanted him to enter as much as possible. My chest kissed the floor and
felt the pressure.
He saw me, spread his hand and pushed my face against the carpet. He didn't let me close my
mouth.
That's what you deserve, to be sprawled like a whore, down on the floor for your master's
pleasure. Take it up your uterus, you bitch.
He started pushing faster and harder.
Can I touch myself, master?
No, he said in a mean voice.
That no got me more wet. I felt the pain of ripping with his every shove now. For a long time I
felt only that and his hand trying to pluck my nipples, making them torture me. I began to climax.
My face took the expression of torment and the anticipation of death that he causes me every time.
Every time he kills me and resurrects me.
He figured out I was going to cum, probably because my pussy clenched. Are you going to cum
without permission, whore?
I'm sorry, master. I'm sorry.
He smacks me again, and I writhe. I get wet.
Will you do that again?
No, master, never, I answer.
He pulls me by the hair, sits on the couch, kneels me down and makes me take him inside my
mouth. Suck on it, you dirty whore.
I suck. I swallow him greedily. He holds my hair and fucks my mouth hard and for a long time.
I'm choking. I water, cough. He doesn't care. He fucks my mouth again and again. Suddenly he
stretches, tightens. He nails his cock down my throat and keeps me nailed.
Don't move a muscle or you'll pay. His voice is deep, austere and trembling. He groans and
clasps me. . . I'm coming. Take it, you fucking whore.
He leaves his juice in my throat, sparing me some room to breath. The final blasts fall on my
mouth. I taste them. They have his taste, the most beautiful taste there is.
Don't swallow, he commands, only play with it.
I play with it in my mouth while he stares at me with luscious eyes. He squeezes my mouth with
a hand to force it open and spits inside. And on my my face.
You can swallow now, he says.
I swallow with superfluous thirst. I don't spare a drop. I kiss his hands and calves.
Can I cum, sir? I beg you.
Cum, he gives me permission.
I hop on his leg and rub on it like a dog, while he curses at me: whore, slut, bitch. I listen to him
and I go crazy, I'm dripping. I tighten. I'm almost there, and I'm jerking harder, my clit frenchkissing his leg.
When he says, Rub, my little whore, rub your pussy, and strokes my hair everything emptied

from inside my brain. My voice disappeared and my chest exploded along with a torrent of heat
inside me. I feel that I'm going to burn out and I resolve.
I cum on him, for him, only. I groan out of breath, announcing with complain and ecstasy, I'm
coming.
I fall breathless onto his foot. Some time passes to pull myself together and the lips of my pussy
still run with spasms.
He lifts my head from my chin and pierces me with his stare.
I look at him with gratitude. Thank you.