Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

“Good,” Eric said from above her, the single word of praise warming her insides. “You may use your hands now. I want you to take him into your throat as far as you can. Brandon, pay attention to her cues and go at her pace. Rowan, open your mouth wider and press the tip of your tongue against the back of your teeth. Inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth as Brandon moves forward. Stay relaxed and open to him as his shaft enters your throat.”

She focused on Eric’s words, trying to do as he said. Maybe somehow, this time, she wouldn’t gag and sputter. But as Brandon’s large, thick cock edged toward the back of her throat, an unwelcome memory slithered into her mind.

She had been waiting on her knees in the front hall as always, head properly bowed, hands clasped at the back of her neck. Her heart had fluttered at the sound of her Master’s key snicking in the lock.

Normally when Master John entered the house, he would pull her up into his arms and kiss her. As he tangled his fingers in her hair, he would tell her how much he had missed her, and describe all the delicious, dark things he was going to do to her that night.

But that evening, he’d slammed the door and dropped his briefcase to the floor with a loud thud. Startled, Rowan had yipped in alarm, her head flying up as her hands fell out of position.

He was glaring down at her, his color high, his dark eyes flashing with fury. Instead of pulling her into his arms, he yanked her up and slapped her hard across the face.

“Where were you today, Rowan?” he demanded between clenched teeth as her hand flew to her stinging cheek, tears filling her eyes.

“What?” she stammered, frightened at this side of her Master, one she’d never seen before. Ice filled her veins, her lungs collapsing. Why, why, why had she thought she could get away with it? Why hadn’t she just texted him to request permission?

“I-I was here,” she had lied, too afraid to admit the truth.

“I called the land line four times. I can see missing the call once, or even twice. I know how you get caught up in your work. But four times?” He gripped a handful of her hair, jerking her head back. “Now, I’ll ask you again, you worthless cunt. Where were you?”

“I’m sorry,” she’d cried, the tears spilling over now. He was pulling her hair so hard it felt like he might yank it out by the roots. “Please, Sir,” she begged, trembling with fear and mortification. “I’m so sorry. I just popped out to get some more tubes of paint and I actually ran into a good friend from school and we just grabbed a quick coffee. I’m so sorry, Sir. I know I should have asked permission. I-I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have lied just now. Please forgive me, Master John.”

And, as quick as that, his anger had drained away, his face softening into a sad smile. He let go of her hair and pulled her into a warm embrace. Nuzzling against her neck, he murmured, “Of course I forgive you, darling. You made a mistake. You won’t make it again. I will punish you after dinner and then the slate will be wiped clean. Now, get on your knees and open your mouth like a good little slut.” He’d pushed her down as he spoke, his hand heavy on her shoulder.

Aware of her hyper-sensitive gag reflex, he was usually very good about giving her time to adjust, to relax, to settle into a rhythm. But that night he pulled his already hard cock from his pants, grabbed the back of her head and slid his shaft in deep. He forced his way past her soft palate, making her gag repeatedly. As she reflexively tried to pull back, he held her fast.

“You need this, darling,” he’d crooned in that silky voice, seemingly oblivious of her rising panic. “It will help cleanse you of your sins. Your resistance right now is further proof that you have not yet fully accepted your place at my feet. Open yourself to my desires, my angel. Accept my gift.”

Her cheek still stung from where he’d slapped her. She tried to center herself—to recall her mantra, to open herself to her Master’s will. But she was too shaken.

He barely seemed to notice her distress, or if he had, he didn’t seem to care. He’d lodged his shaft deep, holding her still as he moved relentlessly in and out of her throat.

“You need this, my little slave girl. You were born for this. Purify yourself through suffering.”

Panic bloomed in her chest like fire, sucking away her oxygen as she struggled to breathe.