A Very Personal Trainer

“Where do you want my cock?” he elucidated.

“My…uh…I would like to be buggered, please, Sir.”

“Oh, that’s a good answer. Explain it in a little more detail for me.”

I clenched my teeth. He is so very, wonderfully cruel.

“I want to be fucked up the arse, Sir.”

“Do you? And why is that?”

“Because I’m a dirty slut who loves the feel of your hard cock inside my bum, Sir.”

“Oh yes. That will do. That will do nicely.”

The lube was applied and massaged in, my hips were gripped, my ring of muscle coaxed into relaxation. A large vibrator appeared unexpectedly between my pussy lips and was eased up inside my front passage, then I braced myself for the push, the forward thrust, the momentary pain and the deep satisfaction of double fullness.

I struggled against my bonds while he took his pleasure, not because I wanted to burst out of them but because the feeling of being restrained thrilled me. Here I lay, sore, whipped, bound, used, fucked and I loved every moment of it. Loved the man who treated me so, loved my life and myself at last.

I hadn’t had a parking fine in months and months, and work really took off once I lost my reputation for being unreliable. I had to give Dexter credit for saving me. But he would also say that I’d done the same for him. We were more than a couple now—we were a partnership. We were an organisation.