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The Story of Emma - Part 3 (Sean O'Kane)


The Story of Emma - Part 3 by Sean O

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As all her avid readers will know, the course of true submission for Emma has never run smooth, but even they will be shocked at her revelations in this, the final instalment of her autobiography.

Established back in London once more and with a master, Emma seems set fair to enjoy life as a devoted slave once more. But there is one major stumbling block which turns into a real nightmare for her. As she passes from the glittering SM gatherings of the great and the supposedly good to the dark underbelly of the BDSM lifestyle and back again, Emma is never less than the superb raconteuse she has proved herself to be in her previous best-sellers.

Unmissable for those thousands who have followed her thus far; and a rare treat for those who have yet to discover Emma Stewart.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 6 / 2018

No. words: 67500

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Erotic Domination - M/F

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

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Excerpt

Chapter 1 - Owned

I dropped to my knees on the mat immediately inside the front door of my master’s apartment. It was a foul night outside, raining and cold. I had come straight from work and was wearing just my usual business suit under a mac. Of course beneath the suit I was not dressed for anything other than my master’s pleasure. I had stockings on instead of tights and my knickers had gone into my handbag just before lunchtime following a text message that I was required to remove them and then play with myself in the executive washroom.
I had a meeting with a major figure in the banking world over lunch and was hopeful I would get some good stuff from him for my column on women’s finance over a long coffee and liqueur session afterwards.
Of course my master was well aware of all that and judged it important that I remembered just what I really was before I took off for the meeting. And there’s nothing like having to spread your legs in a toilet cubicle with your skirt removed and hung up on the back of the door – you don’t want it creased! – licking one finger and using it to stimulate your clitoris whilst with your other hand you finger fuck yourself to remind you that you are an owned slave. And if all that wasn’t enough humiliation I had to repeat ten times that I belonged to Mal, my body was his and he could do what he liked with it.
The absolute loss of any form of dignity was one of the things that I first found exciting about being a submissive – and just as well really!
Having performed my task I put the skirt back on and adjusted my jacket and shirt, unlocked the door and washed my hands then did some repair work on my make-up and hair. And in the end I walked out having restored the exterior respectability I needed for the afternoon but with my heart still pounding and my loins still tingling at the thought of what a slut I was underneath it all!
And now, with meetings and work all put safely to bed, I resumed the role I really wanted to play – my master’s devoted plaything. He stood in front of me and I crawled towards him on all fours and kissed the fronts of his immaculately polished shoes then begged him to give me permission to serve him.
As always, from above there were a few tense seconds’ silence and then:
“Permission granted,” in his gravest tones.
I kissed his shoes again in thanks then knelt up to receive the lovely, one and a half inch deep leather collar that he had bought for me some six months previously when I first entered his service.
I looked up at him as his strong fingers fastened the buckle at my throat and he caught my eye as always and smiled at me.
“Slut!” he whispered.
“Yes, sir,” I agreed enthusiastically as he pulled me to my feet and gave me a quick hug.
Mal was a big man, in fact it was one of the first things that had attracted me to him. He had real physical presence, and a quick hug from him left a girl feeling thoroughly hugged and happy, although on that night, still a bit chilly where it counts.
I sat by his chair while he made a couple of calls and then at last he could turn his attention fully to me.
“Undress,” he ordered, his voice resonant with the quiet authority of a real master.
I slipped off my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt, shrugged that off and placed both garments neatly folded on the leather sofa. Early on in our relationship I had received a thorough caning across the palms of my hands – just like a naughty schoolgirl – for not keeping my clothes tidy. Mal always tried to punish the part of me that had offended, although I did try to be a good girl. I had steered well clear of illicit orgasms ever since I had taken a ferocious pussy whipping for having played with myself while he was away without asking for permission first. When he caned my hands it was because I should have made better use of them, he said. It hurt like anything! Ten hard ones on each palm with a really whippy little kooboo stick.
When it was over I hopped round the room stark naked and with my hands tucked under my arms, crying and snivelling. He laughed so much he threatened to do it again at some time in the future just for fun.
I promised faithfully that I would be a good girl from then on and ever since I have been a totally reformed character as regards tidying up.
So on that evening I folded my clothes neatly until I stood before him in just my stockings and the black court shoes with four-inch heels that I kept just inside his front door for changing into.
He took his customary long, appraising look at his property.
“Strip,” he said at last.
That meant the stockings as well.
When I was naked apart from shoes alone, he stood up and clicked his fingers. It meant follow and I did just that as we went out of the lounge and along the corridor to the playroom. Once there and with the door closed he got down to work.
I loved that room by then. I had been owned by Mal since the previous autumn and was as infatuated with him as I had come to be back then. Not that I had been infatuated straight away, those of you who have read the second part of my adventures will know that I did take a little time before throwing myself into this commitment. But now I watched his big frame moving around the room taking various implements down: straps, chains, crops, canes…it varied from session to session of course but I was quite happy to know that whatever he had in mind – it was me he was thinking of doing it to.
That night he chose his favourite canes, one fairly thick one that really had a thud as well as a sting when it was laid across your bottom, and that awful stingy little kooboo stick that he had used on my hands that time. But on that night he let me know well in advance that it was scheduled for my breasts.
In the middle of the floor he had a whipping bench. It was a bit like the old fashioned vaulting horses they used to have in schools, but this one had cuffs and chains at the foot of each leg and wasn’t so high. It was a pretty good multi-functional one because I could be laid along its top on my front or my back, or I could be bent across it face down. Being bent across it on my back was really hot bondage as it was quite a demanding position, but while Mal didn’t let me stay there too long, he made it count with all the bits of me that that position exposed.
However as the night in question was a mid-week night, he just had me bent across it face down and caned me.
As always I counted each stroke and thanked him for it. He caned me pretty regularly and by then I was about as used to it as a girl can be. It still hurts like the devil to start with but when you’re used to it, you can somehow ride it and concentrate on what it does inside you. Being bent over naked and caned by the man who is your lover as well as your master is devastatingly horny. The hot, delicious pain of each strike across your bottom lights fires deep inside you and I knew that by the time I had taken thirty I was very wet and very open.
He took a break then and came to stand over me, running his hands across my burning cheeks and then letting them delve between them but without really going deep, just rubbing along my lips.
I whimpered in frustration and he laughed but came to stand directly behind me and held my hips as if he was going to enter me. But all he did was press his trousers against me so that I could feel the hard bulge of his cock.
“Another twenty should do you, Emma,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” I replied hoping that after laying on another twenty he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from having me.
I heard a rustle of fabric behind me and saw his sweatshirt draped tidily across the bench beside me. I tried to look up behind me and was able to see his now-bare torso as he stood back ready to start caning me again. The sight of his powerful, broad chest and shoulders added more coals to the fires inside. I loved it when my master worked on me naked, or partially naked. Of course to start with he had to be clothed when I was naked, that was only right and proper – but once the session was under way…!
Another twenty did indeed ‘do’ me. I groaned and gritted my teeth for the first few strikes; when they stop in mid-caning it always takes me a few to get back into my stride and the first two or three really hurt like blazes. But by the end of it I was raring to go and his fingers slid into me with no problem at all and when he turned them and pushed them in then partially withdrew them a few times, I was desperately trying not to come.
He could see that of course.
“No coming until I tell you, Em,” he warned me.
When he had tormented me to the point of tears with his fingers he released me. I could see how much he was enjoying himself, but he wasn’t in the mood to finish just yet.
He went on to use the breast press.
I’m quite reasonably well-endowed in the chest department - 36 DD – and the breasts take bondage well, so I’ve been told. I think what men mean by that is that when they’re tied at the roots or compressed, they retain a good size. I think it’s because the roots are fairly large in circumference so the breasts themselves are deep rather than long.
In any event Mal screwed the two cruel steel rods together with me holding the bottom horizontal one while he turned the butterfly nuts on the vertical rods so that the upper horizontal one could slowly slide down and squeeze my tits. The contrast between cold, hard steel and the softness of the female breast has always excited me and that night was no exception.
I knew this was going to hurt a lot so I really enjoyed playing an active part in being prepared for it.
Only when they were squeezed so hard that I could feel the blood pounding in them and the nipples were throbbing and hard from excitement as well as compression, did he stop and cuff my wrists behind me.
Then he took up that awful stingy kooboo stick. It’s a length of rattan about eighteen inches long and looks quite innocuous in comparison to some of the things a submissive or a slavegirl becomes accustomed to, but its bite is so much worse than its bark!
He took some time out to take off his shoes and socks and then his trousers, leaving only his bulging boxers between me and his fabulous cock. Of course normally undressing him would have been my job, but on that evening my job was to wait while my breasts filled with blood and turned a light shade of purple. The blood would of course engorge and sensitise the nerve endings.
I knew it but didn’t care. I only had eyes for my master’s body as he came towards me smiling and running the stick through his fingers. He was the biggest man I had ever had and I adored the weight and the feel of his body on mine. I just hoped that he would have to cut short the coming torment in order to have me. But that hope had already been dashed once that night.
“Shoulders back Emma,” he said as he came to stand beside me. “Push those tits out for me!”
I screwed my eyes closed and did as he said.
“Good girl! But eyes open please. I want to see them as I beat you.”
I obeyed him, aware they were already watering in anticipation. I desperately fixed my eyes on the wooden fireplace on the opposite wall, from its mantelpiece hung a whole range of floggers from ones with six-inch lashes to ones with two foot long ones. All of them I knew intimately and loved.
I felt him lay the shaft of the cane across the tops of the tits, up near the roots where the bar pressed them down and I tried to concentrate on counting all the whip-tails I could see.
I felt cane lift away and with no sound at all, it came back down.
“Ow! Christ!” I couldn’t help it. The stinging went right into me and forced floods of tears down my cheeks and made me want to curl up and cover my poor tits.
Master Mal came to stand in front of me.
“Later on I was going to chain you to the bed for a nice long flogging on your back before I fucked you and let you sleep with me. But if you’re going to be noisy, I’ll cancel that plan and you can sleep on the floor after I’ve come in your mouth.”
I bit my lip and tensed myself to endure the rest of the beating in as near complete silence as I could.
Of course I wanted to sleep with him, and I adore chains and the thought of sleeping on the floor knowing he was disappointed with me was just out of the question and it was that which helped me through the next few minutes. I had no idea how many I had taken but my fingernails had dug crescents into my palms and my lip was sore from being bitten by the time he called a halt. I don’t know why that particular cane stings so bitterly, maybe because it’s so light, it just agonises the nerves right at the surface of the skin where a heavier implement will numb them and cause a different pain deeper inside.
I’ve talked about it with other girls and we none of us know. But some of us love it. Me, however, I’m firmly in the ‘thud is best’ camp!
Mind you, a ‘Good girl’ like the one my master gave me that night and I’ll take stingy canes all night for him. You do anything for your master.
But he hadn’t finished with me. He put down the cane and brought over a short tailed little leather whip and began to stroke the tails around my areolas. They were pounding from the punishment they had just taken and the slightest touch sent the nerves into overdrive. The starbursts of sensation that went off inside me are impossible to describe but they all merged with the heat in my loins and soon I had to beg for permission to come.
He ignored my first plea and I felt my legs begin to tremble as I fought down the tides of orgasm while he continued to stimulate me.
“Please, sir!” I begged. “Pleeease can I come now!”
He left off with the whip and reached down to grind a finger against my clitoris.
“Yes,” he said and I simply exploded, my stomach clenching and jerking, my vagina cramping, and my legs trembling so much that when I regained my senses I was being held up by Mal. I was pressed against him, held in his strong arms and inhaling his scents whilst my ravaged tits were pressed against him and slowly and sensuously I rubbed them up and down on him, making them hurt all over again.
“Slut,” he whispered down at me.
He left me to unscrew the press, whilst he leaned back against the whipping bench and watched me, with that massive bulge in his boxers and when I’d finished and was massaging my tits back into something resembling their normal shape he clicked his fingers and pointed at the floor in front of him.
I’ve never needed any second bidding after a good beating and I was on my knees practically with my tongue hanging out in a split second.
“Take them down and then you can lick my balls,” he told me.
He had a set routine for fellation and this was the first step.
I carefully reached up and pulled the elastic waistband away from him then eased the pants down, watching avidly for how the thick, hard shaft would spring forth, and sure enough it did. He really had enjoyed the session, his helm was gloriously massive and I could see by the veins on the thick rod that he was as hard as steel, and I love the feeling of a rock hard shaft filling my mouth. I pulled his pants down his legs and helped him clear his feet and then I looked up at the magnificent, huge sac of the balls, all tight and ready to fill a girl with his sperm. I knelt back up and paid it the respect it was due with my tongue, licking and swirling but not using my lips. He parted his legs enough to allow me to lick along that lovely hard ridge that runs back to the anus. I heard him sigh with pleasure and my heart filled with fondness and pride.
“You can kiss now, but not the helm,” he told me.
I must have done well because he usually liked me to spend some more time licking up the shaft before I was allowed to kiss him.
I set about passionately kissing my way up the wonderfully hard cock, at the same time loving the silky softness of the skin that covered it.
I came close to the helm but studiously avoided it. In my first weeks with him I had on one occasion got carried away and kissed his helm before he wanted me to. You remember I said Mal punished the bits that offended? I had my mouth closed by six clothes pegs for an hour after that offence!
“You can suck now,” he told me.
I gently and carefully opened wide and furled my lips over my teeth so I didn’t scratch him, he was one of the tightest fits I had ever had. He filled my mouth to capacity and I was only just able to work my tongue against his slit as he came to rest. I took a moment to relax and check the gag reflex before I ducked my head forwards and let him slide a bit further towards my throat. I had every intention of deep throating him but he really had enjoyed the breast beating and before I had him fully swallowed he grabbed my head, gave a soft cry and I felt his urethra begin to swell and pump. I ducked forwards urgently to get him in before he began to spurt and just made it. His fingers clawed into my hair and I felt the massive cock swell and thrust as it ejaculated into my throat, but I managed to lift off just enough to get him back into my mouth for the last few spurts. I loved the way he tasted and was determined to get a few drops all for me, and anyway, I knew how much men love being licked while the aftershocks run through them.
I was allowed one of my favourite corsets afterwards.
It was shiny black silk with black roses embroidered on it and the quarter cups only supported the breasts without in any way covering them.
While I was lacing myself into it good and tight I heard him take delivery of a Chinese from the local restaurant, it was one of the best around and the evening was shaping up to be a seriously enjoyable one. I took my time as I knew he would want me to. I combed my hair and re-applied all my make-up from foundation upwards and finished with some rather slutty, glossy, red lippy that went well with the corset. Then I pulled on black stockings and fastened them to the suspenders, slipped the four-inch heels back on and took a look in the full length mirror.
The corset was heavenly constriction, it clasped me and supported me and displayed me as a good corset should. I felt as secure as if I had been chained or tied up. But in addition its tightness pushed my bottom out and displayed the tramlines there, while the quarter cups offered up the spectacular lines that now criss-crossed my breasts as well. Of course I left my shaven delta on view – knickers would have been a hanging offence!
Mal was enjoying a glass of claret when I sashayed into the lounge. He pointed to a glass of white wine on the table beside his chair.
“Go and lay the table then you can have a drink before dinner.”
I thanked him respectfully and went into the ding room where I took out what was needed and laid the table for two. A simple enough task but complicated by my constantly stopping to squint down and admire the blossoming bruises my breasts were proudly displaying. For a mid-week night he had really let me have it. Thank you, sir! But I wondered if there was a special reason for it.
The meal was as good as usual and we relaxed and talked as friends do then watched a film with me curled up at his feet next to his chair, leaning against his knee.
At bed time he had me strip again – this time completely and I lay face down on the bed while he ran a chain through the iron uprights of the bed head, the slither and chink of chains while I lay there with my eyes closed made me imagine dungeons, with myself chained and helpless at the mercy of a cold and masterful sadist. He chained my wrists well apart and used a heavy suede flogger on my back until I was nearing the heights of orgasm again. And when he bent over me to unchain me afterwards, he was naked. I just let my eyes feast on the sight of his cock wagging as he moved, coming close to my face and then moving away again and I wondered where he would want to put it this time. Earlier he had mentioned a fuck, but that had been some time ago and masters can change their minds. I waited to see if I was required to ‘Get my arse in the air’ or climb off the bed and kneel down.
In the end it was neither of those, Mal climbed into bed and helped me to slip under the duvet beside him. Bliss! My back was singing and tingling from the whip, I was as hot and wet as I had been in the playroom and he pushed me onto my back and lay between my spread-open legs then pushed himself up into me with no trouble at all. Believe me!
Even for the most committed Dom/sub couples a good old fashioned mish-posish bunk-up is the right one. And that night I loved the way his weight bore down on me while his fingers raked my back and he ravished me utterly inside. Then after we had both come almost simultaneously and we lay in the dark panting our way back down to earth, Mal spoke.
“I was quite hard on you tonight, Em,” he said.
I let my fingers trail across my still-pounding areolas and nipples.
“Were you, sir? I hadn’t noticed,” I said archly.
He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over me.
“I wanted you to have some marks for the weekend, just enough so that people can see you’ve been beaten. I want you to meet some of my friends, Em.”
I stared up at his shadowy outline and was suddenly not in the mood for smartarse answers. I knew what he was saying and I was more thrilled than I could find the words to say just then.
When a master like Mal to say he wants his slave to meet his friends, he isn’t talking about asking them round for tea and cakes. He means he wants to share her around.
I reached up for him and put my arms around him.
“I’ll be good for you, sir. I promise!” I told him.


Author Information

Sean O'Kane is one of the most prolific erotic authors on the scene. He has developed the phenomenally successful Arena series of novels which have become international best sellers. But has many fine stand-alone titles to his credit.

 

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