Reminiscing today about when I first met Master. We'd spoken online for a bit, become friends and flirted here and there, but it was our first meeting in person. He happened to be coming to my city so I offered to let him stay at my flat. As expected, he was a perfectly lovely guest and a true gentleman.
Until the next morning. I awoke to him climbing into bed with me, tying my wrists behind me. For a moment I was alarmed, but he noticed my sudden tension and leaned over me.
"You know you want this."
I did. It was extremely clear I did; even half-asleep my arousal was plain. I nodded and he continued, securing my wrists and rolling me over before climbing on top of me. I don't remember exactly the things he said to me - compliments of some sort, but embarrassing, considering he was straddling me and all I was wearing was my panties - but he was only beginning.
He began groping and fondling me, playing with my tits with obvious delight, not ungently at first but quickly growing rougher. He took his time, as though he wanted to see how I'd react to every sort of stimulus, to draw every breath and moan out of me from here alone. His mouth soon joined his hands in their play, marking me up and leaving my neck and chest nearly as wet as my panties, and giving me my first taste of the absolutely addictive squeeze of his hand at my throat.
I was about to learn that this was him being gentle. While my head was swimming from the assault on my senses, and I was catching my breath, he climbed off momentarily. When he returned, something scratchy was against my skin; in the early morning light and through my addled vision I wasn't quite sure what, but he explained. Bootlaces...a makeshift flogger.
I'd never been flogged before. I wanted to be, but never had been. I can't say I wasn't a little nervous, but I was already riding a high from what he'd been doing, and that easily overrode any trepidation I had. I nodded, and he grinned.
He was not gentle, nor hesitant. Clearly, he'd been thinking about this, planning this - or at least the possibility of it - for awhile. He striped me from my tits to my thighs, front and back on the latter. Oh. My. God. I was on fire, and then he went and felt me all up again!
And then, he fucked me right? No. No, he didn't. He took a pen and wrote a bunch of demeaning names on me, wrapped his belt around my neck like an impromptu collar (just snug enough to squeeze a little), and got back into bed to spoon with me and keep groping my now-burning tits and thighs and soaked cunt. With my wrists still tied behind me so my hands would be right up against his cock but unable to do anything about it pressed between us. And then he'd send me to work like that! Marked up, welted, every tiny movement making my clothes (especially my bra) rub against my aching skin. When I tell you I felt like a piece of meat in the best way possible... I still get shivers thinking about it.
This wasn't a one time thing, by the way. He started doing this (with some variation, but always beginning with me waking up to my arms being bound and being his little plaything) every morning. Like the moment he saw me in person he decided "yeah, that's my new fuckpet, she just doesn't know it yet". I didn't stand a chance.
