HOW WE SERVE MASTER

Greer was, both Gretchen and I agree, the oldest woman Master ever dominated and fucked.

She was 72. A doctor and a board member at a Brooklyn hospital.

Her wife Lydia was more than 30 years younger. Lydia was a surgeon. They had been married for eight years.

A lifelong lesbian, Greer had come to believe that to experience the full spectrum of a sexual life, she at least once had to be with a man.

Lydia was bewildered and scared the morning Greer shared her decision.

It couldn’t be just any experience, Greer said. It wouldn’t be just any man.

An acquaintance had told Greer about a wealthy young man certain of Manhattan’s powerful older women had been with.

That the young man was nearly 50 younger than her intrigued Greer — and moistened her.

That he was described as “cold and cruel, yet careful” …

That he owned two beautiful sex slaves …

That his monster cock and his skill with it delivered legendary cums to elderly women …

That he used humiliation like artists use color …

It all intrigued Greer — and moistened her.

And Greer had already been in contact with one of his slaves, Greer told her stunned wife.

Gretchen told me of this experience she had

which began when she accompanied Master

to a United Nations cocktail meet and greet:

It was extremely dull until Master brought over a woman he introduced as Kwesi.

She was from West Africa and was serving with her nation’s embassy to the UN.

Something immediately struck me about her, and when Master walked off, I tried thinking of a way to bring it up without insulting her or driving her away.

Because you know how you can tell, I mean just flat out tell, when a woman is wearing a butt plug?

Kwesi was definitely wearing a butt plug.

Finally, as we were chitchatting about women in global finance, I just flat out brought it up.

“I can tell, you know,” I said. “The way you stand. How your body slightly rocks. The occasional measured intake of breath.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, and I could tell she really didn’t.

“I have worn them myself. Often. Butt plugs.”

Her eyes nearly popped out.

Her voice was a whisper.

“You can … tell?”

Her head swiveled around, taking in the whole room. Worried, I’m sure, that everyone knew.

I put a soft hand on her wrist. “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s our little secret.”

Then in a low voice both carnal and sweet, she said …

“Not so little.”

We giggled like school girls.

Suddenly another woman was between us.

At first startled, Kwesi recovered quickly.

“Gretchen, this is my wife Etta. Like you, an American. Sweetheart, this is Gretchen. We just met and became instant friends.”

Etta and I exchanged quick histories. The three of us all grabbed glasses of wine from a passing female server.

To stir hormones up and show I often played on their team, I gave the server a long look and then said to the wife and the wife, “She has a pretty face. I’d like to sit on it for an hour or so.”

Kwesi smiled. Etta busted out laughing.

So, Etta obviously ran their bedroom.

Kwesi, apparently now feeling frisky about our secret, whispered something to her wife — who eyes got as big as Kwesi’s had been earlier.

Not to make this about me, but I was also wearing

a butt plug that night. Master had lent me

to his stepmother — who had invited

some friends over for wine and cheese

and having their pussies eaten.

“You really could tell?” Etta asked me. “How?”

I explained. Etta looked impressed.

She said to Kwesi, “Tell her why I made you wear it.”

So … a domme/sub marriage.

Kwesi’s voice was low again.

“I have not been … There are wifely duties, you understand. Duties that are … Oral duties. Yes?”

“I understand,” I said.

“As my wife, she deserves and expects … to be serviced. Satisfyingly serviced.”

She leaned closer to me.

“Both her vagina and …” her voice dropped even lower. “Her anus. The rim and inside of her anus.”

She suddenly had the deepest blush, I’d ever seen on a black person.

And a coy grin.

Frisky.

Frisky. Frisky. Frisky.

Gretchen said not long after Etta showed up,

she took Kwesi away to meet other people,

but the couple came back to Gretchen

before the reception was over

“We are hoping you’d be interested in coming over to our place,” Etta said to me.

“Maybe continuing our discussion about … what I’m being forced to wear,” the no longer shy Kwesi added.

I looked from one wife to the other and said …

“If I’m going to be fucked tonight, I need something to eat.”

“Other than us,” Etta asked in faux confusion.

Kwesi suggested a nearby sidewalk sushi joint. After I agreed, Etta asked if would do something for her before we left.

I said yes.

She went into her purse and took out a small light brown velvet bag.

She handed it to me.

I could tell by the shape and weight as I held the soft bag in my hand.

A butt plug.

“OK,” I said.

Etta’s eyes narrowed.

“What you meant to say was ‘Yes, ma’am,’ correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I am sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

She nodded and said, “It would be best for you if it didn’t.”

She put an arm around Kwesi and said …

“Sweetie, tell tonight’s plaything what I use when I have to make a correction.”

Kwesi’s voice was back to the haunted whisper from earlier.

“A whip. A single-tail whip.”

The national pastime, so to speak.

We headed out to get a bite. By the end of the evening, we’d all need the extra energy that meal provided.

I came home the other night to find Master gone and Gretchen having a wonderful time.

She had a youngish, not very attractive girl on her knees. The top of the girl’s dress was pulled down, exposing a pair of not very attractive tits.

Gretchen had her top and bra off, creating quite a visual disparity.

The difference between her magnificent breasts and the girl’s sad udders was stark.

A little mindfucking from Gretchen.

We both do this — with Master’s approval and encouragement. Bring home a woman who otherwise no way in hell would have a chance with gorgeous sex goddesses like us (I’m not vain, just accurate) and shame them as we lead them on with sly semi-promises of sex.

Only to deny them and send them off in tears.

When I got there, the girl was licking Gretchen’s feet and shoes. Gretchen even made her suck the heels.

As I passed back and forth through our condo over the next two hours, I heard the girl begging to service Gretchen’s pussy.

Begging.

Pleading.

Even praying!

And finally sobbing, as the realization that her chance at the sexiest, most beautiful woman she would ever have was really no chance at all.

She was just being mocked.

Gretchen told me that at the sushi spot,

Etta laid out what the evening ahead

would be like.

Etta explained that though it was certainly true that she had a more forceful personality than Kwesi, she didn’t dominate her wife much beyond minor corrections — like tonight’s butt plug.

But when they had another woman join them, Etta went into domme mode.

She laid out some basic rules.

“First of all, I want to reiterate the proper address. I am only and always ‘ma’am.’ Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Yes, ma,am,” Kwesi said.

“Absolutely no eye contact. You don’t look in my eye. You don’t look in each other’s eyes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The butt plugs will remain in unless I want to watch you two in an anal 69.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Or I want to put on my girl cock and do some butt fucking.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked at me. I quickly cast my eyes down.

“For the rest of the evening, you will be referred to as Cunt.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“And you are Whore.”

“Yes, ma,am,” Kwesi said.

“And just so you know, Cunt, no one but me ever tastes my wife’s pussy. Whore will eat you. You both will eat me. But you Cunt will not sample the divine treasure between my wife’s legs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Now, just to avoid any concerns you might have, Cunt, I talked briefly to your owner before we left. He gave me permission to stretch you some.”

Uh oh, I thought.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“I have a special rather large dildo that you will masturbate with. I love the look in a woman’s eyes when her pussy is being stretched.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“I adore oral worship of my anus. Prepare for at least two hours of it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No cums.”

Silence.

This time, Etta growled.

“I said no cums.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If either of you cums, I’ll whip both pussies.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And I don’t want to hear no begging, no pleading for permission to cum.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Etta concluded by saying, “Remember, pleasure me properly and you won’t be hurt.”

Then she added …

“Anymore than necessary.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I did allow myself a good hard cum, just so I could watch Etta whip that pussy she had such a high opinion of.

And because it felt so motherfucking gooooood.

It was the first time her pussy had ever been clamped.

Her face told me that.

It also showed her bewilderment.

She was 66 years old. An incredibly successful New York financial attorney who recently was made a federal judge.

Powerful.

Focused.

Experienced.

But here she was kneeling in front of a young man more than 40 years younger than her.

Kneeling naked. Except for the black stilettos she wore.

And the black leather, metal studded dog collar around her throat.

Depending on your definition of “wearing,” you might include the chain-linked pair of butterfly clamps that were causing her pussy lips such distress.

Master stepped forward.

Simone took his large rock-hard cock in her mouth again.

Serviced it.

Again.

After a few minutes, Master pulled out.

He looked over to where Gretchen and I knelt, stripped down to our black stilettos.

We were in the proper posture required when we watched Master with another woman: shoulders square, back straight, chin parallel with the floor, bottom of our stilettos the only thing touching the wall.

And our palms on the inside of our thighs, creating a framed look for our pussies.

As always, Master was terse.

“Cuffs. Cage. Corner.”

Then he headed to the kitchen.

Gretchen and I rose. We went over and helped Simone to her feet.

She sobbed when Gretchen took the clamps off. “Thank you,” she said in a sniveling voice I’m sure was never heard by her clients, colleagues, courtroom adversaries, jurors or judges.

“Master’s orders,” Gretchen said.

Just to be a bitch, I added, “He requires a cage there instead.”

Her eyes darted back and forth between Gretchen and me. “Cage? What do you mean?”

“Just come with us,” Gretchen said.

We each took an arm and led the unsteady Simone to the bedroom. From one of the drawers built into the closet a pair of handcuffs and a labia clamp — which Master considers a pussy cage because it separates the labia majora, labia minora and clitoris from each other with steel bands, effectively caging each.

Simone had no idea what it was.

I explained.

She let out a whimper.

I don’t know why I wanted to be so cruel to her, but I did. I said, “When he dominates, Master cages, all pussy that he doesn’t fuck.”

That surprised her. She said, “But …”

Gretchen explained. “Oh, he’s definitely going to fuck you. But he’s going to use your asshole not your pussy.”

I added, “Master rarely fucks the pussy of any woman in her 30s or older. It’s a simple tightness factor.”

She was stunned in the silence. Master’s cock is so big any woman without anal experience would be scared to have it in back there.

And the way she had always been in charge of everything her whole life, I doubt it she had any anal experience at all .

She shook and sobbed as we put the pussy cage on her and then cuffed her hands behind her back.

We let her to a corner of the room and had her kneel there.

As Gretchen walked away, I leaned down and whispered one more harsh truth to Simone.

“It’s even bigger than it looks. It breaks you when he has it in back there splitting you open.“

Her entire body shook as sobs wracked it

When I saw her, I was very surprised.

Like most women Master takes into his bedroom, she was wearing black stilettos only and was in his favorite position.

On hands and knees.

Knees wide.

Ass up.

Her pussy was shaved, probably freshly so.

And it was red.

Master’s riding crop has a tendency to do that to a pussy.

So none of that was surprising. Nor was the fact that she looked to be in her late 60s.

Master enjoys mature women.

The surprising part was her hair. She had none. Her head was as bald as her pussy.

This was a couple years ago. Master went through an odd phase where he was picking up women and shaving their heads before fucking and/or sexually dominating them.

He was basically doing a psychological study. How would women react to sacrificing a critical part of their self image for a chance at a once in a lifetime sexual experience.

That first woman took it rather well. It didn’t seem to bother her at all.

But a few days later, Master brought home a college sophomore.

Gretchen and I were both home when the girl arrived with Master.

Beautiful young woman.

And her hair!

OMG!

Thick, richly blonde, curly.

She sobbed as Master shaved it all off.

And sobbed in a different way later when Master’s monster cock gave her the hardest cum she’s ever likely to cum.

The next woman he brought over looked much like the young curly blonde. And it became clear why.

It was her older sister.

Both sisters came over the next day.

Yes, a three-way. Yes, the sisters had to go down on each other.

He’s that way, Master is. He’s just that way.

Then there was the woman we later discovered was a very high-ranking Japanese diplomat to the U.N.

After shaving her head, Master tortured her tits and then let her kneel at his feet for an hour or so and beg him to destroy her asshole with the monster.

The more powerful a woman is, I have discovered, the more she yearns for spells of sexual weakness.

Master’s head shaving phase only lasted about a month or so.

Gretchen and I were glad to see it end before he turned his clippers to us.