She knelt, naked, next to where he sat stretched back in his favorite chair, scrolling his phone. She dared not raise her eyes from the floor, and her breath came in anxious, quavering pulls.
He reached down and stroked her hair; it was an idle gesture, and a tiny noise escaped her throat as memories of the feel of those fingers, pulling, washed over her mind like the sound of thunder. Her body stiffened for a moment, lost in that aching thought.
“Talk to me, slave.” The sound of his voice cut through the air in the room, and she felt it cut through her, as well. “Tell me why you’re tense tonight. Tell me what’s in your head.”
The weight of his command was heavy, as it always was. It was like a pressure that made her want to swallow and try to pop her ears. He had always been like that for her, inescapable, irrefutable. He was like the oncoming storm, when the change in pressure tingles along your skin and makes you want to run to shelter.
Except that he was her storm and her shelter; he was the thing that made her heart race, and the only thing that brought her calm. He was a paradox, both the promise of violence and the quenching rain.
She knew, without needing to see it, that his lips would be curved in that delicious smile that she both loved and feared, as his fingers continued to play lightly through the strands of her hair.
“I have too many thoughts, Master.” And, having spoken their name, all her anxieties came crashing over her. “Please, empty my thoughts.” She clenched her eyes shut as the desire blossomed in her core. “Please, empty me.”
She craved so much about him.
His control, his impossible tasks, his sadistic punishments. She craved the feel of his control in her mind, but today she ached for the calmness that only he could bring her.
He slid his palm through her hair and tightened his grasp, and she heard her tensed breath escape her lips. “My slave has too many thoughts?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Your thoughts are such a burden, aren’t they?”
Some tension in her shoulders dripped away, magnifying the pain in her scalp. The pain felt good, cleansing. But it wouldn’t be enough. “Yes, Master. Please take my thoughts. Make me empty for you.”
He slid up to a seated position, while dragging her between his legs. Her knees slipped along the wooden floor, and he pulled her head back so that she was forced to look at him. His icy eyes bored into her, even as his telltale smile crept along his cheeks. She felt her eyes widen, her heart thump against the back of her sternum. She could feel her lips part from the force of his grip.
He brought his other hand to her mouth, running his fingers over the soft, wet swell of her lips, before sliding them between and over her tongue. “You are mine, slave. Everything that you are, belongs to me. Every thought in your head is mine by right.”
She gave a tiny nod, as his fingers worked themselves deeper into her mouth.
“If I want you empty, you will be empty.” His voice was low and dangerous, as his fingers violated the back of her throat. “If I want you to be afraid, you will be unbearably afraid. If I want you to be desperate and eager, you will be ridiculously desperate and eager.”
She gagged, her body trying to curl back on itself, but he held her fast. Saliva pooled and ran down his fingers, as he continued to tease lightly over that one special spot in her throat. She could feel the sting of tears a moment before they spilled in a hot line down her cheeks.
He pulled his fingers out, making the gooey strands yawn and stretch. “Beg, slave. Beg me to be the empty headed slut I want you to be.”
He brought the palm full of slippery spit and wiped it across her eyes, and it oozed down her cheekbones, bringing to them an embarrassed heat.
Her eyes were glued shut with her own throat slime, but she could hear the sound of his zipper and the rustle of his jeans being pulled from his hips. “Please, Master. Empty my head, empty me. Please take my thoughts.” She felt a drop of saliva drip from her chin and slid down her thigh, leaving a cold trail in its wake.
“Please let me be the empty, mindless toy you want me to be. I am yours to fill as you wish, but first your slave needs to be empty of my own thoughts.”
She heard him chuckle, and it made the hairs on her arms stand up, like following currents of electricity in the air. “Not just your thoughts, slave. Empty of everything that isn’t what I put in you.” He gripped her hair again and pulled her forward, until she could feel the head of his cock against her lips. “Again, slave. Beg again.”
“Empty me, Master. Make me empty of everything that isn’t from you.” Her chest ached to say it, her voice keening and incautious. “Please, Master. Please, I beg you.”
He pushed her mouth down on his cock, deeper and deeper until her face was flush with his torso. She felt him slide into her throat, and her body convulsed as she gagged on him. His fingers clenched tighter, bringing a small yelp of pain, as he shook her head and rubbed himself over her gag reflex.
Her stomach revolted at the motion, and a cascade of viscous slime poured down the length of his cock and out of her mouth. The pain of it brought a fresh wave of tears, and she struggled not to fight against him, to let him violate her body.
“Don’t fight me, slave. I want you empty.” He pulled himself out, and plunged back in, his stroke long and brutal. “You want to be empty.”
With each punishing stroke, more and more of the filthy ooze poured from her mouth to pool between her legs. His rhythm, like everything else about him, was uncompromising.
Her body clenched and trembled, her lips slick with the contents of her stomach.
It was only when she was sobbing freely and dry heaving with every cruel, choking thrust, did he let go of her hair. Her tits were covered with slime, and it dripped down the skin of her stomach and between her pussy lips. Her knees slid in the mess, as she slumped back to rest on her heels, crying.
“You’re not done, slave. Make me cum with that filthy, empty head of yours.”
His admonishment dug deep in her mind, as she wept and brought her mouth back to his cock.
“Long strokes, slave. Hurt yourself for me; show me your gratitude for everything I do for you.”
The weight of her debt to him, once he said the words, made her ribs feel like they were being crushed, curved in on themselves, to piece everything inside of her. She pushed his cock into her mouth, all the way, until it breached the back of her throat.
Just a hole. Just an empty hole for him to fuck.
That mantra repeated with every ruthless stroke, as she raped her own throat. She gagged, but kept going, letting the pain and degradation tighten his control over her body and mind, until she felt both his hands hold her down. He groaned his orgasm into her, filling her with the only thing that gave her purpose, meaning.
A fuck hole. A hole for his cum.
She was empty, but filled with him. He was the only thing inside of her. Her mind floated easily on that thought, on the rightness of it. She was empty, except for him.
Just a hole to be filled.
The emptiness felt good, but being filled with his seed was so much better.
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