Consummation
Her owner bid his collared whore strip, and kneel before him.
He loved her like this. He loved her serenity, her devotion.
He paused for a moment, and then: “Hello, Pet.”
Her eyes remained downcast, her conditioning strong.
“Pet, do you recall what we agreed about your holes? About how in principle I own all of them, but that I consented to honour your reluctance to surrender your ass to me?”
She gulped. “Yes, Sir.” She knew what was coming.
“Pet, today marks the day I shall claim that hole. Today I shall consummate my possession, irrespective of your reluctance. Look at me when you answer: do you know what that means?”
Slowly she raised her eyes to meet his. She hesitated before answering, “Yes, Sir. It means that my ass has always been yours, but that you have graced me with abstinence; and that you wish no longer to abstain from using it.”
“Do I correctly infer your consent? Or do you wish to renegotiate the basis of our relationship at this time? Do you no longer wish to recognise my authority?”
“Sir, I am your whore. I shall always be your whore. I am your property. I have no say; there is no ‘I’.”
“Very well. Open your mouth.”
Of course she obeyed. And without hesitation, he inserted a large ring-gag, strapping it into position tightly. Her cunt surged with moisture at the thought.
“I want to hear your sounds, Pet. I want to hear your moans, your protest, perhaps even your screams. I want your mouth open to remind you that all of you is open to me.”
He withdrew his cock from his trousers and pushed it to the hilt into her face without hesitation, pulling her head against his crotch with both hands. He held it for a moment. She gagged. Tears broke free and she struggled, and he pulled her off his cock.
“Your job, Pet, is to make my cock hard. Harder than you’ve ever made it. Because the harder it is, the easier it will be for you, what comes next. So see to your duties.”
He let her take a breath before ramming his cock back into her face, into the wordless black ‘O’ in her head. He took her hard, savagely, letting her breathe every ten thrusts or so.
The temptation to fuck her face, her head, her skull to completion tore at him just as he tore at her hair; very nearly he succumbed. But finally he held her head before him, and looked her in the eye.
She gasped, powerless to speak through her gag; she had not ever felt the power of his possession at this intensity before.
“Down,” he said, his cock still twitching in front of her face, dripping with pre-cum and drool. “Face down, ass up, whore. It’s time.” He pushed her head down to illustrate his meaning.
Redundant: she instinctively assumed a position he had painstakingly taught her by word and by belt - her face on the floor, her back arched, presenting her holes, her hands pulling her cheeks apart. She knew what was coming and she moaned, whimpered in dread as she sensed him moving to position himself behind her.
He did not bother with her dripping cunt.
He placed the tip of his cock against her ass, and waited for a moment.
“Last chance to signal withdrawal of consent, whore,” he said.
She took a deep breath, let it out with a sigh; settled into her position of presentation. She pulled her ass cheeks open a little further, pushed up her hips a little more, spread her knees a little wider. This, then is how he would take her. She was his anyway; her platitudes concerning reticence and consent nothing more than dust. He had humoured her refusal to admit him; he had pretended to give a damn what she thought.
She was his whore. And she wanted nothing else.
And then he claimed her.
