Beloved slave

Evening descended upon the city and its outskirts. An unpleasant drizzle lashed at the few pedestrians, a dank wind howled menacingly. The minibus stopped on the highway, letting off its last passenger, whose silhouette quickly melted into the gloom of the approaching night. She hurried along a narrow path in the dacha settlement, spurred on by gusts of wind and the beginning rain. Where was she going? Why did she need this? How would it all end? She could still prevent it all, turn around and go back, catch a car on the highway and return home. But the choice was made, and despite the storm of doubts, she confidently headed towards the cottage surrounded by a high brick fence.

In a room dimly lit by weak lamps, several men lounged in armchairs. Each listened impatiently—would the click of heels sound? They had gathered here to choose new girlfriends for themselves, ones willing to do anything. Each was a member of a closed club where men gathered who preferred to be called nothing less than Master. Most already had slaves, but sometimes, for various reasons, the union would break, and they would come here in search of a new suitable girl. The girls were carefully selected, sought out—some through the internet, some they already knew, and they were invited for viewings.

Dasha was invited through the internet. She had long wanted to try but couldn't bring herself to. Honestly, she lied—when questioned before being invited here, she claimed she had already been in a relationship with a Master, but that wasn't true. She very much wanted it, but cowardice and caution had so far prevented her from taking that step. However, her entire being persistently demanded more, and she, bound by fear, entered this house.

In the spacious hall, girls were already gathered—all beautiful, young, but a bit worn. They awaited their turn. Each was called in order, examined, and if chosen—she gained a new master. Dasha stood out among them immediately. She wasn't the most beautiful or sexy, but to a man, especially a Master, it was immediately clear she was completely inexperienced. She glowed with purity and freshness, seemed modest and intelligent. Uncolored light hair in soft waves covering her back, moderate makeup emphasizing clean skin, delicate manicure made her appearance airy and romantic. There were about ten girls, and only six men in the room. Surveying her rivals, Dasha realized she wouldn't be chosen—they all seemed depraved, were provocatively dressed, had plumped lips and watermelon-like breasts. No, Dasha was no match for them with her modest second size, in an ordinary blouse and skirt.

Two or three girls had already been to the viewings, only one was chosen. When Dasha was invited, she entered the hall on legs half-bent with excitement. The men stared at her, and contrary to her expectations, three immediately raised their hands—a sign she was chosen. She didn't know what it meant, and then they explained she needed to decide who would become her Master. Stunned, Dasha looked over these three. One was immediately out—too old, though she liked mature men, but not that much. He also wore glasses, which repelled her too. Two remained. They were handsome, both. One a fiery brunette, with a square jaw and too large, over-pumped. His gaze was magnetic, terrifying, and Dasha shuddered when he stared at her unblinkingly. The second she liked more. About thirty-five, he wasn't as huge as his rival—sinewy, thin, tall. Light brown hair fell in a wave behind his ears, an aristocratic face with intelligent gray eyes, long beautiful fingers. Not just a male, a hard cock and a mountain of muscles, but precisely the kind of man she wouldn't be ashamed to submit to—mysterious, intelligent, restrained. He also looked intently into her eyes, but his gaze didn't frighten Dasha; rather, it was arousing and intriguing. She looked at the other again and immediately turned away—he was alien, repulsive, and aggressive. Heading towards the armchair where the man she liked sat, she didn't notice how the other twisted his face in malice and shot a withering glance at his rival.

As soon as Dasha was near the man, he stood up, took her hand, and led her away. He smelled pleasantly of expensive perfume with woody notes, his hand was warm and well-groomed, his gait confident. Dasha was already enchanted. They left the house through another corridor, he silently led her to one of the cars, seated her inside, got behind the wheel, and only then spoke to her.

"You chose me. Why?"

His voice was low, so pleasantly enveloping, and Dasha felt warmth emanating from his body as he spoke.

"I liked you. More than the others."

He didn't answer, started the car, and quietly pulled away. Dasha was suddenly pricked by fear—where was he taking her? To fuck already? Too fast... She got nervous, and her companion noticed it immediately:

"Before taking you for myself, I need to get to know you better. We'll have dinner, talk, and then decide."

In these words, she guessed the answer to her question—he wouldn't fuck her today. She calmed down a little; after all, she still had the chance to turn back. The car glided smoothly along the wet road; there were still about ten kilometers to the city. She sat silently, not knowing what to say. He was also silent, occasionally glancing at the girl with his calm, cold gaze, but then suddenly spoke:

"You made the right choice. One of them is an old impotent, and the second is a cruel sadist."

Hearing "cruel sadist," Dasha shuddered, remembering the piercing gaze of the dark-haired muscleman. Imagining what he could have done to her, she felt a chill in her stomach. She wanted to submit, to feel defenseless and yet protected, not to endure torture and abuse.

"And you? You're not a sadist?" she dared to ask.

The man stopped the car, turned to Dasha, and looked at her intently. He was silent for a long time, looking into the girl's widened green eyes, tormenting her with uncertainty and burgeoning doubts, and finally said:

"We'll discuss everything with you. I'll give you time to think, if I take you."

Dasha didn't dare ask anything else—for some reason, she felt shy like a little girl before him. Essentially, she didn't belong to him yet and could cut it all off at any moment, rebel, leave. She was a proud girl and wasn't particularly ready to humiliate herself. But the more she thought about her relationships with men, the more clearly she realized—she needed someone who could bend her, subdue her, and only then would she feel completely happy. A real woman.

They didn't drive long—the highway was empty, and soon, after wandering through city streets, the man parked. He took her to a restaurant, placed an order without asking what she wanted, and while it was being prepared, began questioning her.

"Is this your first time?"

Dasha lowered her gaze—lie or tell the truth? But he anticipated her:

"I see it is. You haven't been under a master before. Am I right?"

She glanced at him timidly and nodded. He smiled and very quickly licked his lips, anticipating a fresh, unused slave. Exactly what he was looking for. Worn-out, experienced ones didn't interest him.

"Why did you decide you needed this?"

Dasha confusedly explained that she was drawn to powerful, strong men older than her, that the very thought of her being small and defenseless while he was omnipotent and yet caring aroused her.

"I want to take you," he informed her, looking into her eyes. "But you must agree. Do you know what awaits you?"

She shrugged, and he continued:

"You will belong to me, every step of yours will be known to me. Before doing anything, you must ask permission. Even if you want to go to the toilet, you must ask. No objections, you must carry out any order of mine. Refusal means punishment. As for sex—you are my thing, which I will use for my own pleasure, as and when I want."

Here Dasha flinched, and he noticed it immediately:

"You will get enormous pleasure from it," he assured. "But only when I allow it."

"But I'm not a thing," Dasha cautiously noted, picking at the tablecloth with her fork.

"You will be a thing," he said simply. "Does that displease you?"

"Yes," she admitted after a little hesitation. "I'm not an empty space, I'm a living person, an individual."

"I know that," he agreed. "But if you came there today, you should have understood what such relationships entail. It's like a game where only one leads, clear? I said I'd give you time, I won't force you. You also have the right to decide some things, but only at the very beginning."

"How so?" Dasha asked with interest.

"Tell me what you wouldn't want, what frightens you, what I must not do."

"And you won't?" she clarified.

"I won't. We must completely trust each other. Only then will everything work out for us. If I deceive you, you won't be fully mine."

This calmed Dasha, and she smiled shyly, showing dimples on her fresh cheeks.

"I must also trust you," he continued. "There are a number of conditions you must strictly follow."

She looked at him intrigued, and he explained:

"You will forget about other men. No one but me has the right to touch you. And obedience—you will carry out my orders, submit to me in everything, and of course, not a word of lies. That's the most important thing for me."

Dasha decided this was quite acceptable and nodded in agreement. Then he asked an unexpected question:

"When was the last time you had sex?"

"Well..." she drawled embarrassed. It had begun! "About a year ago."

It was shameful to admit, but he had ordered no lies.

"And your last orgasm?" he licked his lips again.

Dasha pretended not to understand the question, then he clarified:

"Do you masturbate?"

Shyly lowering her eyes, she admitted that yes.

"Now forget about that," he ordered. "You have the right to come only with me."

This phrase aroused her, and she already imagined how her flesh would pulse as soon as he touched her intimate hollow.

"But how will you know if I touched myself or not?" she asked heatedly.

"I said—there must be absolute trust between us. If you lie to me, I'll likely feel it, or you'll give yourself away. And also—after you have an orgasm with me, you won't want anything else. So masturbation won't attract you anymore."

He spoke about it so calmly, in such a matter-of-fact tone, but his words drove Dasha wild. He was just looking at her, talking about intimate rules, and she was melting and sinking into the sweet warmth of her desire.

Dinner was brought, and their conversation faded for a while, but the silence heated Dasha even more. With every second, she realized more and more that she agreed to become his slave, his thing. Still a little afraid of the unknown, possible pain, and he precisely sensed her fear and uncertainty.

"Do you want to become mine?" he suddenly asked, touching her palm with his fingers.

From his touch, Dasha was washed with a hot shiver, and she sweetly exhaled:

"I want to."

She was drawn to him, how drawn! She wanted to be under him immediately, naked, spread on the bed, feeling the weight of his body. As if sensing this, he promised:

"I'll take care of you. We'll be good."

Dasha closed her eyes and realized she didn't want to eat at all anymore. She wanted to leave, exit the restaurant, be alone with him. She was even ready to give herself to him in the car. Just sooner, sooner... Her panties became wet, her clitoris protruded firmly, sweetly aching from any movement, and she barely held back moans of lust. She wanted him so much, and he hadn't done anything yet, just looked into her eyes and barely touched her palm.

"Shall we go?" he suggested, rising from the table. She readily offered her hand, and they quickly returned to the car.

"Where do you live?" he asked, pulling out onto the intersection.

She gave the address, burning with desire, but at the same time understood—nothing would happen today. What a pity, she wanted it so much. He drove her to the residential district where she rented a small apartment with a friend, but before letting her out, he locked the doors and turned to face her.

"I want to take you. Say you agree."

His breath was hot, he was aroused too; he hadn't had a steady woman for a long time—he was looking for a special one, for a long-term and stable connection, and Dasha attracted him, tempted him, seduced him with her unspoiledness and freshness. As soon as he saw her, he immediately knew he wanted this girl, saw her as his. If only she agreed, if only she gave herself to him...

"I agree," she babbled in a voice drunk with lust and trembling.

He pressed against her, squeezed her face with his hands, rubbed his chin against her head, breathed deeply, taking in her scent. "I want her!" he decided finally, and pressed his teeth against her small ear, making her gasp in surprise but obediently stay close.

Dasha was ready for anything, instinctively spread her thighs, letting him in, but he didn't take her. He breathed her in a little longer, then let go, quickly calmed down, and unlocked the doors.

"Go home now. I want you to think it over well. Decide what you don't want. Just don't think too long—I want you too much."

Dasha silently went to the apartment, exhausted with desire. For two days he didn't appear, and during that time she broke down to self-satisfaction about ten times, imagining the upcoming sexual adventure. She wanted him so much, dreamed of giving herself to him so quickly, and constantly feared that the Master would change his mind and reject her. Thinking in her spare time about their strange relationship, she clearly realized she wouldn't allow him cruelty and sophisticated abuse, as she had a low pain threshold, and the prospect of anal sex also frightened her. That was also off-limits. But everything else... She agreed to everything else.

When she saw his car again, insinuatingly flashing its headlights in the courtyard of her house, everything inside her jumped with anticipation. Exhausted with longing, she quickly sat on the seat and looked expectantly at the Master. He was even more handsome than at their last meeting, and Dasha immediately grew wet, feeling how her hot, tormented-by-waiting clitoris rubbed against the cotton gusset of her panties.

"Have you thought?" he asked, starting the car.

Dasha told him her wishes, he nodded approvingly and took her somewhere. This time to fuck, as she wanted. He lived in a luxurious apartment in the city center; Dasha was even intimidated by how opulently his home was furnished. She guessed he wasn't poor—a man unsettled in life wouldn't possess such a confident gaze, calmness, and haughty coldness that enveloped him.

"Now you are mine," he informed her, locking the apartment doors. Grabbing her by the neck, he dragged her deep into the dwelling, past rooms. Stopping before one of the doors, he took a key from his pocket and shoved Dasha inside the room. This was the place where he satisfied himself with his slaves. A spacious room without a window, a bed with columns, a couch, shelves with various