His Goddess Pt. 01

She was sitting at the bar, dressed exactly as he had instructed. He stopped at the entrance to admire her long, glamorous limbs and the elegant curve where her neck became her shoulders. Stepping forward, walking to meet her and congratulate her for being early for their meeting, he noticed that the stranger sitting next to her was leaning in to whisper in her ear, placing a hand on her shoulder. He stopped in his tracks, watching the stranger place his grubby hands on what was rightfully his.

Repressing the urge to put a glass into the stranger's eye, he approached the pair as they laughed at a joke he was not privy to. When she saw him her smile disappeared, guilt and apprehension behind her eyes.

"Mind if I interrupt?" he asked. It was an order, not a question. She jerked her shoulder away from the stranger's hand and averted her eyes. The stranger assessed him and looked to her for guidance. Her eyes were staring, unwavering, at the floor.

He was curt and petulant with the stranger, making it clear that it was time to leave. The muscles in his jaw tensed momentarily while the stranger considered the situation. After a moment's hesitation, the stranger said his goodbye and retreated, tail firmly between his legs.

With the stranger gone, he turned his attention to her.

"Who was that?"

"Just some guy, he bought me a drink." She responded, not daring to raise her eyes.

"Just some guy, he bought me a drink, Sir." he corrected, speaking through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Sir, I'm sorry." She hurredly responded, the words tumbling out of her mouth.

"Not yet you aren't, but you will be."

She looked up at him, taking deep steadying breaths. Her hand trembled a little as she reached for the drink the stranger had paid for. He noticed it and approved.

The evening proceeded without incident, though he stayed cordial with her to keep her apprehensive while he devised her punishment. They had drinks with friends who were unaware of the invisible power struggle that was taking place across the table. He kept her eyes on her across the table their group sat around, never letting her forget that her time was coming. The hours bled into each other and before long the night was winding down.

"Time to go, I think." He said to her. She agreed, as was proper, and the pair said their goodbyes to their oblivious friends. He led her to the door and stepped to the side, letting her walk through first. She smiled at him for the first time that evening. It was a small gesture to lull her into a false sense of security.

The streets were mostly empty as they walked in silence and, as they walked past the entrance to an alleyway, he made his move. He grabbed her and pulled her into the darkness. She put up her token struggle, as she always did, but they both knew it was futile. When they were far enough into the shadows that he was confident they would not be disturbed he pushed her, face first, up against the wall and secured her wrists in an iron grip.

Holding her hands behind her back, pressing her face hard into the cold brick, he roughly pulled her underwear down and kicked her legs apart, whispering that she should have known better than to get him angry.

"You shouldn't have done that," he repeated, quietly yet firmly as she heard his belt jingle loose and the familiar sound of his fly being lowered. Her legs began to shake with anticipation, her breathing getting faster into the coarse brick wall her face was pressed against.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to anger you. Please, I'm scared someone will see us."

Her pleas fall upon deaf ears. His mind was made up; this was her punishment.

Without hurrying, using deliberate, forceful movements, he pulled her leather skirt up over the curve of her arse. The black lace underwear she was wearing especially for him slid down her smooth skin about halfway down her thighs. The belt jingled again as he pulled his boxer shorts down and leaned against her. Hard, smooth flesh pressed against her upper thigh as he kicked her legs apart. The flimsy lace underwear dug into her skin and her high heel scraped on the concrete. Pressing harder against her, forcing just the tip of himself inside her, feeling her legs quiver he whispered "Who owns this cunt?"

"You do, Sir. It's yours." she whimpered.

As soon as the words escaped her lips he forced himself up inside her. His free hand took a handful of her hair and pulled hard as he began to thrust forward slowly, with great force, rocking her in her high heels, scratching her face against the brick.

"Who owns this cunt?" he asked again, more venom in his voice this time.

She stifled back a pained scream. "It's yours, Sir. You own this cunt." She gasped.

He fucked her roughly, selfishly, forcing himself deep inside her, clamouring for the place where he could find his own satisfaction. As he got closer, he pulled harder on the handful of hair in his grip. The detached, even-handed demeanour he normally maintained was forgotten as he enjoyed what was rightfully his.

"Say you love my cock." He ordered, pulling her head back so she could hear his hoarse whisper.

"I love your cock, Sir."

Her words sent him into a frenzy. He thrusted harder and faster, pulling as hard on her hair as his grip would allow. Abandoning his hold on her wrists, he pulled her closer to him at the hip, burying himself as deep inside her as he could muster. The pleasure built in his knees and, having worked its way up to the very centre of himself, exploded silently inside her. Teeth gritted, the pleasure engulfed him and her knees trembled as she gratefully received his orgasm.

A few silent moments passed and the world slowly crept back into his consciousness. Sliding out from inside her, he stepped back and pulled up his boxer shorts. She sank to her knees against the wall and looked up at him, shaking for the fear and excitement. She was a goddess kneeling before him, awkwardly pulling up her stretched underwear with quivering hands.

"Good girl." He said, calmly buckling his belt up.

She smiled reflexively, closing her eyes momentarily to savour his praise.

"Thank you, Sir."

After catching their breath, he helped her to her feet and they left the alleyway arm in arm. The stranger was leaving the bar alone as they emerged and he nodded politely to his one-time adversary. Her hair was ruffled, her knees were shaking and her high heels were scuffed. The two men exchanged knowing looks and he smiled contentedly. With his goddess gripping his arm tightly for comfort, the pair walked home.