Her Master Returns (Dark BDSM Erotica)

Her Master Returns

(Dark BDSM Erotica)

By Dan Bruce

Copyright Dan Bruce, 2013

Published by Firm Hand Books at Smashwords

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Please note: this is a work of fiction. Names, characters and
incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is for sale to adult audiences only. It contains
sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be
considered offensive by some readers. Please store the material
where it cannot be accessed by minors.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of
age or older.

Please also note: this ebook is a modified version of Jack
Brighton’s ‘His Nemesis Returns’ – with the author’s kind
permission.

Chapter
1

“Good girl. I’ll be in touch.”

Those had been his final words. The normally prim and proper
Emily Johnson – P.A. to the boss of one of Britain’s biggest
companies - had just been violently used by a relatively junior
employee – a man whose name she did not know but whom she had come
to regard as Her Nemesis. He’d fucked her cunt and fucked her face,
introduced her virginal throat to the dubious joys of a big cock
then buggered her equally virginal ass which was where he’d emptied
his balls to dump his copious mess. Her face had been smacked and
her ass had been belted for mistakes she had made in the training
he gave. At the end of the ordeal, which was also a treat – he did
give her three sensational orgasms after all – Emily was forced to
lick the man’s soiled cock clean, which she did with gusto,
battling disgust and embracing humiliation. She was now his bitch,
and he was Her Master – a title he had claimed and she obediently
called him - so refusal was not an option. Once she was finished,
Emily was left on the floor of the basement changing room in the
office block where she worked - a tattered messed up cock slut,
dribbling cum from her gaping anus. It was a far cry from the
tight-assed persona she usually adopted when she strutted her stuff
up on the top floor, acting like a proper stuck-up little
madam.

Emily stared up at Her Nemesis, the man who had repeatedly
tormented her over the past month whilst descending in the elevator
before leaving for home. It was a mystery how he had managed it: to
be there each evening when Emily worked late, waiting alone in the
elevator to escort her to the lobby, during which time he had
verbally abused her and promised such scandalous depravity. But
that mattered little now that she had succumbed to his will and
took the extra stage down to the basement where he had delivered so
impressively against all his foul mouthed threats. Emily watched
him dress, this man who was now Her Master. There were no further
words or even a glance – the man walked out the door, leaving Emily
behind, wishing that he would stay and fuck her again. Fuck her
rough and dirty on the piss sodden floor, up her ass, up her cunt,
whatever part of her he wanted to use, and pull out at the end to
shoot his mess all over her grateful face.

Emily shuddered at the thought. She cringed for what she’d
done and what she feared she’d do again. It seemed inconceivable
that the P.A. to the chairman, this arrogant well-bred sophisticate
who was so at home on the top floor, could have sunk so low and
acted so depraved. Yet there she was, totally screwed in so many
ways. Mrs. Emily Johnson’s fall from her ivory tower was total and
complete.

Emily lay for an age before she found the strength and the
will to struggle to her feet. Eventually she raised herself and
went to the washbasin where she splashed water on her face, washing
away the tears she had shed. Then she made the mistake of raising
her head to look in the cracked mirror above the basin.

It was not a pretty sight!

This normally perfectly turned out and classically beautiful
young woman was a complete and utter mess. Her blue eyes were
circled in red from crying and streaks of mascara ran down her
face; her cute little nose and full ruby lips were swollen from the
bashing they had taken from the man’s groin when he’d fucked her
throat. Her breasts were hanging lewdly out of her bra, the coral
coloured nipples still obscenely hard. The ash-blonde hair that got
expensively cut every second week was a tangled mess of unkempt
tresses. She looked like a cheap slut after a bad night
out.

She felt like one as well!

And it wasn’t just her face. Her body was hurting and in a
right old state. Her back ached from the buggering Her Master had
given her - the shoulders grazed having been shunted along the hard
cement floor as he pounded repeatedly into her. The knees were no
better, having knelt submissively before him as she orally serviced
his impressively large dick. And as for her ass, well that didn’t
bear thinking about – the buttocks were bruised from the belting
she’d taken, and the normally tight hole was uncontrollably gaping,
leaking the creamy present he had left inside her.

Despite the hurt, Emily managed to clean herself up –
staggering to the toilet to void the semen before dressing as best
she could. Her thong was ruined, a rag on the floor. It was rescued
and hid in her Chanel bag so no evidence of her presence would be
left behind. The skirt was crumpled but thankfully still
functional, and this she struggled into, ruing its tightness. She
forced her breasts back into her bra and slipped on her blouse and
jacket. There was another look in the mirror, Emily drawn there by
habit, normally so vain about her appearance. The poor woman wished
she hadn’t bothered. Her state was still appalling despite being
clothed.

Bracing herself to face the world, Emily struggled out of the
changing room, Chanel bag in hand. She was amazed that her legs
were actually able to carry her along the semi-dark corridor to the
elevator, but somehow she managed to get there. A shiver ran
through her as she stood in front of it, not daring to press the
call button. All her woes had started in this elevator – all the
abuse from the man when they had travelled alone. Even now, it
seemed surreal what had happened over the past month – not so much
what he had done, but how she had reacted...

At face value Emily was a young woman with her life firmly
under control – her friends and family would be stunned if they
were to hear of her sordid tale of debasement in the basement. The
very idea that she might be labelled a ‘submissive’ was laughable
to anybody who knew her – especially Les, her doting husband, who
Emily had firmly under the thumb. And here in the swanky central
London office block where she worked, Mrs. Johnson was the
embodiment of modern professionalism – a woman with power, poise
and style: a bit cold and aloof, but her position as P.A. to the
man in charge required that sort of dignity. She was an extremely
attractive and sophisticated young woman who supposedly had it all
– not a meek little mouse there to be prayed on and devoured by
some predatory Tom Cat.

Yet somehow Her Nemesis had seen something in her – something
that Emily wasn’t aware of. He had played a game and nurtured the
trait, and here in the basement he had set it free.

Emily shivered again at the memory of what had just
transpired, still scarcely crediting her compliance. The things she
had allowed! The way she had behaved! The snarling lust the man had
inspired that had made her all but crazed. And it had felt so
natural to yield to his will, even when it hurt or revolted her.
But that was here in the basement, with Her Nemesis running the
show. How on earth was Emily supposed to act from this moment
onwards, out in the big world where Her Master was part of the rank
and file and where Emily was part of the elite? Surely there was a
conflict which would be cataclysmic if the dynamics were
transferred elsewhere: out on the street; up on the top floor; or
heaven forbid, the marital home!

It didn’t bear thinking about, although face it she must. So
mustering her courage, Emily made the summons. Nervously she
awaited – then ‘Ping!’ it was there. The door slid apart and inside
the elevator was empty. Emily couldn’t say what emotion hit her:
relief or disappointment – a bid of both was probably there. But at
that moment in time, Emily was too distraught to analyse or care.
In a swirl of confusion and fear of discovery, she took the
elevator back to the top floor of the office block, which
thankfully was deserted. There in the ladies washroom that was
clean and smelled sweetly, Emily made some further repairs before
facing the world. It was not an easy task, and she only partially
succeeded, but eventually she accepted it was time to
go.

The underground journey was a nightmare from hell. Ever the
snob, looking down her nose on other people and their shabby dress
or cheap fake labels, Emily hated having eyes upon her for all the
wrong reasons. She still looked a mess – her designer clothes
crumpled and strained. And she was shaking violently – aftershock
from her experience, fear and shame raging in her body. She knew
people were looking, perhaps wondering if she was drunk, or off her
face on drugs. The humiliation was unbearable, but what choice did
she have but to endure more disgrace?

A cab?

No, that would have been worse. At least on the underground no
one spoke to you – London cabbies however had the gift of the gab
and were forever blabbering on; that was assuming she found one
that would actually take her, which was unlikely in her current
state.

Thankfully she came home to a darkened empty house. Les was
out at the cinema – he was a bit of a film buff who preferred to
see everything on the big screen, and of late had become fascinated
by the joys of 3D. Emily occasionally joined him. She half wished
that she had done so tonight. The prim and proper, P.A. to the
boss, butter wouldn’t melt, God’s gift to womankind, half that was!
But the other half of her – the cock loving slut who liked it rough
and dirty, was glad that she’d got just that!

In order to further clean herself, Emily took a long hot
shower. Shocking as it sounds, with the hot water cascading over
her naked sore body, the memories of the earlier events stabbed at
her brain. She closed her eyes, and there she was again in the
basement on her knees sucking the man’s cock. She could taste that
dick, feel it stretching her jaws and swelling out her cheeks, the
head so big and vibrant in her mouth. She could feel that cock
bullying down her throat causing her to gag and splutter, incurring
the man’s wrath and earning her a punishment – a severe belting of
her ass that had left some telltale marks and would need to be
hidden for the next few days. Temporarily indifferent to this,
Emily’s soap covered hands started to roam over her sore body,
clawing at flesh like the man had done – Her Nemesis tormentor –
the man she had called Master and who had a legitimate claim, at
least in the basement and alone in the shower. She revitalised the
hurt on grazed skin and bruised muscles, becoming her own catalyst
of war between euphoria and revulsion that raged again in her mixed
up mind. Unable to desist, or choosing a side, fingers invaded the
crack of her thrashed ass, zooming in on the hole which she stuffed
again with flesh. Emily yelped at the renewed pain but couldn’t
desist – pushing deeper than ever, frigging herself with four. The
voice of chained propriety cried in dismay, but its sad lament was
lost in the screams of the beast that now ruled in the depths of
her soul – the submissive slut that Her Nemesis had awoken like the
Kraken from the sea. She recalled their sex, the violent buggering
she had taken – the enormity of the man’s cock plundering her
bowels. She recalled a promise to do the same to her pussy, and
fell to her knees thinking how wonderful that would be. As she
frigged herself, ramming her fingers into her body, Emily
remembered the abuse and how liberated she felt – empowerment in
enslavement – a conundrum to be sure. But Emily wasn’t analysing
this as she frigged her ass wildly, crying like a child, soaring to
the sky, her other hand rubbing frantically on her clit. Hurting,
frigging, weeping in shame, Emily brought herself to another
earth-shattering orgasm, coming with a sob, mortified that she was
still so aroused by the incident – an addict who was already
yearning for another hit.