Eventide (Her Father, My Master) (3 page)

My question was answered before it was even fully formed in my mind, as my hand reached up to

finger my collar yet again. Of course he could control me like this. Even though I wasn't with him, Mr.

Hendricks was still my master.

I replied:
Yes, sir.
And then I made my way to the bed, shooing Flicker off of it and out of my room before closing and locking the door tightly. It was weird, but I didn't want the cat to see me like this.

This was a private moment between me and Mr. Hendricks.

I made my way back to the bed, and laid down on it, taking in the feeling of the cool sheets against the

skin of my arms and legs before standing up and stripping down completely. As I let my shirt and shorts,

my underwear and bra fall away, I found myself growing more and more comfortable. Clothing felt so

odd and alien on my skin after a year of nudity with my master.

I rummaged through my nightstand, and pulled out a small, bullet shaped vibrator. I could come by

hand, of course, but getting myself to come three times in a row would be a little difficult that way, and

the orgasms wouldn't be as strong. I wanted to break this thread. I wanted to convulse against it and

cause it to snap. Because I wanted my master to punish me for it.

But I had to try to keep the thread intact. I had to obey. Those two thoughts warred within me as I laid

on the bed again, expertly trussing myself up, tying my legs together at the ankles, and tying my ankles to

my wrists. Soon, I could barely move. I could touch myself, but not much else. I trembled at the thought, and the anticipation of coming for my master. Even though he couldn't see me, this was for him. It was

amazing how he could affect me, even when he wasn't even present.

My heart fluttering in my chest, my breath coming in shallow gasps, I picked up the vibrator that was

resting between my thighs, and stroked its smooth, cold surface. It was a metallic bullet, something my

master had given to me before I'd left his house for the summer. A parting gift, as it were.

With my other hand, I traced my way up my legs, between my thighs, feeling the already engorged

folds of my outer labia. I was hot and pulsing for him. I dipped a finger between those folds. I was wet, so wet already. I wanted him, I needed him. A pulse raced through my body. This would have to do, for

now.

I pressed on, pushing my finger down, inside myself, groaning slightly at the pleasurable sensation. It

felt good – not nearly as good as Mr. Hendricks' thick cock impaling me, but it felt good all the same. A

second finger joined the first and my groan became a gasp of pleasure, as fire ran up my body and into my

brain. I hooked those fingers now, crabbing them against the tight walls of my cunt, and pleasure

flowered anew within me. There were things fingers could do, that cocks couldn't.

My body was shivering now, and I couldn't hold back any longer. As much as I loved penetration, to

truly climax I needed to touch that aching button, my clit. With my other hand, I thumbed on the vibrator,

and pressed down.

Fireworks flooded my body in a building crescendo. I didn't immediately go for my clit – that would

be too much, too quickly. Instead, I pressed it down along the slick folds of my cunt drawing up slowly to

that hyper-sensitive button. I moved it closer and closer, then backed it off as the waves of pleasure

became too intense. My legs were already jerking slightly. The thread was threatening to snap, and I

hadn't even come once.

I steeled myself, trying to keep from moving my legs as I brought the vibrator closer, then farther, and

then closer once more. That last time, I pressed down on my clit, and my body spasmed roughly. It was

too much, too much! But I drank in the sensation, and pressed harder, my climax building and mounting

like a hurricane closing in. Soon, I wouldn't be able to get away from it. It would be all consuming.

And that soon crept on me before I was even aware of it. It was a quick build now, and without

warning I was pushed over the edge, biting back a cry and a gasp as euphoria flooded my veins, causing

my body to ache and tingle all over. I rocked back and forth on the bed, my arms and legs jerking and

twitching as my cunt clenched powerfully around my groping fingers. It just felt so good...

Panting, I came down from my high, slowly becoming aware of my surroundings once more. I glanced

down and cursed. One thread was broken, the one holding my legs together. I wondered what that would

mean for me.

It didn't matter right now. What mattered was coming again, and again for my master. Because he

commanded it.

The second orgasm came quickly. I'd learned that if I moved fast enough, all I had to do was press the

vibrator down on my clit with all the force I could muster, and a second climax would wash over me,

almost as intense as the first. They were so close together that I often wondered if it was just one long

orgasm. But no, it had to be two.

And I needed a break after that. It felt like I'd been coming for minutes. I looked down again. Still

just the one thread broken.

I gazed up at my ceiling and fingered myself as I thought of my master. I fantasized about his body –

older and scarred, but still lean and muscular from years of dedicated training – and his face, masculine,

square and chiseled with short-cropped graying hair. He had an amazing body. And an amazing cock. It

was so long and thick, I was surprised that I could even take it all, every time he fucked me, every time he impaled me and filled me to the very brim.

“Oh,” I moaned softly, wishing I was there right now. I was so wet for him, and he couldn't even see

it.

He knew though. He knew exactly what I was doing, right at this moment. And I had to finish, so I

could be a good girl and tell him what I'd done.

I turned the vibrator back on, and quickly finished the job. After I came the first time, subsequent

orgasms were always easier, and I leaned my head back on my pillow, my lips parting as yet another

climax rolled through me, warming my body and causing convulsions to run through me. I even wanted to

come again, I wanted another climax. I wanted a dozen more.

But my master's orders were clear. Three orgasms, and then tell him how many threads I broke.

I sighed softly in mingled contentment and frustration, then lifted my head, looking to see how many

threads I'd broken.

Just the one. I was both relieved and disappointed. I wondered what he would have me do as

punishment.

I sent him a text:
One.
He would know what it meant, so I waited for his reply. What would he do to me?

I had to wait for nearly half an hour, on pins and needles, my heading spinning, my body still throbbing

from the orgasms I'd subjected it to. Finally, my phone buzzed with a reply:
Look in your bag. Ten

lashes.

My heart stopped. Surely he wouldn't...? I knew what bag he was talking about – my travel bag that I

hadn't even bothered to unpack, yet. I raced over to the small light blue canvas bag, and tore through it,

tossing clothing aside. At the bottom of the bag was another small, paper bag. With trembling hands, I

pulled it from its depths, and opened it.

A whip. A small one, to be sure, but a whip all the same. My master was introducing me to self-

punishment, it seemed. I fingered the braided leather handle, and the slim, but sturdy whip end. It was

entirely black, and I'd never seen it before. Apparently my master had gotten just for me. Just for this.

I wasn't certain how to proceed. I knew how my master whipped me, of course, and I had the lightly

lined scars across my back to prove it, but how did one whip oneself? I lifted it by its handle and let the whip uncoil and fall to the floor. I'd have to figure this out for myself.

Experimentally, I gave a short jerking motion with my hand, and caused the whip to dance around and

crack loudly. “Shit!” I hissed and tiptoed over to my bedroom door. Had anyone heard that? I opened

the door an inch and looked outside, straining my eyes and ears. Nothing. My parents were still watching

some crime show, and the TV was quite loud. Hopefully loud enough to cover the sound of a good ten

lashings. I closed the door again, and went over to my bed, where I deposited the whip. Its black was a

harsh contrast to the light pink and purple padded comforter. It looked so sinister, just lying there. There was only one thing this whip was designed for. Punishment.

I picked it up again. And I tried whipping myself.

At first, I didn't even hit my skin. That didn't count for one of the lashings, of course. The second try, I did hit my skin, but it didn't hurt at all. I didn't count that one either. But the third... I counted that one.

It was just as painful as when my master whipped me. A searing throb etched itself into my back and

lanced up my spine, and I nearly saw stars at that exquisite pain. It was as good as it was with Mr.

Hendricks, and the feeling was only made better by the fact that he'd ordered me to do this to myself. He

had this much control over me.

I hit myself, again and again, gasping and shuddering with mingled pleasure and pain each time the

whip bore down and burned into my flesh. By the time the tenth hit came, I was a trembling mess.

I could barely type the message out on my phone:
Done.

The reply was immediate:
Picture.

My eyes grew round. That seemed risky, to me. But perhaps as our relationship grew, my master

found himself also growing less risk-adverse. Still, I wasn't certain even how to get a picture. I tried

lifting the phone over my shoulder, and snapped a picture.

It was blurry, but I could clearly see the angry red lines criss-crossing my back. I hoped it would be

good enough for him. I sent the picture.

As I waited, a slowly enrobed myself in cloth once again, and cracked the door open once more,

looking out the hallway, listening. The TV was still on. I wasn't found out.

Flicker took the chance to dash back into my room, yowling loudly.

“Sorry, buddy,” I murmured as I stooped to pick him up and pet him. He didn't like it when I kicked

him out like that, but it was better than letting him watch and yowl as I whipped myself. A thrill ran up

my spine. I'd just whipped myself, for Mr. Hendricks. It was one of the hottest things I'd done in weeks,

and I could still feel the aftereffects of it, roaming up and down my body. I needed him.

My phone buzzed, and I snatched out a hand to grab it from the nightstand.
Good girl.
That was it, then. I exhaled silently, and I couldn't help but feel the tiniest pang of disappointment. I was hoping that he would let me come over now. I needed him so badly it was a physical ache.

But not tonight, apparently. This was all I was getting, for now.

I hissed as I pulled the silky blue shirt over my head in the dressing room. The lashings I'd given

myself a couple of nights ago still stood in sharp relief on my skin, crying in protest whenever I touched

them. At least they weren't bleeding. Then I wouldn't have been able to go shopping with Jess.

She invited me out today, and I couldn't think of a good reason to decline – I wasn't working, and I

didn't have anything else going on. With a cringe, I realized that there was a big part of me that wanted to decline. I found that nowadays, crowds made me nervous. And Jess made me nervous. Of my three

closest high school friends, she was the loudest, the most boisterous, and the most unpredictable. I didn't like it when people were unpredictable anymore.

“How does it look?” Jess yelled through the narrow cracks of the particle board door.

“Okay,” I yelled back. It really did look okay, but I honestly couldn't say whether it was the current

fashion trend or not. I was so out of the loop in that regard. And it didn't seem as important to me as it had in high school.

“Let me see, let me see!” I didn't even have to open the door to know that Jess was excitedly

bouncing from foot to foot, her flaming red hair flopping everywhere. I cracked a small smile at that

imagery. Jess was such a character.

I took one last glance in the mirror before opening the door. The shirt really did look good, as did I.

My blonde hair was longer than ever, and I could have sworn that my round face was finally losing its

baby fat, and becoming more mature in appearance. Thanks to my diligent exercise at my master's house,

my body looked fit and toned, just as good as it did in high school. A tiny part of my felt a smug

satisfaction at that. My friends had put on a bit of weight, themselves – the freshman fifteen as Jess

ruefully put it.

Opening the door, I stepped outside to the squeals of Jess. “It looks awesome!” she said, beaming at

me. “I knew it would!”

“Yeah, you were always better at picking out clothes than me,” I admitted, looking at myself in one of

the mirrors in the narrow dressing room hall. I really did look good.

Jess turned and looked in a mirror too, pouting. “Too bad I can't wear them anymore.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, poking her in the side.

“No, really, look at this.” She screwed up her face and stuck out her stomach in a great imitation of a

pregnant woman. “I'm so fat!”

I made a cross between a smile and a grimace with my own face, suddenly feeling guilty that I was