Her Master Returns (Dark BDSM Erotica) Read online

  Her Master Returns

  (Dark BDSM Erotica)

  By Dan Bruce

  Copyright Dan Bruce, 2013

  Published by Firm Hand Books at Smashwords

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. 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.

  Chapter 2

  “And where did he penetrate you?”

  Emily looked at the nurse, thanking the gods that it was a woman. She had asked for one specifically which had meant an extra wait, but it would have been too galling to have had this discussion with a man. The whole experience of coming to the GUM clinic to check on her sexual health was humiliating enough without adding that extra layer.

  “Erm, well...”

  “Come on dear, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. And there’s nothing you can tell me that I haven’t heard before. Did you take his penis in your mouth as well as your vagina?”

  The nurse gave a warm reassuring smile, although Emily could see that behind the professional friendly facade there was a calculating mind assessing the situation. She wasn’t the first to look at Emily and wonder that following morning – Les had quizzed her as well when he saw the state of her face – the rest of her inflictions being hidden beneath a nightdress Emily had put on before retiring to bed long before her husband had returned from the cinema. He was easily fobbed off with a fabricating mugging which Emily insisted was not worth bothering the police with. But this astute Irish nurse, who was into her forties and seen a fair bit of life, wouldn’t be so easily fooled. Nor was there the same need for Emily to lie (well not about everything at least).

  “Yes,” Emily whispered; then nipping suspicion right in the bud she blushed and added, “I sucked him... and I also allowed him to penetrate me elsewhere.”

  The nurse raised her eyebrows, digesting two words: ‘allowed’ meant consent, so she wasn’t claiming forced sex, which from the marks around the face it certainly looked like; and ‘elsewhere’ meant the anus, the filthy little minx – she didn’t look like the type who would take it up the ass, but then London was a place full of surprises and packed with degenerates of all breeds and creeds. Of course as a fully trained healthcare worker the nurse hid her own personal views and continued with the consultation, casting no judgement as she filtered through the lies – especially the one about there being no steady partner – it was obvious she had removed the rings from her wedding finger.

  Emily played her way through it – giving the truth, or a sanitized version, when honesty was needed, but otherwise clouding it in a mist of fabrication. There was no way she was going to admit to a fraction of what she’d done! She maintained it was a drunken one-off adventure that got a little out of hand. Everything had been consented to, so no need to involve the authorities. She was just stupid in not insisting on protection, but the fault was hers and not the man’s. And no, she did not know who he was – that part was shamefully true, although she could offer up a couple of names if the clinic wished to give him a label: Her Nemesis and Her Master! Take a choice, because both were valid in a way.

  After the tortuous consultation, Emily was subjected to a variety of tests which proved to be equally galling. Blood samples were taken, which was no big deal, but the intimate examinations and the swabbing that followed were pure mortification. Having had her throat inspected by the torch yielding nurse, Emily was made to strip from the waist down and lie on an examination table, raising her knees and spreading them apart in a tasteless mimicry of fornication. Her groin was inspected by latex gloved hands, searching for swellings that would suggest an infection. Then the genitals were focused on, the nurse looking for warts, an unwanted discharge or some nasty little lice. Emily had all but screamed when she heard mention of that last one – the very idea was abhorrent!

  Then once again Emily’s pussy was penetrated, this time by plastic in the form of a speculum to hold her vaginal walls apart. There was no pai
n of any sort, just hideous indignity, as the speculum opened and swabs were taken. But that was nothing compared to the crushing humiliation when Emily had to turn over for the same process on her anus.

  She heard a sucked breath when her ass was revealed in all its battered glory. “That looks nasty! Are you sure you’ve told me everything, dear?” the kindly nurse asked, clearly doubting and trying to coax out the truth.

  “Yes,” croaked Emily; then she added to her shame by actually giving the truth. “I agreed!”

  It was a decisive moment - the final straw after so much indignity. Lying on her front and hidden from view, tears fell as the anal inspection was made and more swabs taken. They were tears of disgust and abject sorrow that she had allowed herself to be in this situation; that she had agreed to be in this current state: battered, screwed and possibly infected – infected up the ass because that’s where his cock had been the most and where he had spilled his seed. And in her misery on the table, with a nurse taking swabs from her well buggered rectum, Emily decided that enough had to be enough. She determined to put this all behind her as quickly as possible and never allow for a repeat. The sex might have been a sensation, violent and orgasmic, wallowing in a submission she found so fulfilling, but the consequences were unacceptable to this fastidious woman, who was a paragon of refinement and assertiveness in all other aspects of her life.

  Having pretended to have visited her G.P. for a check up, Emily was back in the office shortly after lunch, having received the good news that the swabs had proved negative, although she would have to wait a few days until the blood tests confirmed that everything was clear. The mugging story was repeated to explain away her facial marking, gaining Emily an unusual element of sympathy. Even Tessa Clifford, her arch-rival from Human Resources, showed an element of concern for Emily’s welfare, insisting that she should take the rest of the day off, which Emily refused to do, preferring to play the role of martyr.