Her Master Returns (Dark BDSM Erotica) (2 page)

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 pain 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.

Of course it was normality that Emily sought, preferring to be
busy in the office rather than idle at home with Les fussing over
her as if she was an invalid. Having resolved to do so, she needed
to get back to where she once was – become the old Emily Johnson
again – a tight-assed, sharp-tongued, proper little madam who was
strong and assertive and didn’t take crap from anyone, including
some minion who worked on one of the floors below. She needed to
obliterate the memory of Her Nemesis and free herself from the
chains of his mastery.

Not an easy task after all that had happened! But
nevertheless, Emily made a stab and attempted restoration: of a
prim and proper mind that had gone so terribly astray; and of a
body that ached for a variety of reasons and in places that had no
business hurting. In order to keep away from temptation, she
introduced some immediate changes into her routines; like making
sure she left work at a reasonable time, keeping an eye on the
office to ensure that there were always people around for her to
leave with. If she was to succeed in her plan to free herself from
her ruinous addiction, Emily knew she could never allow herself to
be caught alone again in the elevator, easy prey for the man who
seemed to know her every move and could play her like a hooked fish
on a line.

For the next few days, Emily followed this strategy, using
time and people to protect her from Her Nemesis and her own
depraved nature that was being determinedly subdued. The elevator
had been the tool – the initial arena for their verbal intercourse,
and the means to take them to a physical level. By neutralising the
weapon, Emily hoped she might win the battle she was fighting. Even
still, she was nervous when she entered the elevator with
co-workers, dreading that the man would be there to torment and
goad her with his mean dark looks that were ever so fine, his manly
musk that drove her wild, or even some words spoken in public –
humiliating with revelations that she could never deny in his
presence. Thankfully that never happened.

All through the following week Emily went about her business,
though a few other changes in her behaviour were observed. At home
she was a darn site more civil to Les, her hard put upon husband
from the Welsh Valleys, rarely ever bossing him around or showing
him discourtesy which had been the norm for most of their four year
marriage. But she was also less sexual – the month of passion that
she had treated him to, playing the dirty slut, demanding endless
fucks, even going down on Les and sucking him off, came to an
abrupt end. It was only when she received the relieving
confirmation that she had not contracted any disease that Emily
made an effort and allowed Les to screw her, which happened in the
dark with tears in her eyes. Les didn’t comment on any of this
behaviour – he was used to such vagaries, and he had always thought
of Emily as his darling angel and not as his dirty
whore.

At work Emily appeared to be normal, efficient and aloof – a
tight assed bitch in other words, which was what most of her
co-workers thought of her. But behind the professional facade of
cool efficiency, Emily was edgy. Every phone call she took was done
with apprehension, each knock on the door was greeted with alarm,
when she walked along a corridor she would flick glances all
around; her days were filled with dread and trepidation... and as
the week progressed - a sense of disappointment.

Chapter 3

It came on a Tuesday.

Almost two weeks had elapsed since Emily had taken the journey
down to the basement and surrendered to a man and the depravity of
her nature. She had succeeded to a degree in fooling herself that
she was actually putting it all behind her and that her life was
returning to normal. She had even managed to kid herself that she
was happy about the fact that no subsequent contact had been made –
sold herself the ridiculous notion that she wasn’t in the slightest
bit bothered that the man had probably moved on to some new tasty
prey and had consigned Emily Johnson to history, another notch on
his belt that was quickly forgotten having had his evil way with
her. Emily had refused to acknowledge the growing anger that she’d
been dismissed and forgotten so easily - that no attempt whatsoever
had been made to engage again and reclaim the stake he had made –
to use his bitch as a master should and treat her to those hours of
promised rutting. It was only in the shower, alone and naked, that
the naked truth occasionally surfaced and Emily absently played
with herself, recalling the sex that she vowed could never be
repeated, scratching an itch that just wouldn’t go away.

Neither would Her Nemesis! He was never going away. He was a
man with a plan who was just biding his time, waiting for the next
strike.

The strike came on a Tuesday, catching Emily by surprise. She
had planned to go to lunch with some of her bitchy professional
girlfriends, daring to face them having gathered her strength and
veneered herself with comforting lies. It was supposed to be
another step on the way to rehabilitation, but it all went up in
smoke when the internal mail arrived containing a simple printed
memo from an unknown source. Emily read it with shaking hands and a
galloping heart in her chest.

‘Mrs Johnson. I am pleased to inform you that you will be
working late tonight. You may leave at 6:45p.m. Have a nice
day.’

The first reaction was joy – he hadn’t forsaken her! Then came
excitement – he was going to use her again and give her all that
she craved. Then came the voice of righteous indignity – he was
going to use her again and take her back to square one – the very
fabric of her life was a risk! Finding resolve, Emily crumpled the
paper up and threw it in her waste bin then quickly retrieved it,
worried it might be found and embarrassing questions asked. Before
feeding it to the shredder, she pressed it out flat and read it
again, seeing the same words. There could be no mistake about the
meaning. It screamed out from the sheet, stark in black and
white... Her Nemesis Master was telling her to get in the elevator
at 6:45p.m. There was no threat, no attempt at blackmail – just a
simple command. And Emily knew without doubt that she would be
there despite all her resolve to ignore the message.

Why?

She didn’t analyse it. You might just as well have asked her
why she had to breathe – it was a necessity – simple as
that.

For the rest of the day it was constantly on Emily’s mind. She
kidded herself that she would defy the command and leave at her
normal time, but in her heart she knew she would do no such thing.
She excused herself from the arranged lunch on the pretext of
pressing work. Instead she went out and bought a new set of clothes
so she had something to change into – just in case. She also bought
some toiletries and a basic first aid kit which she placed in her
Chanel bag to join the essentials she kept in there.

All through the afternoon Emily was restless, constantly
checking her watch. Five o’clock came then five-thirty then six.
She watched as the top floor emptied but made no attempt to leave.
By six-thirty she was panicking and thought to make a dash, but the
only place she went was to the restroom where she ensured
everything was in order with regard to her bowels – again just in
case – then she spent five minutes fixing her make-up and hair,
even though she knew it would end up a mess. Her last act was to
send a text message to Les to say she would be working late –
probably very late. She wondered if she would actually go
home.