Greetings Saturday Spankers, I hope you are well and 2022 is being kind to you thus far. A bit of a blast from the past today with a snippet from MASTER OF HER WORLD.
Imagine a planet where the women have to receive semen into their bodies three times a day in order to survive in the atmosphere? Well I did, and this is what happened...
“When your name came up in the register to come to Roun as a slave, did you have a
choice?” he asked. “Did your parents allow you to make the decision or was it forced upon you?”
“No, it wasn’t forced upon me,” she said quickly, remembering the relief on their faces when she’d been picked. “Not at all. My parents are intelligent people and they love me dearly,
but they knew Roun was my only hope for a healthy and long life.”
“Even though you’d be a slave, bound to do the bidding of another for the rest of your
days?”
“It seems a small price to pay for the gift of your semen.”
“Would you not wish to take the synthetic semen? Live in a different way here on Roun?
There has been talk in some circles of that happening for Zoid women.” He shifted on the bed and it creaked.
She wondered if he was looking at her now, but kept her eyes closed, lost in her own little world and enjoying the deep timbre of her master’s voice.
“No. This is the life I chose. The synthetic stuff, it doesn’t make me feel the same way you do... and...”
“And... go on.”
“I’d be scared, Sir. How would I fit in here? I have nothing except the clothes I stand in. Like all women from Zoid I have little in the way of skills; concentrating with low blood oxygen levels wasn’t easy. Only the most privileged children on Zoid are given smog-free air to breathe when studying. Those expected to go on to be scientists and have ideas to save Zoid.” She sighed again. “But it’s beyond saving.”
“That’s without doubt.” He paused. “Look at me, slave.”
She opened her eyes.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers curled around the blanket, staring at her.
“So,” he said, his thick eyebrows pulled low, “you want to be here? With me?”
“Yes, Sir, very much. It’s my dream come true.”
“It is?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes. You’re a kind master, a handsome master with lots of strong semen. Your dome is
beautiful, the views, the birds, the suns. I feel very fortunate.”
He nodded slowly. “And you enjoy your medication?”
“Yes, Sir. If it pleases you, that is?”
“Of course it pleases me, medicating you is pleasurable for me; if it wasn’t, my cock
wouldn’t get hard for you.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“You have a lot to learn.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And I will teach you in many ways.”
“Like the clamps, Sir.”
“Yes, and the flogger and my hand.” He held up his palm, the one he’d injured. “Come
here.”
She hesitated.
“Now.”
“Yes, Sir.” She quickly stood, clasping her hands before her.
“I wish to check the poppy balm has worked.” He flexed and unflexed his fingers as his
attention dipped to her breasts. “If not I will apply more so I’m healed by morning. Tomorrow I have much to do.”
“Yes, Sir.” She curled her toes on the hard floor. How was he going to test the health of his hand?
“Lay yourself over my knee.” He straightened and drew his legs together.
Briella stayed rooted to the spot. Did he really want her draped over his lap? Her breasts against his thighs, her belly squashed against his leg?
He tipped his head. “If you’re a good slave, I will allow you to ask me one question. I can see that many are swirling in that pretty head of yours.”
“Yes, Sir.” One question? She stepped up to him, then gingerly, not wanting to hurt him, settled face down on his lap.
“I won’t break,” he muttered, with a tinge of impatience. He pressed between her shoulders, pinning her to the bed, and dragged her hips so that she was flush with his body.
Gasping at the sudden swift movement, she gripped the covers and pressed her cheek onto the sheet.
“Ah, such a sweet ass,” he said, skimming his hand over both buttocks.
She was still tender from the flogger but she could easily tolerate him touching her there now.
“You pinked up quickly when I flogged you for the enforcers.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“But now I’m going to pink you up for me. To see if my hand copes with spanking you,
slave.”
“Yes, Sir. As you wish.”
“I do wish.” He stroked up to her hairline then down her back to her thighs, then behind her knees. He tickled and caressed, the hard calluses on his palms scratching her slightly.
She writhed, enjoying his touch and the adoration he seemed to put into each movement. Suddenly it hit; one hard, resounding slap on her right buttock.
She cried out as the pain bloomed over her skin, then jerked, trying to get away from it.
The sting followed.
“No, keep still.” He gathered her hair in his free hand and tugged.
She stilled as her scalp complained. “Oh, Sir...”
“I wish to see my handprint come alive.”
