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Do Jeff and Tracy end up together?

"

"Would you rather stay out here, Sir?" And I stop completely to turn to him, hold him tight and seek his mouth by the light of neighbors' windows.

He pulls away with some difficulty; my Owner's flesh and blood appearances make me ravenous. I need every last drop of the pleasure his lips and sweet skin provide all my senses. A fucking addict. He agrees we should get me inside, and as I reach in my purse for the keys, I place in his palm another object that feels similar. The nipple clamps I'd been instructed to wear had fallen off on the hurried walk to the station, though I'd screwed them on as tight as I could. The bouncing of the chain hadn't lasted the half hour of rushing to meet him on time and I wanted him to know this before I undressed so he wouldn't think I'd disobeyed.

I was disappointed, though, because the outline of the clamps and the U shape of the chain visible through my sweater made me feel like a good slut slave when I'd checked myself over a final time before leaving. He doesn't mind and says he will just have to help me tighten them properly. Such a sweet Master, always helping me to serve better… It does occur now that if I had a sluttier imagination, I would have ducked into a shadow on the street to re-attach them. I have little imagination, really, just memories I prize above any real or intangible possession. My fantasies are almost all real at this point, and I'm mostly comprised of memories and lust for more. Wanting what is aches as bad as what can't be. A minor sub discovery.

My evening bag contains cigarettes, a lighter, nipple clamps, and keys (only the essentials), so we are soon inside the sanctuary of the two rooms where we will play all night. I take his coat and when I return, find my Owner seated in the chair by my dining table. (There is only one chair because the few guests I have don't expect me to feed them—the table is for making favored memories into paintings and is all stained with paint.) I wonder now why I didn't kneel right away, such is my eagerness to serve, but sensed he wanted me to stand in front of him. He reaches for my waist and pulls down the gauzy skirt. He lifts my top a little, to signal I'm to pull it over my head and then I am standing before the man I love, enjoying the feel of his hands caressing my pristine black tights, purchased to be ruined tonight. His hands on my hips, sliding back over my buttocks, the glimmer of lust in his eyes have me feeling intoxicated and I long for the order to bend over the table.

He leads me by the arm, spreads my legs wider, tells me "Head down," which I should know by now, but I think I just love to hear him say the words. With the whole flat of his hand he rubs my soaking cunt, sliding back and forth, smearing me further, exploring just how wet he's made his slave already. His clothed cock is pressed hard into my ass and he can sense how ready I am to be either spanked or fucked. He rips open the tights to expose my ass and rips again to touch his fingertips to my bare cunt. My Owner leans over me to murmur how much he likes the look of torn fishnets, asks me can I feel the effect it has on him, as he grinds against my lifted ass. My moans are soft and continuous from wanting him so much.

He wets my ass generously with the flood from my cunt. His wet hand smoothing my sluttish presentation feels heavenly… Then I get the series of firm slaps I've needed so much. It's never been expected of me, but I thank him for each one, though maybe not in words. I hope he knows every grunt, every squeal, means, Thank you, Sir. Then he enters me again with his fingers, coating them in thick fluid. The noise I make when he finger fucks my ass is shriller than when he enters the cunt I gave him to Own.

"Sorry, I just can't resist doing that," he says with gentle humor.

"I don't mind it, Sir." It's more than "I don't mind," but the state of being subjugated is inarticulate. When I told him my body was his, I'd meant all of it.

It's time for me to undress him.

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