Rough Sex with My Master

'Can I hold it?' I asked him, looking at the sharp blade in his hand.

'You want to hold it?' He asked, laughing, turning it over in his hand as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

'Yes, can I?' I asked, licking my cherry-balmed lips.

He extended the katana to me, as he sat there in his lazy boy bare-chested, where barely an inch of skin was visible, for the mass of ink etched across it.

Taking the katana, I ran my thumb and forefinger along its length carefully. He'd been sharpening it moments before as I had laid on the sofa in a post-coital haze of his smoke and bliss.

I didn't want to ever leave, I felt like I belonged right here where time stood still, where I didn't have to be anything to anyone. I was free too to be exactly who I was, I was safe to lower my mask.

He poured two glasses half full of neat Jack Daniel's and pushed one toward me, despite the fact it was only 11am on a Wednesday. Still clutching the katana in one hand, I knocked back the whisky with the other and felt the warmth of it spread throughout me.

'Bring my pussy over here.' He said, patting his lap for me to come over.

To be honest, I didn't know if I could handle it. I was still sore from the last round of our sex, he had an insatiable appetite for me which was almost impossible to keep up with. It wasn't often that we got to see one another, and he was always keen to maximise the time we did get.

As I made my way over to him and lowered myself down onto his lap, my legs straddling him, I thought about a different time, a time when it would have been more acceptable to be in this situation. His brooding, dark eyes bore into mine as I began to grind against him, my pussy bare under my dress and still wet from his last load. I always let him fuck me raw, I always let him fill me up, I needed to carry a part of him for as long as possible once we'd parted.

He placed his hands on my hips, pushing me harder, firmer, down into his crotch, his grey Moncler tracksuit bottoms grazing against my clit. I still had the katana in my hand yet he didn't seem remotely concerned, not once did he look at it, and not once did he question my ability to handle it properly. His eyes remained focused on me, inhaling the scent of me, getting high off of the proximity of my sex.

Taking his hands off of my hips, he gently grabbed my wrist of the hand which held the katana and lowered my arm, so that the blade was between our faces, either side of the metal pressing gently into our cheeks.

Unable to continue to grind against him, I stayed motionless, feeling the hardness of him up against my clit. For what seemed an eternity, we were locked into one another, I could smell the whisky on his breath, the metal between us. I was sure he could hear my heart hammering against my chest.

My breathing quickened, as the anticipation for what was about to happen built. I was almost fearful for the sheer velocity of pleasure that was about to surely engulf me, it was almost too much for me to bear. He pushed against the blade with his cheek ever so slightly, so that blood ran down the sheath of the blade from his cheek and mine. I watched as our blood merged near the base of the blade and ran down onto the tsuka (the handle of the blade)

I gasped as he slowly released me from his hold and deftly taking the katana from me in one swift movement, he threw it across the room, where it clattered against his glass coffee table and fell to the floor.

Standing, he effortlessly lifted me with him, my legs now wrapped around his waist. He carried me to his bedroom and threw me on his bed, blood was still running down his face and as he pinned me down, it dripped down onto me, onto my face, into my wound.

'Baby.' I purred, running my tongue along my lips where some blood had collected, mine or his I wasn't sure.

Putting one hand around my delicate throat, he groaned as he pulled his rock-hard 8-inch dick out of his boxers. He wasn't much of a conversationalist, he didn't do dirty talk or much of a build-up. He would message me a time and date and I'd just respond yes or no, that was it. He liked to be brief, to get down to it and when he did, he always delivered, always.

He pushed his dick up inside me, hard. Roughly he began to fuck me as though I was a limp, sex doll with no feelings of my own but then, that was part of the pleasure, that it hurt, hurt so fucking bad. I looked up at him, feeling the pain somewhere deep inside me as he seemed somewhere else altogether. His eyes were closed, his thrusts grew more urgent, harder and faster and his dick felt as though it was hitting spots it shouldn't.

'Stop.' I said, my hands grabbing his hips as I couldn't contain the pain I was experiencing anymore.

He took his hand which had gripped my throat, to the point I was feeling unable to breathe and clamped it over my mouth instead. Ignoring me, and pushing my hands semi-aggressively away from his hips, he moved me up onto the bed further. He began to be even more rough with me, though I hadn't thought it possible. He muffled my cries by pushing his hand harder over my mouth but he did pull his dick out and started slapped my clit with it, sending a tremor of pleasure down it.

For a few minutes, he just fucked me with the tip, which I suppose was a mercy act for the pain he knew I was experiencing. Then,

he stopped fucking me altogether, sweat now dripping down his face and neck, down onto his tattooed chest and he took his hand away from my mouth.

Catching his breath, he looked down at me with a questioning expression that said, 'You going to stay quiet?' I nodded in response to his silent query and, wiping the sweat from his face with a T-shirt from the floor, he smiled at me, showing off his mouthful of gold teeth.

'Turn over.' He said, his smile quickly disappearing, stroking his dick up and down slowly, ensuring it was as hard as possible.

I didn't want to argue with him but, putting my fingers inside my pussy, I pulled them out to see a little blood tinged with his cum and my own. He'd gone too deep, he'd been too rough and that was in missionary. I didn't think I could take him from behind, where he'd be able to reach so much deeper and I feared that was his exact line of thought.

'I'm bleeding.' I said as I got into position for him, arching my back, regardless because I do as I'm told when it comes to him.

'I can smell it, metallic.' He said, slapping my arse so hard it stung.

He bent down and kissed my puffed up pussy, wedged, swollen between my legs, my arse high in the air just how he liked. He pushed his tongue into my opening, tasting the damage, tasting himself, tasting me.

In the distance, I could hear a familiar beep of a truck, I could hear a door slam, I could hear the shouts of a voice I didn't want to associate with this moment.

'Does he want to join us?' He asked, shaking his head, he stood up and pulled his boxers and tracksuit bottoms back on. I shimmied over and sat on the edge of the bed, my black minidress still on, pulled up around my waist.

'What are you going to do?' I asked, my mouth going dry, I began to feel lightheaded. This was not good. Not good at all.

'Stay there. Don't move.' He said, pointing at me and there he left me sat.

He went from the room and pushed open his front door, slamming it hard behind him. Going over to the window, I looked down past the five storeys below where I could just about make out my boyfriend banging on the main door which you needed to be buzzed in to enter the flats. Any moment now, the door was going to swing open violently and the two men more important to me in the World than any other, were going to collide.

And I found it wildly arousing. I just hoped he hadn't taken the katana with him.