Eventide (Her Father, My Master) (10 page)

the weekdays, doing whatever it was he did. I didn't know, and part of me didn't want to know. It was

something with the government.

I walked through the living room, making my way to the kitchen. Everything was exactly as I

remembered it, down to the position of photos in the room. Nothing had been touched. Everything was

the same.

In the kitchen, I found the menu for the night, with recipes. It was easy enough – chili with cornbread,

and a salad. Curious, I glanced in the refrigerator, and looked in the cupboards and large, walk-in

pantry. While the dry goods were well stocked, the fridge was pretty bare. I peered inside the

tupperware containers. Hamburger Helper and boxed macaroni and cheese, of course. He really couldn't

cook, and apparently Maddie hadn't been taking care of him in that department.

The strangest feeling overcame me when that thought crossed my mind. What if Maddie
had
been

taking care of him, and doing all the things for him that I did. I shook my head. That was too weird to

even contemplate.

I forced my mind towards dinner. The chili needed to get started first, and then the cornbread.

Cooking was a bit of a zen experience for me. It was so easy to forget my troubles, and just focus on

the vegetables I was cutting, the knife slicing through them, the harsh clack of metal on wood when the

blade connected with the cutting board. I was always so entranced by the various sights, sounds, and

smells of the kitchen, though this was a new feeling for me. I'd never done much cooking before I came to

my master's house.

It was a good feeling though, and one I thanked my master for. I knew I was learning valuable real-

world skills here, skills that would allow me to survive on my own, and take care of any place I lived in.

I froze, my knife pausing mid-cut on a tomato. This was the first time I'd contemplated life after... all

of this. I knew it had to come to an end eventually, I just didn't know when. But I knew it had to. I

couldn't deny it. There was a small part of me that wanted to move on already.

But I beat that part of me down into submission. There was a much larger part that wanted to stay. I

was here, and I would stay.

I got everything chopped and prepared for the chili, and I threw it all in a large pot where I'd been

browning some beef. One thing I loved about soups and stews like chili was that they were easy to

prepare, and didn't require a lot of babysitting.

Once the chili was going, I made the cornbread. It was easy, just from a mix, and I threw it in the oven

after five minutes.

In less than an hour, dinner was on its way to being ready, for the most part. I now surveyed the

kitchen. It needed to be cleaned. Mr. Hendricks was not a sloppy person, but there were still things that

needed to be done, and this was my first task on my scheduler anyways.

It was good to be back. I liked having a schedule, a list of tasks to accomplish. It kept me motivated

and busy. It was one thing that I lacked over the the summer. Other than my job at the coffee shop, I didn't have any obligations, and I wasted most of my time in front of the computer, playing video games, or just

talking with people. But now, I had things that needed to be done. And if I didn't do them, I would be

punished.

I gave a shudder at that thought as I scrubbed a pan. I didn't mind being punished, not at all. Though

my master's punishments hurt, I knew I deserved them. I was a naughty girl, sometimes.

I was still cleaning the kitchen when my master arrived home. In fact, I was on the floor, scrubbing

the warm maple wood, when I heard his footsteps thud through the tiled laundry room. I froze in place,

unsure of what to do.

“Now that's a sight I like to see,” he said, and I heard the thud of a briefcase hit the counter. I

remained still, letting him take in as much of the view as he wanted. “Forehead on the ground,” he

commanded, and I immediately obeyed, dipping my head and pressing my head against the cool, damp

wood. “You know that to say.”

“I am an obedient slave. My master gives me pleasure,” I breathed into the hard wood. The reaction

was immediate. My body throbbed and pulsed with need, and I felt a fiery thrill race through my body,

from my head all the way down to my bare toes.

There were more footsteps now. I couldn't see a thing. My blonde hair was draped all around my

face, totally blocking my vision. I nearly jumped when I felt thick fingers trace their way down my spine,

causing more shivers to erupt throughout my body. He was hot, as he always was, and he felt like a

heated iron on my cool skin, which was already quickly warming as blood pumped through my veins.

“Good pet. Good girl,” he murmured, and then brought his hand upwards, grabbed an hank of my hair

and pulled, tugging at it. He wasn't pulling hard; just hard enough for slight pinpricks to trace through my skull. I knew the real pain would come later. For now, I reveled in his approval. I drank it up like it

was water and I was dying of thirst.

“Stand up,” he commanded, and I obeyed, awkwardly pulling myself to my knees, and then my feet.

The entire time he had that iron grip on my hair. “Dinner can wait, I think,” Mr. Hendricks said, “play

starts now.” With that, he harshly yanked on my hair, causing true pain to blossom in my vision. My body

throbbed and ached for him. This is exactly what I wanted to here. I wanted him, and I wanted him now.

But he would have me on his own terms, not mine. That was the nature of the relationship. He pulled

me upstairs by my hair, like an ancient Neanderthal claiming his prize, and I had no choice but to follow.

He was in control, complete control of me. And I loved every last second of it.

He threw open my door, and then threw me in my bed. I felt like he was close to ripping that hank of

hair out; I saw stars from the pain of it, and I drank that pain in, savoring it, transforming it to pleasure in my mind.

Tonight, the play was rough. There was nothing artful about it – no Japanese rope bondage, no

whipping, no chains, no candles, no ice or fur. It was just him and me. My master needed no tools to

show his dominance over me. He just needed his body, and his mind. I was like a fragile leaf shuddering

before the violent storm that he was. I was a blade of grass, a tiny bird.

After he threw me on the bed, he clambered on top of me, pinning my shoulders down on the soft

comforter. I was on my belly, and my face was pressed against a pillow. I could scarcely breathe.

“What are you?” he rasped, shoving his body against mine. I could feel every inch of him, even

through his clothing.

“I am an obedient slave. My master gives me pleasure,” I gasped, my voice muffled through the cotton

and fabric.

“Good girl,” he growled, grabbing my hair once again and pulling back on it. I squealed at the sudden

pain, and he slapped me harshly on my ass. “Quiet,” he commanded, and I nodded silently, my head

jerking against his grip. This would be a challenge. He'd never commanded me to be quiet during rough

sex before.

He released his grip from my head and shoulder, and I could suddenly breathe again as his weight was

lifted from me, if only for a moment. I heard the rustling of fabric and I knew he was disrobing, but I

didn't dare look back. I didn't dare move at all. I scarcely dared to even breathe.

Just a few seconds later, he was back, his hot body pressing down on me once more. I could feel his

thick cock, like a hot iron against my back as his roaming hands pressed down on my upper arms once

again.

“Say it!” he commanded.

“I am an obedient slave. My master gives me pleasure,” I wheezed into the sheets. He was so heavy,

he was squeezing the air out of my lungs, but I loved every second of it. I loved how dense he was, how

there
he was.

He slipped backwards now, still keeping his full weight on me as his engorged member dragged along

the skin of my back, and then my ass cheeks. Soon, he was dipping between my legs, the hot tip of his

cock nestled between the drenched folds of my hyper-sensitive pussy. I wanted nothing more than to

strain backwards, impale myself on him and feel him fully. I hadn't felt that in weeks. I longed for it. I ached for it.

His hands had dragged backwards as well, and he was no longer clutching my hair. He was gripping

my hips with such a fierceness that I was sure I would see bruises in the morning. He added to the bruise

by slapping me now, wordlessly prompting me into my chant.

“I am an obedient slave. My master gives me pleasure. I am an obedient slave. My master gives me

pleasure,” I rasped, and when I finished the second repetition, he plunged inside me, filling me to the brim and stretching me wide. I nearly screamed, but at the last second I remembered I was supposed to be

quiet. I caught the scream in my throat and it came out a strange sounding wheeze instead. My master

slapped me again, his hand connecting sharply with my ass.

“Silence!” he repeated, slamming his hips against me at the same time. His heavy balls slapped

against my thighs as he cock squelched inside of me. I was so wet, so wet for him. I bit my tongue, trying to force any noise I wanted to make back down in my throat. I had to be good for him. He demanded

nothing less.

Mr. Hendricks settled into a rhythmic pounding now, and I shoved my head down into the sheets,

inhaling great lungfuls of his scent from them, whispering my mantra to myself, over and over. It was true; he gave me such pleasure I could barely stand it. I was on the verge of coming, just from having this

mantra roll around in my head, over and over. He pumped against me, faster and faster, more and more

roughly, shoving me along the bed. I felt absolutely dominated in that moment. There was no one who

could please me like my master did.

Faster and faster he went, his jerking becoming more spastic than rhythmic now. My master might

give me pleasure, but I swelled with pride at that moment, because I knew I was giving him just as much

pleasure in return. I was going to make him come. I loved making him come. For just a few seconds, he

lost control, right inside me as he painted my walls with his come. For just a few moments, I wasn't

exactly in control, but I felt like we were on equal ground.

Mr. Hendricks roared as his orgasm overtook him at exactly that moment. I gave out the tiniest groan

of pleasure as my cunt clenched around his cock. I knew how much he liked that feeling, the feeling of my

tensing around him. He slammed down again me one, two times as his cock emptied inside me, and then

he stopped, panting and heaving like a raging bull.

He had my hips in an iron grip. I could feel his fingers release, one by one, as if it was the greatest

challenge in the world for him to let go of me. And then he withdrew. The worst part. I hated this part. I felt empty again, even though I was still full of his come.

I felt the bed rise as he slipped off of it, and heard the rustle of fabric as he dressed himself again.

“Come downstairs and serve me,” he said, and left the room.

I was a mess. How could I serve him, in this state? I could feel sweat trickling down my back, my

juices smeared around my cunt and thighs. I smelled like sweat and semen and sex, and he wanted me to

serve him like this? I shuddered. What a naughty thought.

What my master wanted, my master got. I slid off the bed as well, and left the room, going directly

down the stairs and into the kitchen. No clean up for me.

He was already sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for his meal. My heart quickened at the sight. He

looked clean and completely put together, even though he'd just been fucking my brains out not a few

minutes ago. And here I stood, still drenched, my hair a tangled mess.

Quickly, I served him a bowl of the chili, and a large slice of cornbread. It was the sweet kind, soft

and flaky, more like a cake than a bread.

He devoured the food quickly while I stood and waited, squirming in my own messiness. I prayed that

he liked it. I could feel his come slipping and dribbling down my thighs, now.

“Good,” he finally said. “Good girl.” He stood, and placed his napkin on the table. “Eat, and then

clean yourself up.” With that, he left the room. Though I desperately would have liked t go clean up first, the order of his command was perfectly clear. Eat,
then
clean up.

I was left to stew in my own juices as I quickly served and ate my own dinner. I was hungry – much

hungrier than I'd felt just an hour ago, before the play session. Though it hadn't really been a session, just a rough fuck.

I finished quickly, and then ran up to the bathroom. I needed a shower.

We settled into our comfortable, familiar routine over the next weeks. I cooked, cleaned, took care of

the house, and took care of Mr. Hendricks in every way that I was capable of. In turn, he took care of me.

I'd forgotten how much I missed him, how much I missed this.

I enrolled for my next semester in college as well, at the online university he picked out for me. I had

a heavy course load; I was hoping to be able to graduate early, even. I wasn't certain why I was rushing

through my schooling though. Maybe it was just for lack of things to do around here.

So, I cooked, cleaned, exercised, and worked on my studies in the weeks leading up to fall break.