My Promiscuous Amsterdam – ebook

Excerpt

“What’s troubling you?” Jackson asked.

Although I’d tried to hide my concern, I was still worried about the bizarre exchange I had with my art instructor days before. Now, I was afraid I’d have to confess.

“Troubling me? Nothing really…” I answered my master, but I didn’t lie well.

He pulled closer and forced his gaze on mine. “I don’t believe you, Marlena. You’ve looked worried all morning.”

“You think I’m worried?”

“You’d be lying if you denied it.”

“Well,” I took a deep breath, unhappy that I’d so easily communicated my concern. “You remember when you picked me up outside the art school Friday afternoon?”

“Yes, you give wonderful blowjobs. We’ll have to do that again soon.” He smiled.

“Yes, that part was wonderful,” I smiled back. “Probably the best thing that could have happened to take my mind off Roelf.”

He looked at me puzzled. “You’d better explain.”

“I know—” I paused, how to start this… I gulped, no doubt looking visibly nervous. “You see…that afternoon,” I squinted sheepishly, “he came on to me…he wanted sex!”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. And I think he assumed I’d do it. Although I have no clue why. He’s such an ass!”

“Really? So what happened?”

“I refused, of course. I told him he was out of line… or something like that and that I had a Dom, thank you, I didn’t need him.”

“And how did he respond?”

I could have made something up at this point, but instead, I went barreling ahead with the truth, feeling relieved to finally get this out in the open. “He said—if you can believe his gall—that I should tell my master what happened, tell him that he wants to take my ass…and see what he says.”

“The guy does have balls.” He thought a moment, then asked: “How do you feel about the artist?” He watched my scowling expression carefully, and added the warning, “Truthfully, Marlena?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t know. I hate him, yes, but like everything else I’ve experienced since I’ve been in Amsterdam, there is a perverse sort of…” I stopped with the words caught in my throat.

“You’re attracted to him,” Jackson stated bluntly.

“No!”

“If you weren’t, he wouldn’t upset you so much.”

“No, that can’t be!”

“Then what is it that rattles you about him?”

“I don’t know.” Wanting to cry, my face screwed up with tears welling in my eyes.

“C’mon, you do know. And stop the theatrics.” He wiped my tears with his handkerchief.

I snuffed miserably. “Well…I suppose he’s sexy, oddly sexy, not like men I’m used to… not like you at all. He’s vulgar, loathsome, downright mean—although his contempt is so beautifully packaged. Everything he says to me puts me on edge. But…” I didn’t want to admit what I knew as true.

“But…”

“Well, there’s kind of a weird thrill about his attention, even when it’s so negative. He has a lewd charm, yes. Makes my skin crawl.”

“Hum. It’s obvious you’re attracted to him sexually.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Of course, you are.”

“And if I don’t agree with you?”

“You’re free to disagree, but that won’t change what I think.” Like he had the only real opinion, I silently fumed. “What if I were to order you to submit to him, how would that feel?”

I was aghast. “You wouldn’t do that?”

“Oh, but I would.”

I slumped back on the pillows stunned. “You’re serious.”

He didn’t reply, just stared. I got the message.

Then he asked again, “How would you feel?”

I could already sense the terrible tremor of desire sweeping through me. I’m sure Jackson noticed. “I’d feel shamed…but then,” I took a deep breath and tried to be real with my feelings, “the idea of obeying you, submitting to your command, even when I might be repulsed by the idea…” Oh, my! This did sound twisted! “…that would be deeply satisfying. That makes no sense, does it?”

“Desire doesn’t have to make sense, it’s irrational by definition. You have an intense desire to please me as your master. So you’d submit and find the satisfaction you seek. But with Roelf, it’s more than that. You sexually desire a man you hate. That’s what bothers you so much. You hate him for being the asshole he is, and especially because he has a knack for understanding your failings and pointing them out in rather brutal fashion. Am I wrong here?”

The idea stunned me and I shook my head bewildered.

“There’s more,” he went on. “You have a submissive’s fascination for humiliation. You may not like that fact, but it’s painfully true.”

“As in, I like the way he shames me?” This was astonishing.

“Perverse, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s perverse.” I could say that with great assurance and know at the same time that perverse or not, I did have a fascination for humiliation. I’d seen a half dozen women taunted by Roelf in a fashion similar to the way he verbally abused me. The others waved him off with snide remarks, while I silently burned inside and felt my body respond with a vulgar glee. Hard to admit, but true.

“Tomorrow after your class session, you’ll inform Roelf that you spoke to your master just as he suggested and he’s ordered you to submit to him.”

“What?” I dropped my jaw in disbelief. “No! No! No!” I shook my head.

“You heard me.”

“But…but you…you can’t…” I sputtered.

His steady, informative tone chilled to a somber pitch. “I can’t force you, but this is what your relationship with me means, Marlena. It’s my game, you play by my rules. On this, and every other issue, you’ll obey me or I quit. Do I have your consent?”

“Yes…yes, of course, sir.”

 

***

 

Roelf ignored me so thoroughly during my Monday class session that I felt foolish approaching him. But still, the drive to complete my assignment was firm. I remained after the class session for his other students to leave the room.

 

“You stay here even when you abhor me?” he said, as I approached the front of the room where he was fishing through a sheaf of drawings with a disgusted expression on his face.

“I told my master what you said,” I informed him.

He looked up, interested. “Well, what a surprise that you’d be that brave. What did he say?”

Although my weak voice faltered, I managed to spit out the truth: “He’s ordered me to submit to you.”

I expected another one of his smug smiles, but I think he was too stunned to respond in his usual manner. He stared at me for an interminable period of time before finally saying without a trace of scorn, “In what way submit?”

“As you wished me to last Friday afternoon.”

“Humm. He must be testing your willingness for humiliation,” he mused. Again no ridicule intended.

“That would be for my master to determine,” I said.

“Indeed so.” Only then was there a faint snicker and that crude light in his penetrating eyes. But the intent behind his gaze didn’t bother me this time. I understood what I had to do… what I had permission to do. Maybe this was what I wanted all along. As if Jackson was in the room behind me, commanding me, directing my actions and my thoughts, I moved forward feeling a wildness of spirit overtake me. The sexual energy in me connected with the act. I felt like a woman I didn’t even know, willing, desiring, tempted.

For a moment, I was uncertain, almost expecting Roelf to deny me with a contemptible sneer. Would that not be the ultimate in humiliation? To have me burning on the edge of my arousal, needing him now, not resisting and he, revenging my previous rejection, refusing me. His hesitation made me thirst even more. My lips were dry, but to lick them only communicated this new fear.

The sleazy sneer became more obvious, and there was that burning eroticism that I’d seen in his eyes before. He moved closer until he stood just inches from me. His hand groped beneath my skirt, pressing against my pubic mound and then clutching it with his slender, angry fingers. I felt the penetration of his middle finger through my silk panties and my pussy clenched eagerly.

“Ja. You are a glutton for humiliation.”

His scorn returned with a vile shower of contempt pouring out on me. But now, rather than deny its devious allure, my body melted with ease. I wanted him to use me.

“You’ll tell the master everything, bitch. You’ll tell him how you’re feeling now.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure I’ll have to.”

“You call me, sir,” he ordered tersely, as if I’d offended him.

“Yes, sir,” I sputtered. The word almost stuck in my throat but I said it.

His lip curled with delight. “Yes, that’s right. You’ll let him know what a slut you are, what a trashy little whore you are under that silly innocent façade. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, sir, that’s so,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Oh, you know what you are, you trashy whore,” his dripping eyes reeked with sexual savagery, “so let me hear it from your lips. Tell me what you are, little bitch.” He loved saying these disgusting things.

I shivered—and the tears, I couldn’t stop the tears that streamed down my cheeks.

Clutching my pubic mound with terrifying force, Roelf’s forceful hand shook my entire body.

“Say it!” he barked.

“I’m…I-I’m a trashy whore, sir.”

“That’s right. MY trashy whore. Say it!”

“Your trashy whore, sir” I spit back.

“My slutty bitch. Say it!”

“I’m your slutty bitch.”

“My brave little fuck cunt. Say it!”

“I’m your brave little fuck cunt, sir.”

The words came out despite myself. They made my body bold, my stomach quiver and my whole belly spasm with a raw and painful want. An instant more of this and I would orgasm from this brutal madness. I luridly moved against the feel of his fingers while the arousal in my sex viciously expanded.

His smile was now no different than when he took pleasure in demeaning me before. I shuddered with hate and with a depraved and passionate yearning for more. “So, tell me, trashy whore, my slutty bitch, little fuck cunt,” every word accused me, “tell me how much you want my dick in your ass. Say it and it’s yours.”

I was breathless, my body about to explode, my juices pouring from my hole, soaking my panties, wetting his hand. “Yes, sir, I want your dick in my ass. I want you to fuck me there. I want you to fuck me hard, sir. Very hard.”

“You want to be used by me. Ja?”

“Yes, sir, I want to be used by you.”

“And you’ll do whatever I say. You’ll be whatever I want.”

“Yes, I will do whatever you say. I’ll be whatever you want.”

He laughed mockingly, and pulled his hand away, just at the moment when I felt my body heat about to rise hard and climax. He backed up. Sizing me up, he leered at me, head to toe. “And let’s be honest,” his voice eased slightly from the terse commanding tone, “you want me for me, not just because the master says so. I’m right, huh?”

“Yes, Roelf, you’re right. I want you…”

“Humph…” he nodded. “Good, very good, cunt. He trained you to be truthful.” His sneer deepened. “Now, turn around, bend over, and if you want that asshole greased for action, you’d better use that flood between your thighs for lube.”

Frightened, but unable to stop myself, I turned around, bent over the same table Roelf pushed me over days before, and bared my ass. How strange that the humiliation should make me brave now, where I was terrified and angry before. I reached into my crotch and gathered my juices on my fingers, then swathed the opening of my ass. My depravity made me bold.

“Very good, cunt. Now put a finger in your ass.”

I’d never done this before—I’d never done anything like this scene before. I’d never used those vulgar words. I’d never given myself to a master. And never would I have thought of giving myself to someone whose sole intent was to demean me.

My finger edged along the tight opening of my sphincter, and I lurched forward as I poked it inside.

“That’s it, now work it in,” Roelf ordered.

I did my best.

“Now add another,” he said.

I added the second finger carefully, sensing my opening widen just a little, though my anus felt tight and raw.

“That’s it, fuck yourself, trashy cunt.”

I pounded my rear with the two fingers, jamming them inside me with a force I would never have recognized as my own. My body seemed to give, my ass, my dripping cunt, opening like buds exploding.

“Yes, do that, slut, add another finger and fuck your ass!”

The three fingers made a sizable cock that opened my bottom wider. My mind was beginning to disconnect from the scene as the powerful stimulation took charge.

From the corner of my eye as I looked back, I could see Roelf in all his sleazy glory, nonchalantly viewing the exhibition of my self-rape, glowing with a snicker as joyful as it was lewd. I realized then that I liked him watching me. A crude and feral satisfaction sent my arousal climbing higher. I wiggled my ass, inviting him to take me as I knew he would. My performance was addictive, the high alarming.

He grossly massaged the crotch of his pants. “Grease your ass again, cunt,” Roelf said, as he moved forward. Even with my skewed backward glance, I could see how his penis had grown erect. When he pulled it from his pants, the enormity of the organ made my legs go weak, and a quick tremor of panic swept through me. He’d never fit! was my first thought.

But we were beyond negotiations now. When he pulled my three fingers from my asshole, he speared me with his long erection. His prick went painfully deep and I gasped aloud.

“Don’t fight it, cunt!” he said as he grabbed my hair and used it as a handle to steady the pounding movements of his fucking groin.

“Ohmigod!” I gasped. I didn’t know whether to love or hate the way he widened me.

“Ooo, yes, baby…” his voice oozed lust. “Yeah, cunt, you wiggle it for me…squeeze down… Ooo, yeah…”

I mimicked his gyrating movements with my own until we finally moved in the same sultry, rhythm. The more I answered his want with mine, the more my taut muscles relaxed.

As he picked up speed, I hung tightly to the edges of the table, gripping hard, jaw tight, legs flooding with sensation, my cunt sweeping through with a dozen crunching spasms. I wanted my cunt filled too… I imagined Jackson pounding my vagina below me, while Roelf took my ass.

I could barely stop myself from thrashing uncontrollably, although by then, the artist held me by the hips so firmly that I remained exactly where he wanted me, where he could abuse me best.

His grunts were surprisingly vocal…somewhere in the recesses of my consciousness, I still remembered where we were on the art school’s second floor. That fact demanded a bit of prudent self-control. But I suspect we were too far gone to curb the noise. His forceful battering slammed the table into the wall, our shouts were a guttural, rasping chorus of sound, and the end was a magnificent swoon of tense bodies pressed groin to ass, moaning with no restraint until the last spasms found us weakly collapsing onto the table, when the only sound was of our heavy breathing.

He pulled from me dripping, remnants of his ejaculate landing on the back of my thigh and dribbling down my leg. I was a disheveled mess; my hair and clothes were torn apart, my crotch so wet that I couldn’t stop the evidence from showing beneath the hem of my knee length skirt.

Roelf had vanished by the time I finally came to. With my muscles aching, I righted myself and stared around the room, half expecting that there’d be some stranger’s eyes glued to the scene. I heard some shuffling in the back room, probably Roelf, and knowing there was at least a paint sink there I could use to wash up, I took off in that direction.

The artist had just finished zipping his pants and was combing his mop of unruly blond hair with his fingers. He turned to me. “I suppose you need the sink?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I should make you walk out of here looking like that,” he laughed, more playfully than with any scorn. But he turned and walked out, leaving me to clean up in privacy.

I breathed deeply, letting the anxiety surrounding the stunning scene ebb away. The strangest feeling of satisfaction replaced it; my assignment was complete.