When he said we were going to a Goth club, I got excited. Something new. I was not familiar with the lifestyle, but as a good submissive, I did my research so I could please him. I discovered 23 varieties of goth. Some I was familiar with like the emo punk girl, the death metal head banger, even the vampire goth. But others like steampunk and rivethead goths, I was not at all familiar. I decided to dress as a Victorian/Elizabethan goth. That way I could be sexy and sophisticated with a whimsy of romance. Goths are romantic, dark, mysterious, even a little morbid. I was going to enjoy this club. From what I read Goths were not violent, just kinky. They dabble in the BDSM culture, pagan rituals and the occult, but are basically just a gloomy lot of sexual deviants. Surely, I would fit in.
The club was an old castle turned into a private nightclub. My companion paid thousands of dollars for a VIP suite for the night. The room had an eerie feel. On the surface, it looked romantic and dark. Very Victorian era. Something wicked was lurking beneath the surface, however, I just had a feeling. It is not my place to question a Master. Ever. I ignored my feeling, did as I was told. Master tied me up, skull fucked me, force fucked my ass, even flogged me. We played our usual master and servant game. I convinced myself this was just a fantasy role play for us; something different than the usual bondage games.
Master told me he had a surprise for me. He blindfolded me. I could hear him opening a door, talking in a whispered tone, then I heard silence and a loud thud, then more silence. When he removed the blindfold, I saw a coffin. At first I thought maybe this was a vampire fetish he wanted to explore. I wish that was it. Master thought it would be fun for me to fuck a corpse. I thought he was joking. Certainly this was just a guy pretending to be dead, so I climbed into the coffin to show Master what a good girl I am. The body was ice cold. There was an awful smell. I tried to leap off, but Master held a knife to my throat. “Be a good girl Blair, or you will be punished, permanently,” he said. Such a sinister smile on his face when he said it too.
When I asked how I was suppose to fuck a dead guy, he slapped my face so hard, he busted my lip. I was giving a hand job to a lifeless dick. I felt sick. His cock would not get hard, not even too my mouth. Master shoved a cattle prod up the dead guy’s ass and his cock came to life. I closed my eyes, mounted that ice cold cock and rode him like he was alive. I kept telling myself it was fantasy; that he was just an actor at the club. But the harder I rode him, the more I realized this was not fantasy, but Master’s macabre desire to humiliate me, scare me, hurt me. Flesh was falling off the dead guy’s pecker the harder I rode him. Master saw the disgust and horror on my face and just laughed. I wanted to vomit.
Master made me spend the night in the coffin with a rotting corpse. The next morning when he let me out of the coffin, made me shower, then spent the entire morning force fucking my ass with a medieval cross. My ass was gaping open as usual. But there was nothing usual about fucking a corpse. Goths may be dark; they may be macabre, but they can’t hold a candle to Master’s perverse world.
Why anyone would ask me to watch their precious little ones is beyond me. But I love jumping at the chance to do just that. I watch as they bend down and kiss the brats goodbye. I can feel my stomach tensing and the juices start to flow as they brush a wisp of blonde hair out of that innocent, wide eyed face. Soon those eyes will be wide for an entirely different reason. Her Daddy has no idea what the words “Be good for Karma” means as he pats her bottom and stands to walk out the door. As soon as the door closes I begin to dial the number I know that he will want to come over and let me give him a therapy session. She is perfect for him, young and innocent, soft with straight lines and two pink little circles just above a flat belly that leads to that perfect Y. Not one inch of her is puffy or swollen yet. That will all change over the next few years, curves will form, flesh will swell and change, she will smell and taste different then too, nothing will ever be the same after that. Now is the perfect time. My hands are shaking when I hear his voice and I tell him how OK it is for him to come over. He knows I will talk him through every step of the way. He loves the way I cover the harsh edge of evil in my voice with the calm softness that coos at him and encourages him not to stop, to do it for me…..
