By now I'm accustomed to being summoned by Vishal's phone call. I know enough not to call him, he will contact me when he has need of me. But maybe 'need' is not quite the word. He doesn't need me, he just uses me and then discards me whenever he fancies. My days are filed with the anticipation of when he will contact me and when I'll go to him again. It's the same pattern as last time. I can think of nothing else but him, his control over me and my explosive desire to his ministrations. I can concentrate on nothing else but the thoughts of his roughness with me. It's like a drug. And I know I'm addicted. Vishal calls me in the middle of a meeting at work. I see my phone vibrating silently and his name flashing on the screen. My mind scrambles for an excuse, any excuse, to get out of the meeting and take his call.

I absolutely cannot miss it! In the rush from the room, I don't even know what I murmur and barely register the dazed look of my boss as I flee from the room. "Hello?" I whisper, answering the phone even before the door to the meeting room has closed behind me. "Tonight at eight," he says. His warm voice fills my ear. "Your place?" I ask him, ashamed at jumping as soon as he beckons. But I can't help it. "Yes. Don't be late," he says and hangs up. I know I cannot afford to be. The rest of the day passes by in a blur. I'm already with him mentally and my boss lets me leave a half hour early in a fit of disgust when he sees I'm of no use. I try to make an excuse about some family issue but he waves it away and I'm out.

I reach home in record time and begin preparing myself for Vishal. I wash my hair with my favourite lemon-scented shampoo and then take a leisurely shower, soaping my body liberally and letting the warm water run over my tingling body. I shave my legs and pussy carefully, but take care not to touch myself otherwise. I let the anticipation build as I know the release will be that much stronger if I can keep going until he gets me off. I deliberate over what to wear. Most of my wardrobe lands up over the bed as I pick out outfits and then discard them as unsuitable. I finally settle on a white silk button down shirt and my red skirt that falls just under my knee. The shirt is fine enough that you can see my white lacy bra through it. On my feet are strappy heels. I wear my hair loose and only swipe a bright red shade of lipstick and mascara as make up.

It's a classic come fuck me get up and I feel sexy and desirable as I dab a bit of perfume between my breasts and on my wrists. As I'm done dressing, I take a look at the clock and see that it's a full hour before I can leave the house for the drive down to his. In my anticipation, I've rushed through the preparations. I briefly debate whether to turn up early or to even call him to say I can be there earlier than he wanted, but then something in me tells me that it will not be welcome. I remember other instances where my effort to direct our encounters was met with punishment, and I resign myself to just waiting the extra time. Prowling around the house impatiently, riffling through a couple of magazines and fiddling with inane programs on the television, I finally pass that wretched hour and when I'm ready to go, feel a wonderful anticipation curling in my belly.

It takes me a half hour to drive down to his house. When he answers the door, I notice his hair is curly and wet from a shower and he just has slacks on, leaving his chest bare. He nods at me and opens the door wider, knowing that I know what to do. I walk straight to his bedroom and get down on my knees at the edge of the bed. "Very nice," he says in a low voice. "I've trained you well." He moves in from behind me, takes a seat on the bed and trails a hand over my hair, moving it over the side of my face, coming to rest it on my neck, propping my chin up with his thumb. He looks into my eyes as his eyes register approval. "Nice," he says again, this time referring to my appearance. He then slashes a hand across my lips, smearing my perfectly applied red lipstick across my face. "Too much perfection," he says. "I like things broken, in pain." That sentence ratchets up my heart pulsate and I remember what he has put me through in previous sessions. My eyes dart around the room, trying to spy what he has in store for me this time. But as much as I try, I cannot see any implement of misery. No ropes, no paddles and no clothespins.

He chuckles. "What are you looking for?" he asks in a silky voice. "I... nothing... just for..." "Yes? For what?" "Vishal, I just wanted to see whether... I mean... for what I'm expected to do," I stammer. "Ah," he says and leans back. "You're looking to see what I've planned for you today." I nod and gulp. "Don't worry, there won't be anything extra needed today. Just my hands," he says. The words sound comforting but the look in his eyes stops me from giving up my nervous expectation completely. I know how he can be. I know he thrives on pain and humiliation. Whatever he has planned, whether with or without any objects of misery, will be his own brand of punishment.

He orders me to strip and get on the bed on all fours. When I am in position, he comes up behind me and positions himself snug against my bottom. His cock is perfectly aligned between my butt cheeks as he leans forward and grabs my hanging breasts. Squeezing both of them in his palms, he pulls me back. I move with the pull, pushing my ass more definitely into his crotch and grinding into him for good measure. "Only what I instruct you to do, bitch. Don't get ahead of yourself," he growls in my ear as his fingers tweak my nipples painfully. "Did you forget the lessons?" "No, God, no, sorry," I say hurriedly, biting down a weep from the treatment of his harsh fingers. "Please, I'm sorry. I won't do it again," I plead. "Good, remember that," he says. His hands continue to pull on my nipples. He pulls them out as much as he can from my body, holding them there and rotating them, twisting them cruelly. After a while of this misery, he brings his hands to cup my breasts and begins kneading them. He takes handfuls of my soft mounds and squeezes them like they are stress balls and he is trying to get a world's worth of frustration and anger out on them. In no time at all, I feel them turning tender and bruised by his unforgiving massage and they begin to hurt and throb to his every touch.

I feel the tears start at the back of my eyes and make no effort to stop them. One makes a trail as it slips down my nose and then drips off on the bed below me. I have my teeth clenched in order not to weep out as his hands become harder, if possible, and he is now squeezing my tender breasts mercilessly. Just when I feel like I can't stop myself from weeping out for him to stop, he starts to slow down and just cups my breasts. I feel him start humping me from behind. His cock is hard now and is sliding against the crack of my ass as he moves. "Last time I didn't make you cum," he grunts into my ear. I don't know whether to respond or just listen to him. I make a noncommittal noise. "This time, I will," he continues. My mind goes to work trying to figure out how he is going to accomplish that. Is he just going to fuck me from behind? That seems uncharacteristic of him but maybe he just wants to get off. Maybe once in a while he just wants straight sex without any pain to accompany it.

I'm sure I'm going to be humiliated and paid for my services at the end of it though, that has been a constant, but maybe this time there won't be any discomfort or soreness for days afterwards. "On your back," he commands suddenly. I flip and land on my back in the middle of his bed, my head on the soft pillow. He looks at me one moment and his brow furrows. "Maybe it would be better with you sitting up a bit," he says almost to himself. I start sitting up and he pushes me back against the headboard. I land up in a position so that my shoulders are resting against the end but my hips are pushed forward about a foot from the edge of the bed. He then bends my legs and pulls my raised knees open and wide so that my pussy is gaping and vulnerably open to him. I feel a hint of shame accompanied by a frisson of excitement pass through me. I feel wanton and exposed at the same time. Vishal scoots over to a position between my spread legs, directly in front of me and touches my pussy gently.

His fingers press lightly as he delves into my slit and slides them across, almost lazily. I'm wet through already from the excitement of waiting for this most of the day and his fingers just spread my warm wetness over my pussy. Just when I've been lulled into a sense of drugged expectancy, he pinches one pussy lip and pulls on it, hard. I gasp and try to remain still, to not move with the pull. He twists cruelly and duplicates the move on the other side as I take my lower lip between my teeth in order to hold back a weep from the pain. "So wet and rosy," he says, staring at my wide open pussy. I feel him enter me then. Two fingers slide deep inside me until I can feel them buried up to their length. He plunges them in and out for a few minutes and I close my eyes and revel in the sensations. His other hand pinches my tender nipple and I feel the spiral of pleasure build until I feel an orgasm within reach. But before it can wash over me, he pulls out. I almost weep out my disappointment but stop myself just in time.

It won't do to beg or plead. He enjoys keeping me wanting. It's a part of his humiliation. The next instant, I feel his fingers trying to enter me again and I move myself just a bit to accommodate him. There are more than two this time, and as he pushes into me, I realise what he is doing. I open my eyes in panic and look down. I'm right. Vishal has all five of his fingers straight and pressed close together and it is this that he is inserting into me.