Taken From His Misery – Into Worse

Taken From His Misery – Into Worse

“Feeling lower than shit” – and about to be treated in the same way – a bankrupt and divorced former middle-aged businessman goes to work for a dominant widow named Vagishwari Desai as her male secretary.

It is a position and pay way below his experience and expectation and from being an affluent married man with the whole package of cars, holidays and home, he has become a member of the lowly paid and near unemployable, barely able to make the outgoings on the self-contained hovel he has managed to rent after his divorce.

But his life is about to change when his younger widowed employer decides he is better suited to something else.

Something far more degrading and dispiriting…

EXCERPT

“Keep your eyes open! Be respectful”  

He complied, unsure of what it was that horrified him most, the unshaven subcontinent pussy that was the first thing to meet his eyes or the continued attempts of a treacherous cock to express itself fully.

Her lip curled with the perverse pleasure she took from their respective positions and her growing ability to not just manage this older, handsome, and once fairly successful man in his late-forties.

Slowly, eyes fixed upon his, she eased herself into a position from which she straddled his face and yet was able still to locate the humiliation she was inflicting upon him and was, by increments, killing what remained of a besieged self-respect and sense of manhood. She let him look upon the cunt he was about pleasure in the most abject of ways for a long moment. Before, growing impatient for the feel of his growingly servile tongue, she sank down onto him and pressed her all but liquefied mound onto his face, getting his nose between the lips of her vagina and then rubbing slowly, allowed her anus to glide over his protruding tongue.

A white-man’s tongue was worshipping her shit-chute and she knew that while her response to the phenomenon was almost off the top-of-the-scale his own would be travelling at warp-speed in the opposite direction. 

Even as he became more and more used to her complete authority over him. 

And in all ways.

Wonderful! 

Once he was sucking and licking as trained, she began to work herself slowly back and forward over his mouth, sliding forward to press her clitoris down just as he started sucking and then pushing herself up towards his forehead as he sucked and vacuumed. They both knew with conflicting responses to the certainty that once she got going in such a way she could go for a long and multi-orgasmic time. The first of those explosions coming quickly as the sense of dominion and mastery she felt at taking him in such a way drove her straight over the edge as she pictured those who knew her in the humble surroundings of her birth and early years watching her use a handsome man in such a way.

And a handsome English man at that! A once happily married man in fiscal and, possibly, sexual control of his wife. A one-time boss in his own right.

Once.

“Can you smell your Master’s pleasure?” she asked, knowing it was as impossible for him to miss the pungent and aromatic smell of her arousal as it permeated the confines of the windowless basement, as unavoidable as it was equally impossible he could frame a coherent reply, given the tongue he had inserted into her flooded cavern and the downward press of her hips and buttocks ensuring it would not escape any time soon. 

Following swiftly on the heels of her first crisis, she felt herself building up to an even greater explosion and when it came she shook and shuddered for a long time as the after-shocks of pleasure juddered the length of her nervous system.

On and on this one went, his tongue continuing to work feverishly at her sopping and seemingly insatiable Indian pussy in the way she insisted upon as she reached behind her to take his thwarted manhood in her brown hand and roll the full and almost blue balls possessively between long and surprisingly slender fingers; the feel of them captive in her all-powerful hands heightening her crisis in a way she would have once believed impossible.

As, no doubt, would he, a part of her fevered mind acknowledged as release sent her eyes to the back of her head and she screamed her perverse pleasure to the basement ceiling.

When at last she lifted herself off him, his cheeks were both glistening and red and his breath was rasping in his throat as he coughed and struggled to breathe; eyes fixed upon the brown orbs of his tormentor that had not left his own throughout the ordeal until the moment of her greatest pleasure; the same eyes that seemed unwilling to miss even one moment of the humiliation she could read in his own for being forced to serve her in such a way.

He stared up at her now in the way he knew she would expect, too full of self-disgust to move, demoralised at what he had finally come. Familiar images of the former life he had seen stripped from him offering themselves up for comparison with what his existence now doing nothing to lessen his sense of shame and emasculation. The comparison, in fact, taking his disgrace to depths still more subterranean.

Sensing his thoughts, she slid her pussy from his and placed it upon his neck.

“Is my servant still torturing himself with what he had and will never have again?” she asked, noting the single tear that trickled down the cheek of her captive before going on without allowing him to answer. “Well, that is something I cannot prevent you from doing. If you wish your thoughts to make you miserable then so be it. Though your life with me will be much easier to bear – even comfortable – if you bury your old life and commit the new to my service.” 

Then, knowing the stick alone could not provide her with the kind of manservant she wished him to be, she offered him something she knew he would once have laughed at if described as a “carrot” and dismissed the woman offering it as not simply perverted but deranged.

Still rolling his balls between her fingers, she said: 

“As a way of showing you how pleased I am with your progress she told him, now tapping a fingernail against the ring encircling his scrotum to focus his attention, “I have decided I am going to unlock your little white cockle and allow it some pleasure.” 

Degraded and emasculated as he was, she thrilled to see the look of hope and anticipation that greeted her words. 

“I am going to allow you to squirt your seed over my lovely brown feet and, afterwards, you are going to show me your commitment to being in my service by cleaning your filth from them.”

Hope and anticipation for even this demeaning and animal-like form of release were still present; even if they were diluted some when she added:

“With your tongue.” 

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