Guilty Pleasures

Guilty Pleasure

The room slowly comes into focus. Indistinct shapes slowly resolving itself into familiar items that took a moment for the brain to recognize. The revolving fan sends down a breeze that is neither too cold nor too warm. The only sound are the low hum of climate control and the occupants of the room.

Who am I? What happened? Where am I? The most common questions everyone asked themselves every morning.

Then I remembered and felt pain. Breathing becomes excruciatingly painful, as the heart seizes again and again, while something heavy is pressing down on the chest.

Oh my god... Even though I am not a religious person the words flashes across my mind. Bright red. What had I done!!

Turning my head I look at her lying beside me. The moment my eyes lay on her, the seizures and guilt pain turns into sweet delight. The more pleasurably sweet guilt flushes through my body and I can't help but sigh in pleasure.

Her long lustrous hair framed lies scattered around her, evidence of the intensity of last night. Her beautiful eyes are closed in her slumber, her perfectly crafted nose makes a gentle snore as it sucks in breath after breath, her smooth high cheeks and dimples covered by the straps holding the ball gag in place. A sharp pain flares in my chest and fades into the sweet taste of guilty pleasure once more as I remembered how I had put it in place.

The guilt is no longer an enemy but a friend to be welcomed with a smile.

Even while asleep her features look beautiful while her perfect body lies within easy reach.

Her snore changes slightly as she tries to struggle awake, her mind trying its best to wake her up sensing danger.

I reached out with my right hand and trace her naked figure. Naked except a thin piece of fabric hiding her sex, nothing more than a thin piece of red silk that accentuates her nakedness more than doing anything otherwise. Another pang of guilt runs through my body, as my conscience tries its best to remind me what I am doing is wrong. What it doesn't know is how I am making use of these pains to achieve more pleasure. I remember coming across the silk underwear online, and I had made a simple suggestion. Now its straps lie beneath my fingers, one gentle tug and it will be off.

No.

Not now.

Not yet.

I can feel her smooth skin as my fingers glide further upwards finally reaching the destination I had in mind. My fingers curl itself and cups her flawless breasts. A perfectly formed C-cups that are currently squeezed together sagging to the side as its owner lies on her side with her hands bind over her head.

Fingers slowly gently teasingly get closer to her nipple, the fifty cents sized button is getting harder by the second as ragged breathing leaks out of the gag as she struggles to wake up. The moment I touch it, her eyes flew opened meeting mine. The moment they met another fresh agony wells up in my chest as a strong sour dose of guilt threatens to overcome me. The keyword is threaten, for my conscience knows it had been defeated long before. Back when I had taken the first steps to capture her.

They say our eyes are windows into our soul. Looking into her soul I can see everything bare out before me, all her dreams, all her fear, all her wants and all her needs.

All of them contains one thing.

Me.

I look at her as my lips curl into a smile, her eyes remain transfixed on mine as her fear rises to the stratosphere. A predator looking at his prey, both know the chase is over, the predator had its jaws around the prey's neck. The moment has come when the prey gives up and surrenders to its fate.

A twitch of my finger touched her nipple momentarily. The reaction to her body is like I had shocked her with electricity, as she jerks in bed holding onto her bindings to keep herself in place - instructions I had given the night before - the reaction to her mind is a cloud descending over the last bits of fight she has left.

She is ready.

My right hand regrets leaving her beautiful mounds to reach for the gag's latch, which comes off easily dropping onto the bed forgotten. Its usefulness over.

Looking deep into her soul, I give the simple instructions.

"Say it."

The words come out then, the first time she is saying them, but something she knows by heart as it had been repeated uncountable times in her mind every single day for the past few months. The words whispered into her mind so gently, so subtly she didn't realize they are there until it is too late to purge them.

"You are my master.

I am your slave.

You own me completely.

I belong to you totally.

You are my everything.

I am nothing without you."

Every word burning into her soul, as she repeated the words again and again.

Most people do not understand the power of words. Especially the power of words spoken into their soul. She did not believe it either, she had tried to ignore them, then she had tried to fight them, when that failed she had tried to deny them, and when she had tried to run from them. She is mine.

"Who am I?" I asked.

"My master." She answered.

"Who are you?" I asked again.

"Your slave. Master." She answered diligently.

"Serve your master." I instructed.

"Yes master." No hesitation.

Even though this is her first time, she knows it by heart. The scene played over so many times they felt real to her. Turning over she lies flat on her back, her hands slip from their bindings - silk cloth that was never tied to anything and never meant to bind in the first place - and take hold of the straps holding her underwear in place. Her legs opening themselves forming an M-shape as I straddle her.

I can see her soul fighting to free itself from me, but the suggestions, the instructions and the words used on her over the past few months had bind her so tight there is no way she can free herself. With a final sigh, her hands pulled the straps to reveal her sex to me. I had seen it untold times when she had masturbated in front of me. It is as perfectly sculpted as the rest of her body. A life of rich sheltered upbringing had made her a perfect female specimen, a woman desired by every man and more than one woman.

I position myself for the last time outside her sex, while she continues to recite the words, burning them deeper and deeper into her soul. Her eyes never once leaving mine as she prepares herself to be taken.

I take my time, as this is the moment to savor forever.

A gentle push opens her up, revealing the flood within her. A heavier push brings my dick head into her warmth, her need grips me tightly. A pull and a push builds up a rhythm, allowing us to synchronize with each other, master and his slave. A deeper push allows more of me into her, the guilt increases correspondingly as more of me enters her. A pull to the brink and a deep push, almost takes me to the end I can feel my head hitting the end of her sex. I am so deep.

I pull back for the final push and sense her preparing herself for me by opening herself as much as possible. I oblige and thrust forward hard, saying there is no resistance is not possible. For such a young nubile body, her sex is both tight and wanting gripping me but not so hard that I cannot move forward. I can feel her sex stretch as I fill her up all the way to the brink and finally into her cervix as the last bit of me enters her. There is no more to go, I am fully within her.

I can see her tears flowing down her cheeks, I can see her mouth working up the words that comes out nothing more that soft whispers. I can see how I have managed to chase down, capture and finally take her.

I can also see the truth now.

I had always assumed I had triumph over my conscience to take her, I had also assumed I had made use of it to gain the guilty pleasure. What I had never imagine is that my conscience has always been the one urging me on.

Looking up I can see the large family portrait hanging on the head of my bed, a picture of a happy family taking their studio family shot. Seated in the middle was I the head of the family the man of the family and seated to my right with my right hand placed gently on top of hers is my favorite daughter-in-law. Her eyes twinkle at the camera, while her smile and dimples seem to brighten up the picture on its own.

Looking down I can see her eyes transfixed on mine, her soul showing only lust, servitude and love for me. Her mouth that was smiling so brightly is wide open grasping for air, her hands that was holding her legs together are now above her supplication to me, while her closed legs are now wide open granting me access to her sex.

Wave after wave of guilty pleasure washes over me as if to confirm the truth to me. I had never a clear conscience. This is me. This was me. This will be me. Hiding behind a mask will not change a person, lying to oneself do not change facts. My smile returns as I look down at my naive daughter-in-law grinding her sex on my dick as she whispers words of dedication to me.

"Who am I?" I asked gently.

"Master." The answer is immediate, a soft whisper.

"Who am I?" I urged again.

"Master." The answer comes immediately, slightly louder this time as she tries to regain her breath.

"WHO AM I?" I shout out to the room.

"MY MASTER!" Her shout answered me as it comes from deep within her.

A pull and a deep thrust brings untold pleasure to both of us. We work up a rhythm to celebrate the event, the event when a slave finds her master and the master returning to his rightful place in the family.

The master of his house.

...

..

.

Looking up at the portrait shows me other guilty pleasures to be had. My conscience agrees with me.