He couldn't understand how something named Emily Marie Mort could be this exotic, this slutty, and this good in bed. But the Controller was more concerned with using the naked body of this twenty-seven year old female than he was regarding the handle on her birth certificate.
It'd taken him almost two hours to get Emily properly restrained atop the wide, deep sofa bench that he often enlisted to humiliate his helpless victims. The furniture in question allowed the proprietor of TheP.o.R.T. to seat and restrain a whore in a variety of twisted ways. On this occasion the Controller was hell bent on titty fucking Emily's flawless cleavage. With the intent that once he'd ejaculated upon the sobbing woman's chest he could ladle up the cum in a plastic spoon. And force Emily to slurp the still warm and viscous ejaculate down her filthy throat.
Here and now the Controller was certain Emily was in grievous discomfort...as he stroked his overtly thick and threatening cock along that exquisite valley between his beautiful slave's pale breasts. Special ropes applied in a cruel fashion kept poor Emily Mort's spine rigid against the back of the sofa. All the while her arms having been pulled up over her head and behind the back of the furniture...where her wrists could be secured via a length of milk white rope to a floor gripe installed for just this very purpose.
It was the drumming of Emily's exhausted body as a result of his cock's action that especially pleased the kidnapper. This was accentuated by ever more bindings that very, very tightly secured Emily's vastly underrated legs to dedicated anchor points along the exposed underside of the couch. All in all the brunette was pinioned to her perch with her delicate toes being forced (by decree of the Master) to agonizingly stretch to make contact with the floor. Then - and only then - would the Controller be content with the display of his victim's sexy legs. Even as he amused himself with her nipples and breasts.
With a gentle word and a vicious slap across the face Emily was reminded to keep her brown eyes open at all times. Humiliated, the frantic female sensed the sway and undulation of her breasts despite having the Controller's hands cupping the sensual outer contours with his fingertips. In a mere three days and nights Emily had discerned that her rapist could go from disarmingly benign to sadistically cruel in the time it took for him to lick the nape of her neck. She was always on edge. Hoping, praying her body and her submission met with the Controller's exacting standards.
When he approached climax the Controller would ever so slightly apply more inward pressure to each of Emily's breasts so that his penis was cradled just so. This was a well established sign that the brunette was to begin begging for (initially) the privilege to take her Master's sperm down her throat...and (secondly) for his mercy as it regarded possible or probable torture immediately afterwards. Once Emily had obediently swallowed, licked her lips and cleaned the spoon thoroughly with her tongue.
Another slightly more brutal slap dictated that Emily was to 'fucking keep her goddamned toes' in contact with the floor. Then both of the Controller's hands were back upon the sides of the sobbing woman's breasts. So that the massaging of his erection could assume full throttle. At Emily's expense.
Moments later the struggling female felt the spray...as her breasts acted as a canvas for the Controller's release. Just like last time - and the time before that - the brunette felt the greenhouse warmth of the cum. Until - in just a few seconds - the dampness of the wretched dungeon stenciled lines of chilled, stagnant air along the paths of the slowly dripping, slowly descending sperm. But the Controller had done this to countless victims...and in a trice he and his spoon and his evil had collected up a substantial morsel for Emily to kiss and accept. Within her mouth and belly.
Emily obeyed when told to open her mouth. And cringed in terror when she was shouted at to keep her eyes open. As always, the spoon's rather sharp edges magnified the humiliation Emily experienced as her lips and tongue went to work imbibing the Controller's cum. The taste repulsed her...yet the aroma was far worse. Telltale scents of sticky, lukewarm ejaculate destined this time for the brunette's stomach. But next time - perhaps - for her face, eyelashes and nostrils.
When the Controller began to swab Emily's breasts clean with a comforting, warm, moist washrag the brunette realized she was going to be raped. Not tortured. Her new Owner allowed Emily to 'thank him' for the honor of being penetrated by him this day. And the brunette submissively assured the Controller that he would have an even better time inside her pussy than he'd enjoyed using her breasts.
A few hours later the Controller climaxed again...this time deep, deep within Emily's womb. As the sadist licked the breasts of his spent victim only the allure of vanilla spice and lavendar caressed his taste buds. But for Emily, the lingering aftertaste of cum would linger until tomorrow's spartan breakfast of tea n' toast.