"Tomorrow Never Comes": Tuesday

A story I wrote for my Master... many months ago... Thank you Master for allowing me to publish one of my favorite stories.





It was past ten already when Master Drake finally pulled into the dimly lit parking lot of the Lucky 13 tattoo parlor. The establishment itself had closed several hours ago, and its doors, unlike the previous two nights, remained sealed. Beside him, on the passenger seat, a crumpled card bearing a simply “27,” and scrawled underneath it, in a careless hand – an equally simple message, an invitation: “Tomorrow.”
In the snowy silence of his idling automobile, Master Drake waits; it’s not something he does too frequently, but he figures it is worth his while. Yesterday he had been surprised… pleasantly surprised… but surprised nonetheless. Being surprised was another thing that didn’t happen to Master Drake too often. And so he was willing to wait… in the warmth of his car, and in the searing hot memory of Willow’s cunt, sleek and swollen, descending on his face, of Mara (her twin?) riding him hard, the twist of nipples, the smell of cinnamon, the twin howls of sheer orgasmic pleasure that had crescendoed as he came, threatening to break his eardrums… and so he waits.
He hears them before he sees them – the heavy thump of the bass line, the rip of tires on asphalt as a tiny black Cabrio peels into the parking lot, shrieking to a halt beside him. Rolling down the window, poking blonde head out the door, Willow is all smiles.
“Getting in Master?”
Seconds later, his senses assaulted by the melodic screech of Quiet Riot, the overpowering scent of vanilla air freshener, Master Drake climbs into the back seat of the vehicle. Seated next to him, her pale, lean legs extended, is Willow’s twin sister Mara. Mara is wearing a tight black miniskirt, and black heels. The skirt is pulled up against her thighs clumsily, exposing the naked spread of her crotch. On top she is wearing a silky, jade-green blouse, pulled taut between her melon-sized breasts. The top reveals the luminous white rounds of her slender shoulders and the smooth length of her graceful arms.
Master Drake doesn’t say anything. There’s a fair chance his words would be lost among the throbbing ache of Willow’s music anyway… Instead, he unzips his pants, extends the length of his pulsating dick, which Mara accepts, in her mouth, with pleasure.
“We’re gonna get rocked tonight”
“…cum on feel the noize”
“Rock it tonight”
“…girls rock your boys”

Over the chorus, repeated again and again, Mara drowns in the taste of her master’s cock, as Willow navigates the twisting alleyways and back streets of Toronto. Mara begins to gag, choking on her master’s shaft – with each “wild,” “wild,” “wild,” and with every hairpin turn, Mara feels the touch of his cock press harder against the stubborn wall of her throat. Her body is careening. Willow rounds a too-rapid corner, Mara’s body is sliding, sliding halfway off the seat, her long legs catching, her bound mouth holding, wet fingers grasping at the stiff bottom of his dick. Beads of sweat gather on her forehead… And she murmurs over and over again –


“Master, Master…”
Her long blond hair brushes his bare thighs.
“Master, Master…”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, AHHH” echoes the music.
“master,” Mara whispers.
chokes
gags
“cum on…”
“master…”
“cum on…” urges the music
“master,” Mara wheezes, gags, retches. Her eyes pop, her throat collapses, her body crumples as he does… as he cums, in great white streaks across her pale, sweaty forehead, spackling her damp silken hair. So when they arrive at their destination at last, and she is finally confronted with the prospect of polite company, Mara is forced to wipe his seed off of her forehead with the back of her own forearms, lick up the sticky remnants, sliding her lazy tongue across her honeysuckle skin, and borrowing a brush from her sister is forced to comb his semen through the wavy lengths of her halo-blonde hair.

When they get out of the car at last, Master Drake is pleased to see that Willow has discarded with her usual self-imposed uniform of black denim jeans and no-matter-the-weather tank top. Towering in platform stilettos, Willow is clad in black leather pants that stroke the heart of her high ass, a black sequined halter strapped across her breasts and held in place by two slender strings.

They are at a strip club.

Sandwiched between Willow and Mara, Master Drake breezes past the bouncers who don’t say a word. And at the counter, the girl taking the covers winces when she sees them.

“Are you looking for Summer?” she asks nervously.
“Who the fuck‘s Summer?” Mara asks, flicking a few bills in the woman’s general direction.
“Do you mean Rowan?” “Roe-wen? You dumbass cow.” Willow continues. “God you people are soooooo stupid…Why else would be we caught dead in this fucking silo? Do you think I walk around the house calling her ‘Summer?’ Of course we’re looking for Rowan. Where’s my sister?”
Pause.
“She’s doing a bachelor party upstairs,” the girl admits, suddenly sullen.
“Fine” snaps Willow. “We’ll wait.”

Master Drake, Willow, and Mara take their seats among the cauldron of black plush chairs that line the catwalk, watch the decadent cadre of blue and pink lights stroke the distended tits of dancer after dancer. Mara and Willow feed each other food, tugging at full forks with greedy mouths… Willow sits on Master Drake’s lap as shot girls douse his throat with liquor and gouge his eyes with bright hard nipples. A tall brunette offers Master a massage which Willow pays for by sliding the girl a mouthful of dollars… mouth to mouth, as Willow’s playful hands run up and down the girl’s sides, linger on the crest of her thighs… The girl, caressing Master’s neck… his shoulders… and below… while around him angular girls with puffy chests, slowly rotate round and round the silver pole, flashing smiles, crotches, greedy hands… swaying to the techno beat.

Still, after an hour, Rowan does not appear. Rising from the plush caverns of his chair, Master Drake stretches. He has grown weary of foreplay. Willow and Mara glance at each other, read each others’ minds in some sort of preternatural “twin-speak,” arrive at the same conclusion: it’s time to crash a party.

After two, not entirely unpleasant, false leads the trio finally finds the mysterious Rowan ensconced in the furthermost of the champagne lounges. When they find her she is pressed up upon the lap of a young man, presumably, judging by his level of intoxication, the groom. His pants are down, and she, she has enveloped the shaft of his cock in between the supple cheeks of her ass… Sitting, stretched across his body, her muscles contracting leisurely around his dick, her arms laced across his shoulders, her red lips wrapped around the cock of another… his brother…. And she is gorgeous. She is not a duplicate, a doppelganger, a clone of her sisters. She hardly resembles them at all but for her lucid skin, buttery white and soft, cool to the touch, pale and luminous like a clear mountain sky. Her hair though, is not the same golden hue shared by her Willow and her Mara… oh no, it is the color of embers, of oriole wings and autumn days, rippling across her ivory skin, brushing the diagonal lines of her brow… sometimes masking the dark, bright orbs of her chestnut brown eyes.

“Mmmm,” she says when she sees them, mouth still brimming with dick, “company…” and then extricating herself from lap and mouth, she is standing, telling the groom it’s time to go home.
“…but” stammers the best man/brother, his dick still gleaming silver with a thick coat of Rowan’ spit. “we paid for another hour already!”
“Too bad,” exclaims Rowan, unbuckling the strap of her shoe, extracting a wad of tightly folded dollars, peeling away several large bills which get thrown to the groom in a most unceremonious manner. “Consider yourselves refunded.”
“but…” pouts the brother, as the groom reluctantly rises to his feet, wobbling, unsteady on his feet, “this is outrageous!!!”
“Go ahead then” responds Rowan calmly, hustling the group of men to the door “tell my boss… it won’t make a difference,” she concludes with a wicked grin, “I’m irreplaceable.”
And at last, after the hubbub of angry men departs down the back stairs, after the door has been shut upon them, Rowan is able to turn her full attention toward Master Drake, turning to meet his gaze directly.
“And what can I do for you tonight?” she purrs.
“Just one thing…” he responds.
“You can call me Master.”

Willow and Mara hold their collective breath. It is a volatile moment. Rowan doesn’t say yes; she doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say no when Master Drake strokes the entrance to her vagina. She doesn’t say no when he runs his hands along the smooth curvature of her breasts, smells sandalwood in her hair, sees cathedrals in her eyes… tastes butterscotch on her breath… and she doesn’t say anything at all when he, skimming the architecture of her legs, finds a single satin ribbon, black, tied tightly to one ankle.

“What’s this?” he asks, one hand fingering the ribbon while the other fingers her, beginning slowly, three fingers, in and out of the arch of her cunt.
Burrowing her way into his lap, Rowan speaks. “It’s a symbol” she says simply. “A symbol of my desire.”
“Your desire for what, pet?” he asks, nibbling at the knot that holds it close.
“You really want to know?” asks Rowan leaning back as Master Drake seizes hold of her long, pale throat, cradling the pulse of her elegant neck in the palm of his hand.
“Yes Pet, tell me what you desire” his voice is soft, thick.
“The ribbon is a symbol of my desire…” she begins slowly, as her labia begins to dampen, dousing his fingers with the clear juices of her cunt, “my desire is to exchange this ribbon for one of iron. To give this band to …” her voice trailing off… “to the one who can master ME.” And then, lifting her head, looking at him squarely, deliberately, she asks him
“Are you that man?”

And then, like dual narrators, Willow and Mara are at his sides, whispering in his ear
“She’s never cum, master…”
“…in all this time….”
“She’s never had an orgasm….”
“or so she says….”
“It’s hard to believe….”
“but we thought if anyone….
“…if anyone would tame Rowan, satisfy her….”
“it could only be…”
“you…”

Master Drake feels the skin surrounding his dick quicken, tighten, feels his cock harden, stiff… running it up and down the length of her legs he asks her, “What if I am that man, my pet, what if… if I make you cum… squirt even? Then what?”

Her answer is straightforward and much to his liking.

And so then he is upon her, dick lashing her, her legs akimbo… Rowan lying pushed on her back, each sister holding a wrist, her arms pinioned, her legs extended, like an upper-case “L” an arrow pointing to the sky. At first she is resistant, when his mouth teases, grazes the tender flesh of her clit, his tongue caresses, presses, grinds its tiny swirl, his teeth rub in between its surrounding folds, nipping the tender flesh… she is cautious, inflexible… her body holds itself in check… his tongue, his face, smothered in the depths of her womanhood, pressed up against the hot edges of passion…. until his face is saturated with her musky odor and she can smell herself, her scent lingering on him as he bends to kiss her neck, her lips, anointed. Underneath him, her plum colored nipples expand… she is like a door and he has the key. His dick he grasps tight in one hand, steers it, guides it, as it peels away the layers of fatty skin that jealously guard the entrance to her cunt. He teases her with it, kissing the lips of her pussy… in and then out until soon she is moaning for more….

But she will have to wait.

He is hoisting her now, lifting her onto an ottoman, on her hands and knees, her face is flushed as he grabs her hair, pulling her face close to the sweet sweat of his crotch… holding her fast… to the point of his dick which is primed against her lips, and in her mouth, expanding to fill it, pushing her tongue down and her neck back. Her flame-licked hair drapes over her face, getting entangled on the wet shaft that pushes in and out, heaving against her enflamed throat. Her cherry red lipstick is smeared and leaves stains at the base of his abdomen with each of his powerful thrusts. He clutches her on either side of her head, rubs his dick in her hair and over her eyes, her head is nodding, rubbing like a cat, against its stiff warmth. Until then he is pushing her head down, down until her cheek is resting on the cool leather sheen of the ottoman, her arms and hands stretched along the floor, again pinned by each sister: Willow on the left and Mara on the right. And he is behind her now… parting her legs like the pages of a book, her knees sliding easily across the slick leather, whetted with the juices of his lust.

And then Rowan moans as she finally feels the walls of her pussy cave in around the strength of his dick riding her…. riding… riding. The ache at the bottom of her belly swells as he forces his way to the back of her cunt, plunging the heat of his dick into the heart of her core… repeatedly… over and over… until her insides are like an avalanche, falling… like the burning city of Troy…. Her sisters are pulling on her arms, all she can see… smell… breathe… is the scent of sex-stained leather… and from behind, the towering throb and ache of Master Drake, breaking her will with each push of his thick, inflated cock. She feels the first scream welling inside her stomach, rising up through her sternum, forcing itself out, her throat, a prisoner escaping.
“Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”
Her body begins to tremble.
His dick begins to stir.
“Ahhhh, Ahhhhhhhh, ah , ahhh, AaaHHHH, AHHHHHh!!!!!”
He grabs the front of her thighs, pulling her into him, shunting her body, slick with the sheen of sweat, to and fro, savoring the pleasure of her escalating screams that rack her body, making it writhe and convulse under his steady hand…..
Bending over her now, he hisses….
“Say it, pet…. Saaay itt……”
She is panting, her hair is shalacked to her face, her body is trembling.
“Say it.”
And then with a suck of breath as his penis stabs her… again and again…. Without any sign of stopping….. as his practiced fingers pulse against the round of her clitoris…
“M-m-m-aster…”
“again, pet.’
“master.’
“and again….?”
Until she is screaming…. “MASTER!!!!! MASTER!!!!”

She feels the low rumble in the pit of her stomach first, feels it rise with her voice, she senses the build- up, feels the quick, jerky pump, the white-hot release as she squirts a stream of clear, hot liquid which hits the taut leather surface of the ottoman with a smack before running in rivulets down her arms, staining the floor in great wet puddles and soaking the knees of her crouching sisters.

At the sight of Willow and Mara drenched in the slime of their sister’s cum. The sight of Rowan’s blossom of a body shaking under his…. The sounds of her screams as they slowly subside, transition to whimpers… and to great gulps of air…. It is finally enough… with three last, great heaves into the disintegrating depths of Rowan’s wet cunt, he feels the familiar prick, the spasm of energy like a thousand tiny pumps... until Rowan’s pussy is filled to overflowing, bubbling over merrily to trickle down her upturned ass and down the white sheen of her legs.

And then as her kitten-weak body sags into the comfort of her seat, he stoops and with careful fingers untwines the ribbon binding her ankle, letting the black ribbon fall to the ground, promising to bring her a replacement, tomorrow; tomorrow, when he plans to claim his prize, the privilege of her virgin ass, saved, her second virginity, for as long as a twenty-two year old can save anything… waiting for the man who could tame her and now ripe for the picking… waiting for him, tomorrow.