As a new soul in hell, my greatest desire is to please my master. And just look at her. You’d expect much worse. I want to be her best servant, to be irreplaceable. It isn’t just preservation instinct either. I find her irresistibly attractive. That look in her eyes says “I own you,” and sometimes, it’s good to be a prized possession.
Today, as she stands before me nude, my arousal is already peaked when she tells me she’s going to give me the breathing test. I eagerly await the test as she blindfolds me, and leads me into a pool of cold water. She tells me to lay down, and I do, floating near weightlessly with only my face above the surface.
Suddenly, she grabs a fistful of my hair and shoves my head underwater. I remain calm, at first, but as my need for air takes over, I begin to struggle violently against her supernatural strength. Just when I’m certain I am going to drown, she yanks my head back above the surface.
I reflexively gasp for air, inhaling deeply of a heady feminine aroma that instantly turns the terror of drowning into a burning heat within me.
“Have you got it,” she asks.
“What, Mistress?”
“My scent.”
As my mind fills in the blanks, I realize my face must be between her legs, and all rational thought is gone one again.
“Yes, Mistress,” I answer obediently.
“Good. You must know me with each of your senses individually. Don’t forget. I expect you to recognize and please me only.”
How could I forget, I think to myself as need becomes and inferno within me. “May I make a request, Mistress?”
“Yes.”
“May I take the taste test?”
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