Muck

Master was fucking her hard, missionary position on the floor.  I knelt just in front of them, at their heads, close enough to touch, using my vibrator and looking into his eyes.  He stared at me with a fierce intensity and I knew what he was thinking.  No words were needed.   I was spiraling down, deep within myself, experiencing a fantasy as intensely as I ever have.   There was a lot down there, deep in the muck of my fantasy.  On the surface there was joy and pleasure, voyeurism, sharing, service and slavehood. 

 But that was only the surface.  
Deep down in the muck was where I was going, inexorably as the pleasures of vibration roared through me.   His fierce eyes were driving me down, allowing me to wallow and hurt, driving me hard. 

 I felt the muck swirling around me.  I closed my eyes, getting further inside myself and away from his eyes.  I started to bend forward with impending orgasm, waiting and waiting for him to tell me to come.   He said her name, told her to come, just her specifically, not me, and as she did I was perched on the brink. 
 I had to ask him.  The final humiliation was that I had to ask, "Master, can I come too?" and he said yes.   The orgasm rocked me as the muck of my humiliation swirled around me.

It was hard coming back out of that place.  I kept trying to pull away from both of them, wanting to be left alone on my own with my thoughts and my muck.  But Master kept pulling me back to him, knowing that he needed to keep me there with him, not to let me pull away.