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Fledgling Slave

By: jddesir



I sat by the wall perpendicular from where I ordered her to kneel. Exquisite was the first word, the only word, I was able to string together in comprehensible english. I lifted my drink and drew a relaxed mouthful from the crystal glass, carefully replacing it inside the ring of condensation it left behind. I unraveled my tie and left the two strands hanging down over my neck, and then opened my shirt. I couldn't slow my mind from the whirlwind of commands, images of how I needed to watch her suffer. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, listening to the sound echo in my ears as if listening to the shore in a shell. The red velvet curtains on the opposite wall to her were open, allowing the closed white netting behind it to flap in the breeze which cooled me and diffused the light from the moon.

The room had not much in the way of standard furnishing, but enough places were available for a body to be tied. An iron bed stood alone in the centre. The head and foot of it were made of vertical iron rods with four horizontal thick iron beams and simply housed a mattress with a fitted sheet. A mahogany cable drum was fixed to the floor in the corner between she and I, and in the opposite corner, a small oak table.

I sat and watched her intently. Her elbows against the floor and forearms raised off the ground, legs widely parted, on her knees and bum raised high. Her silky skin, highlighted by a soft light from the window, made her look even more elegant than she naturally was. Her breasts hung down from her chest, the hard flesh of her nipple almost kissing the oak wooden floor. She hadn't moved unless to breathe; I admired her greatly. She wore only the leather wrist and ankle cuffs, and her collar, beautifully crafted in black leather with four platinum 'D' rings and a platinum identification tag with her identification engraved: 'Slave'.

I moved to the edge of the bed and sat directly behind her. The moon lit her sex perfectly, highlighting the infinitesimally fine blond hairs peeking from the otherwise smoothly shaven surface. I knelt behind her and put my nose at the opening of her anus, breathing in her smell.

"Rest your head on the floor and spread apart your cheeks," I commanded. Her puckered little opening twitched as I spoke and I couldn't help but smile at her immediate obedience. Her vagina, nicely pink and marinaded in its juices, hugged itself tightly and smelled musky and sweet. I licked my finger and slid it fully inside of her rectum. She breathed in deeply, allowing a groan to betray her silence. Instantly her body rippled with tremors.

"As you are a fledgling," I said, "I will castigate you only lightly for such an offence but know this: if you ever make a sound without consent you will pay dearly. Do you understand?"

And as if each word were dipped in contrition, she replied "Yes, my Lord."

"At ease, Slave, I want to look at you."

She slowly straightened her back and turned, still on her knees, to face me. Her face was soft and cheeks afire. Her short, jet black hair framed her beautifully and gave her a look of innocence. With a deftly swipe, I struck her hard across the face, at which she gasped.

"Legs wider apart. I expect not to tell you again."

She said nothing, returning her gaze to the floor as a tear crawled along her cheek and rested in the corner of her mouth.

"Now, tell me why you're here," I said. Her mouth moved but hesitantly quivered as if searching for the answer. I pinched the taught nodule of her right nipple until I saw her wince, and attached to it a metal clamp, and then another, joined by a metal chain, to her left nipple. I pulled down hard on the chain and watched as the flow of her tears thickened.

"Why ... are ... you ... here, Slave?" I repeated, chugging the chain with each syllable.

"To ... serve you, my Lord," she replied sheepishly. I stood up and took the chain in my fist, ordering her to follow me on her knees, and languidly led her to the cable drum.

"On your fours," I demanded, "forearms go here, legs here. I want your bum high, your back arched and your head against the wood. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord."

I strapped her in place and retrieved a wooden paddle from the wall behind me, returning to her rear. Her vulnerability was stunning. She now knelt fully shackled atop the drum at a perfect height and at my complete mercy. Her open sex cried like a chickling awaiting its feed, but it first needed punishing. With my tongue out, I softly licked her wet lips from bottom to top, resting slightly when I reached the opening to her bottom, and rimmed the puckered flesh around it.

I thundered the paddle on her thigh and watched as they blossomed to a stunning hue of pink. I had tasted the drug and needed more. I relentlessly brought the paddle to her thighs and her bottom without pause. Her cries vied with the cracks, leaving little pools of tears resting beside her tortured face, as her skin became a bright blanket of red. I didn't stop for the want of welts atop the fire. I replaced the paddle with my bare hand and with each slap I felt the warmth of her skin glow like a furnace. Her hands shook uncontrollably; her tears a guttural cry.

I was hot and breathless and my cock was captive in my trousers, throbbing in pain. I stripped bare and took my drink, holding a cube of ice in my mouth as the whiskey trickled back and down my throat. How nice it felt to be free of the restraint of clothing, yet so painfully trapped within the need of my own release. I held the ice in my hand and let the cool drips of water fall on her skin to momentarily dampen the blaze.

As I watched the water trickle down her naked flesh, I remembered how it felt to be subjugated. Humiliated and punished to mould me into what I was to become. And I mused, from what motive might her desire for humiliation be derived? After all, emotions are synonymous in all people are they not? But what gives them substance are the reasons behind them.

"I want you to speak freely," I said, "and answer me when questioned."

"Yes, my Lord," she replied.

"Other than to serve me, what is it you seek?"

"My Lord?"

"Why is it you are here, shackled and sobbing, raw and with pain?"

How easy it would have been to giver her the answers, to save her some slight hardship. Yet what masterpiece do you see of which the artist cheated himself of his own art? Nothing of substance comes without endurance and sacrifice. Not even the simplest of work.

"You are my Lord. I'm here because you commanded it of me," she replied softly. Her beautiful luminous blue eyes shone brightly, silently imploring for me to grant the very freedom she longed for.

"Open your mouth, Slave," I ordered, "and ensure your eyes do not leave mine."

"Yes, my Lord," she whispered.

I held my thick cock by the base and fed it inside her open mouth, pushing slowly forward. I reached the back of her throat and her eyes welled instantly, magnifying their brightness into pools of blue light. I pushed further to entrench her inability to breath and found myself in a helpless state of euphoria. Her face reddening, streams of tears engulfing her eyes. It wasn't until I was satisfied with her struggle that I allowed her to breathe and removed myself from her mouth.

"Do you have something to say, Slave?"

"Thank you, my Lord," she said, between gasps for air.

"For what?"

"For letting me breathe, my Lord."

"Slave," I replied, "your insolence will not save you here." I gagged her with my cock once more until she was unable to breathe, holding it slightly longer until her eyes widened to a panic before my retreat.

"Answer," I said.

"For your grace," she said breathlessly, "and being worthy to serve you, my Lord."

"Very well, Slave," I said with a grin, "you have pleased me. Tell me, why is it you serve me and no other?"

"Because you chose me, my Lord." Her eyes grew wide as she saw my face grimace. I thrusted deep inside her mouth with a sudden blast, her breath having already left her and I remained until I saw a hue of purple in her face. Her tears flowed endlessly from her swelling eyes and her hands quivered violently against the restraint. When I saw she had had enough, I remained my position and held still, to not only teach her a lesson, but to emancipate myself of my own boundaries before relinquishing my cock.

As she lay trussed, gasping for air in a state of panic, I retrieved from the wall a large black rubber torpedo with small nodules around the tip and placed sporadically down to the the middle of the shaft. Afterwhich was the base for me to grip with, and at the end of the base a compartment to house the power source. I had never used such an implement before and found myself full of vigor to do so, however history saw that I knew of its capabilities from being the receiver of a similar device from my Mistress. The thickly shafted device had been based on a design for a rod urging cattle to move should they prove stubborn, sending sharp currents of electricity through the nodules to stun its receiver. A button on the base of this shaft allowed the control of when exactly these currents were deployed.

After lubricating the instrument, using the excess on my throbbing length, I slid it inside her sex and for a brief moment allowed her to enjoy the pleasures which ensued. Still breathless, she moaned softly in appreciation, and from pleasure, of having her sex filled, although I believe more for the former. I slid my tongue inside her rectum -- the bitter taste tingled on my tongue but was a welcomed sensation -- and upon hearing the pleasure in her voice made me all the more hospitable. I fervently sucked the little wrinkled hole, reaching in my tongue as far as my mouth would allow. As she trembled and neared her passion, I stopped. The throbbing pain between my legs was now at a distressing level, to which she would have to pay dearly.

Upon seeing her flushed expression of subdued frustration, I repeated my question, "Tell me now, why it is you serve me and no other?"

"You are my only true Lord," she replied, "and any other would not eloquently tend to my teaching as well as you ... my Lord".

I couldn't help but smile. She was learning well, but her teachings were far from over. "You please me once again," I exalted, "but for the earlier offence you must pay. I did say I would castigate you softly but I have since changed my mind."

I had been showed how to punish, as I too was punished by my Mistress. As is true of emotions, all Master's and Mistress's, Lord's and Lady's have their own reasons, their own meaning for retribution. I was chastised by a firm hand to correct my faults until I was pliable enough to be reshaped into what pleased my Mistress. And it was with my first slave I continued this line of thinking until want subjugated need. It was the moment I liberated myself from ignorance and embraced my true destiny as a Lord.

"I will punish you harshly," I continued, "because it pleases me to see you suffer. Because in suffering you climb the biggest mountains and I enjoy watching you grow under my command. Open your mouth as wide as you can and make sure your gaze do not wander from mine." Once open, I filled her mouth with the flat of my right hand until I reached the back of her throat. As she started to gag I calmed her with a slight pause before continuing to push further. Gripping her hair with my left hand I became relentless. Her eyes streamed once more, imploring me silently to be merciful to which I denied her. The tops of my fingers were touching her throat as she struggled to breathe. Still impaled by the large black phallus, her naked bottom in the air raised high and her face saturated with tears and saliva, her humiliation emanated the room. It was this humiliation which sent a stabbing pain through my cock which, if left any longer, would have surely reach passion by itself.

"Do you remember why it is, dear Slave, that I do this to you?" I asked. She nodded as best she could. The symphony of her suffering filled me and I could take it no more. Momentarily renouncing my position as torturer I removed my hand, replacing it with my burning shaft. She closed her mouth tight and sucked me hard as I thrust. I gripped the black thickness filling her sex and thrust it inside her relentlessly.

"That's it my Slave'" I said, "look at me. Look only at me." With no warning to her I pressed the button on the base of the device and sent a shocking blast of electric current between her legs. Her eyes, no longer imploring but wide and filled with contrition, suffused with tears. With the shock, her teeth nipped at my cock delivering a wave of urgency through my skin. I blasted her again, feeling a nip of the current passed from her mouth to my thick shaft. My vision momentarily turned a shade of dark grey; I didn't hesitate to send another blast, continuing to thrust my cock into her mouth. She tightened her lips around me and I could contain myself no longer. I released my hot juices into the back of her throat. Having thrust deep and holding my cock in place, she swallowed all of me as she reached her passion against the electrified phallus impaling her sex.

I looked down, her eyes still fixed on mine and swollen with tears. I Sat beside her and stroked her hair, kissing her lip softly, taking it in my mouth.

"You have pleased me," I said, "but you are capable of more."

"Yes, my Lord," she replied, "May I implore your graciousness to allow me another chance to succeed?"

I smiled. "You are my Slave, as I am your Lord."

Fledgling Slave Ch. 02



The mansion they inhabited, built originally a century prior to which it stood, was in fine state. And apart from minor modifications, mainly to the second floor, the structure remained intact. Divided into five levels of definite importance, each floor of the dimly lit stately home spawned numerous rooms; each room a facet of the importance it served.

It may be sagacious to speak firstly of the second floor which engulfed six rooms numbered sequentially in descending order, an order necessary to ensure each slave knew of their importance both in the house and among each other. Each room boasted apparatus for specific levels of training, from subtle and intriguing to despotic and sublime. The house, each room, every slave and staff member and all of its functions ran just as a clock would tick. Each second a faithful click and a chime at every devoted hour. Second built upon second, hour upon hour; a natural order.

To each room a slave was assigned, and to each slave, the number of the room. Slaves were addressed by their assigned numbers, unless told otherwise; a common consequence of the slightest misdemeanor or whilst in preparatory training in room six. (Room six occupants received the unblended name of 'Slave' before moving on to room five, henceforth given the assigned name of 'Five', 'Four' in room four and so on). Room One which accommodated One, a master in training and slave to Lord Fanshawe, was the concluding room before First Judgement.

***

No sooner had he muttered those tender words to his fledgling slave, than the creak of room one's oak door swinging open filled the room. Involuntarily, he yielded to the tall stout figure stood within the frame; kneeling, his solid bottom in the air, arms sloped against the floor and head cast down. Slave, still trussed atop the cable drum, a shadow of exquisite pain shooting through her sex and skin taut from a welcomed breeze seeping in through the open door, bowed her eyes to the floor for she did not know what else was expected of her.

The dark figure stepped into the spill of moonlight shining mutely through the open window. He was naked, of strong build, very neatly trimmed all over and fully aroused. Before him were One, subserviently positioned on the floor, and Slave, braced atop the flat of a wooden drum. He softly walked over to Slave, positioning himself at her rear, and pulled apart her bottom splaying her sex. With a slow gravitational pull, her burrow relinquished the black electrified phallus, leaving her gaping and seeping with juices. Stabbing three fingers inside her wet tapered hole, and laced with the sap of her ecstasy, he moved over to her face and slid his fingers into her mouth.

"I am Lord Fanshawe," said the muscular figure. "A fact you are aware of I'm sure."

Slave's eyes surreptitiously burned with an ache not dissimilar to a mixture of fear, excitement and lust. It was the first time she had been permitted to see her owner and quite unexpectedly so. His facial structure, that of an ancient greek sculpture, held a long broad nose, slightly flared at the nostrils, full lips the colour of wine and eyes as blue and as deep as the ocean itself. Her sex sent an awakening flutter to the butterflies in her belly and as abruptly as they arrived, they disappeared. Rebuking herself — she had already forgotten her place — she immediately dropped her eyes.

"I expect only two things," Lord Fanshawe announced, in a blanketed stern tone. "For you to gracefully capitulate to any demand given you and to follow house rules without fault. Do not trouble yourself with other details, as these you will learn through unrelenting castigation at the hands of your Master's and Mistress's." Removing the three fingers from her mouth and wiping them on her face, he continued. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," she answered.

"One," Lord Fanshawe spoke, his eyes still fixed on Slave. "I would like you to enlighten your protege as to what happens when a slave, even those equally as captivating, looks into the eyes of its Master. You are permitted to stand and face me. I will advise of what you are to do."

Instantly and without exertion One arose and faced his Lord, his naked and burly frame exquisitely moulded. With his shaft fully aroused and thudding, he eagerly, patiently awaited command. Lord Fanshawe solidly stood beside the open doorway, arms folded underneath his chest and his sex tumefied.

"Free it from the drum and spread its limbs wide," Lord Fanshawe ordered, pointing with his erected finger to the ceiling. "Secure its arms with chains attached to these beams. Do the same with its ankles using the floor rings there. Do not permit its feet to touch the floor. Understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," replied One.

Lord Fanshawe circled around Slave, closely inspecting her body with intentful eyes, and returned to his place by the door.

"One, kneel before me and show it how I like to be pleased," said Lord Fanshawe. One obeyed, instantly kneeling before his Lord, his face in line with the thick shaft of his Lord's eager cock as he fed it slowly into his mouth. With innocently gleeful eyes, Slave watched as One closed his mouth around her Lord's pleasure and suckled him tightly. She observed as One parted Lord Fanshawe's bottom and slid two fingers in his anus while his eyes fixed into that of his Lord. And she watched as her Lord became aroused to the point of passion. And not a moment before Lord Fanshawe was ready to erupt, he pushed One to the ground, took a hold of himself and pumped his hot juices over One's cock.

"Lubricate her anus and stretch her with that monstrous cock of yours," ordered Lord Fanshawe. "Reach your pleasure and you will be punished."

Filled with grace and humility, One pooled the sap into his palm and stood atop a platform behind Slave. Parting the cheeks of her bottom, he tilted his hand letting the juice run to the tips of his fingers and slid them into her rectum, smothering the puckered entrance.

"Do not be kind," directed Lord Fanshawe. One aimed his length, resting it over her tight little hole, and gripped Slave's hips.

"Wait." Lord Fanshawe took a leather flogger from the wall and stood facing Slave, her eyes wide, breath intensified. "Now."

Lord Fanshawe cracked the flogger hard across Slave's breasts as powerfully as One forced himself inside her bottom.

"Stay. I want to watch its face." Lord Fanshawe stepped closer. "Look at me." And with her chin in his tight grip, Lord Fanshawe raised her gaze to meet his.

Through a sea of tears, Slave looked deeply into her Master's eyes as One impaled her from behind. Her breath had been stolen, it seemed, for momentarily all to be heard was the gentle breeze flowing into room one through the open window. Lord Fanshawe did not retire his gaze, nor did he move, instead he looked into her with more intent as if with fantastic ease he was able to see the very essence of the pain living within her.

"To lose ones anal virginity," said Lord Fanshawe softly, still with an unwavering stare, "for some, can be hard enough. But for it to be taken by One and with such force, well it is nothing short of remarkable." And with this, he turned sharply and took his place beside the door where he remained. "One, do with her as I would you," he said with apathy.

Removing his sex, One stepped down from the platform and removed a thick plaited whip from the wall before standing behind Slave. Without a word muttered he brought the whip down across the delicate skin of her cheeks, time and again, with such powerful ease. It took Slave only four strikes until she was uncontrollable with tears. And with each new burning welt, her body jerked and contorted against the binding chains, forcing her to relinquish her grasp and suspending her by her limbs in mid air. After sixteen further cracks to her bottom, thighs and back, Slave's exasperated cries abated.

Moving to her front, One attached a weight to the connecting chain attached to the clamps biting into each of her nipples and carefully watched her expression, adding additional weight until her breath involuntarily retreated and her eyes grew vacant. As her lids began to close, he stepped back and cracked the whip across her thigh, catching her sobbing sex as its hot tears dripped to the chilled oak floor. Unrelentingly moving closer and with a deft swipe, One slapped her left breast forcing the weights to painfully tug at the supporting chain. Before the weights had a chance to settle he slapped her other breast, henceforth taking to each one without pause.

Slave, a beacon of unabated pain and yet without question, without even the slightest arousal of suspicion, had never been more open, more secure, more induced to pleasure than she was as she watched One, her first Master with such an encapsulating warmth — and to deny him would be to rob herself — use her for the will of his own. She gazed as an eager child would gaze, as he attached a small clamp to the swollen little nodule of tissue at the top of her sex. A wave of fire engulfed her entire being but she forced herself to watch as he attached a weight to the clamp, and then she could watch no more for her tears would not allow it.

Dazzling white stars erupting in front a sheet of blackness was all Slave was able to see behind her lid clad eyes as the pain continued, that evil and seductive pain, uncompassionate and tortuous. The sound of rattling chains crowded her ears until their harsh reality ascended to a tranquil flow of what sounded almost like water trickling down a bed of chimes. Startled with a loss of weight, Slave creaked her eyes to witness One lifting her up in his hands by her neck.

To him she was as light as air, and felt no travail as he raised his arms, stretching them out, while he held her in place. Not even bothering to look at her, he guided her sex atop his own throbbing shaft and with an almighty force brought her crashing down, impaling her deeply. He used her neck as leverage and interminably employed her body as a necrophile would a corpse, lifting and dropping her dead weight, simultaneously lifting the weight attached to her clitoris only to let it drop with each uplift of her body.

Slave was in a realm of ecstasy, her moans and grunts a stranger to even herself. Almost machine like, her punisher pushed her further and further into continual orgasm until her body bequeathed to the will and use of whomever may choose to use it. With her body limp and still, One finally detached himself and secured her ankles to the beam above her and lowered the chains on her wrists until she was kneeling and ensured not one morsel of her skin touched the floor.

One had always shown exemplary obedience towards Lord Fanshawe, from even the first day he was brought into the mansion. And although the Lord took no favourites, as such an affair would have stripped him of his irrefutable honour, One was a slave he so admirably admired. Usually, a man of such high stature as that of the Lord would not spit upon a comparison of himself to a lesser person. But in One he did indeed see himself which not only troubled him, for he knew his own strengths, but aroused him greatly, spurning him to punish this slave, this beast, with such tyranny that at times he would lose his grip on what was real and a oneness would consume his being.

Remarkably, and for the first time in a female, Lord Fanshawe also saw a strength in Slave he had never before witnessed, not even in his own Lady, whom he adored. The female slaves he had purchased previously, even during the initial encounter with One or one of his predecessors, would beg for mercy long before Lord Fanshawe arrived to deploy the First Punishment. And there she was, marred, used, and exhausted, nearing the end of her First Punishment without so much as a murmur of rebate.

"One," spoke Lord Fanshawe, pointing to the ground. "Retrieve that phallus." Immediately yielding to his command, One picked up the electrified impaler and held it. "Let's see if we can't wake it up."

Lord Fanshawe ordered One to stand at Slave's rear as he had done so before but without the platform. And after attaching a remote for Lord Fanshawe to hold, he was to thrust the powered intruder into Slave's sopping vagina, after which, he was to finish what he started inside her tight, puckered little tunnel. He was then told to wait until he was commanded to do otherwise.

Holding her head up with a fist of her hair, Lord Fanshawe gently prised apart her mouth and pushed in his cock, reaching the opening of her throat. He gave his last order; for One to ravish his slave like he had never ravished before. And as Lord Fanshawe pushed himself further inside, Slave only stirred, relinquishing a benevolent groan before retreating back into her slumber.

"Three," said Lord Fanshawe. "Two." And in the remaining one second before they would subject Slave to her impending fate, both Lord Fanshawe and One looked at one another with a deeper desire than even they knew existed. And in that one second, the look in Lord Fanshawe's eyes, One knew that he had found his Lord's one and only weakness.

"One."

With an almost barbaric thrust, One lifted Slave's beautifully welted bottom in the air, his gargantuan cock skewering her anus, his thrusts disallowing the phallus in her sex to exit, as he released every molecule of pent up energy in devouring her body. And although he was not permitted, never was he permitted unless pleasing his Lord with his mouth — as was one of the house rules — he did not take his sight away from Lord Fanshawe's. As the two men filled every hole in her body, even as Slave awoke from her abused sex being electrocuted, her anus stretched and her mouth widened and dripping with saliva, her eyes streaming with tears, the two men of sparsely different statures used her as a conduit to bask in their passions for each other.

"I permit you to reach your desire," said Lord Fanshawe breathlessly. "As you wish."

And with that, just as One brought himself to the brink of explosion, Lord Fanshawe's body tensed, his finger impulsively connected to the electrocution button. Both men emptied themselves inside Slave's bound and exploited body.

One, resuming his natural order, retreated to his knees with his bottom in the air, his arms splayed ahead of him on the ground and his head cast down. Lord Fanshawe left the room without saying a word, as he always did. And Slave, still chained, her body limp but awake, could do nothing but wait. Kneeling in her captivity, limbs not touching the floor, she dripped from all but one hole. One dripped from her bottom, her orgasms dripped from her sex, her nose with snot and a waterfall still gushed from her eyes. Her skin, almost a work of artistic welts upon a fresh canvas, goosebumped with the cold breeze.

Without warning, two stoutly built guards quietly entered the room. The guard who entered first, clothed in a leather chastity, stood directly behind Slave and held her head in place by her hair with one hand, and with the other he pinned her eyelids open as not to be closed naturally. The other guard, his body slightly thinner than that of the first and clad with the same chastity, stood before One. In his hand was a clear plastic pouch, large in size and empty.

"Raise your head," he directed. And without dispute One did as he was told. The guard deftly placed the pouch around One's head and tightened it around his face. Slave, both astonished and alarmed, was forced to watch as One desperately tried to breath, his face turning red, the veins in his neck bulging, his arms still faithfully fixed to the ground. As she witnessed the changing hues of his beautiful visage, she noticed also a peace within his eyes. Tears poured from her eyes as her heart pounded, desperately attempting to break free and save her Master. She fought and struggled against the guards grip but her endeavor proved futile.

The guard with One tied a rope around his neck, securing the pouch, and led him out of the room on his knees as One desperately fought not to collapse. As soon as they were no longer visible, the guard holding Slave released his grip of her eyelids, allowing her eyes to be free, and filled her ears with a wax, deafening her instantly.

In the corridor just outside of the room, the guard holding One hostage watched intently as he slowly began to buckle, and when he was satisfied his prisoner had only a few puffs of remaining breath, did he pierce the pouch and allow One to breathe.

As One frantically gasped for life, he was carried upstairs and thrown into the Waiting Chamber as the two guards walked away in silence.

There was no light where he laid, and the only sound to be heard was that of his own, praying blindly to Lord Fanshawe for mercy before he was to be passed for Final Judgement.