2 comments/ 19823 views/ 1 favorites Minerva By: Falcinator Author's note: This is the edited second edition. This was the first story I ever submitted to Literotica, so it astonished me it wasn't as bad as I feared it would be. There was originally going to be a sequel. Guess that never happened. Original note: This story is intended as humor, not as material for a quick wank, so be warned. It's not meant to be funny, either. Just amusing. My thanks go out to all those writers who produce well written, will imagined, detailed and erotic stories on web sites and forums such as this. Without reading quality work, I wouldn't have bothered to submit my own. This is not otherwise consciously based on any one writer, idea or work. All characters are fictitious (unfortunately), and any similarity... The Disclaimer: Read this at your own peril. You are hereby notified that if you are not of the right physical, mental, emotional and legal maturity to read this at your own discretion, I take no responsibility for the outcomes. If you get in trouble, it's your own fault. I can't be expected to know every country's, culture's and family's rules, that's your job. * * * * * "Minerva" or: "A Mistress Manages her Realm" Minerva Grolsch stood inside her bedroom doorway and pressed her palms over her eyes, then pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes until all she could see was dancing spots. It didn't help. But then, she knew it wouldn't. It never did. She was dressed in the most practical variety of high-heel shoes, a dark gray pinstripe pants suit and a white blouse totally devoid of frills, ruffs and lace. It made her look efficient, powerful, composed and calculating. It made her look, in point of fact, exactly the way she had been intending to look. None of which could hide the fact that she hated it. It was a constant, unavoidable reminder that when she was on the outside, she was on the Outside, surrounded by the dross, the scum and the drab rabble of humanity at its worst. More importantly it reminded her that she was no longer in charge of everything she could see. That never made her feel good. But she put up with it, for reasons of necessity. Finances, for one. You couldn't get quite so much money out of venture capitalists through intermediaries; you needed to be there yourself. Happily, she had won this round. All of a sudden, Minerva was seized by a desperate need to be herself again and for that, she needed to look the part. Taking her hands off her eyes and clenching them into fists beside her face, she closed her eyes and screamed as hard as she could. Then she stood in the dying echoes and smiled blissfully. All she had been intending to do was make her presence known, but there are few more satisfying ways of doing it. A door opened on the other side of the chamber and a maid entered dressed not, as someone who knew Minerva's predilections might expect, in a French maid's outfit, but in an English maid's uniform complete with floor-length skirt. Minerva demanded that every one of her employees be both good at their job and, as she put it, pleasing to the eye. Those who were excellent at their job were allowed to be merely nice to look at. Mary had been "stolen" from the household of a middle-ranking English lord and she was allowed to be frumpy if she so chose, a situation that her sense of professionalism would never allow - one reason she was allowed the honour she would never accept. "You rang, madam?" She asked, a little icily. "Mary, I need to look beautiful." "Madam, you are always beautiful," Mary said with the stiff finality of the true expert who considers further discussion not just superfluous, not just inconceivable, not just a waste of time but also more than just a little insulting. "Indulge me, Mary," Minerva said petulantly, childishly (is there such a thing as non-childish petulance? Mary had often wondered, with conspicuous lack of evidence for the case for), while attempting, but failing, to divest herself with majestic disgust of her so-hated business-woman outfit. Mary, as was her custom, said nothing. She also, as was her job and her skill, stripped Minerva naked with a speed and proficiency that always left the Mistress startled and more than a little envious beneath her impressed respect. The clothes ended up on the bed without an extra crease or wrinkle in them, but that failed to even pass the threshold of Minerva's attention. Minerva had already thrown open the doors of the wardrobe and was standing glorying in the contents, a happy smile on her face. Mary already had the discarded blouse on a hanger and neatly away before her Mistress had reached a decision about her replacement outfit. Then her hand shot out with new purpose and the dressing process began. A leather (but chamois-padded, there was no point in being needlessly uncomfortable) Y-string, buckled together at the sides, provided the minimum necessary genital decorum. Chamois-lined leather boots with 4" heels laced up over 3/4 of her thighs. Chamois-lined leather gloves zipped, snug without being tight, halfway up her upper arms. A moulded leather bustier (not chamois lined - A girl can like a little coarseness over her nipples, can't she?) laced up the front, leaving her breasts bulging up hard and even trying to escape between the laces. Finally, a mesh-work silver necklace held a large red jade in front of her throat. Then she stared at herself in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe doors, and sighed happily. Now she looked gorgeous, now she looked herself. And all of the leather gloriously, gorgeously maroon. Her favourite colour. "Mary," she said happily, "Do I look beautiful now?" "I dressed you, Mistress," Mary replied tartly. "What do you expect me to say?" "Just say it, Mary," Minerva replied, still happy. Mary clicked her tongue, whether in annoyance or exasperation it was difficult to say. "You are beautiful, Mistress," she said in an absolutely neutral voice. "Yes, aren't I?" Every Mistress has duties to perform, when suitably attired for the part. Which left one more thing. So it was that, riding crop in hand, she stalked regally through her palace, worshipful lackies at her heels. Her destination was her throne room. She normally got most of her work done there, so after having wasted (no, she really mustn't think like that, there had been a very lucrative point to it, but she really must find herself a good negotiator so she didn't have to do - here she suppressed a small shudder - meetings) the morning outside, she needed to catch up. As she swept in, her viceroy (it amused her to call him that. He was the only other close servant she had who was allowed to dress normally) was waiting for her with a clipboard and pen in hand. The fountain pen looked far better than he could possibly be made to, and cost more than Minerva's entire outfit. It symbolised, even more than his clothes, his value to her. "Good afternoon Charles," she said cheerfully, rolling her tongue in exaggerated fashion over the soft vowel sounds. "We can begin now." She sprawled herself in her throne, one leg thrown over an elaborately carved wooden arm, her head propped on her hand, her crotch gaping wide at whoever was blessed, doomed or otherwise fated to stand in front of her. Charles inclined his heard in her direction briefly. "Very good, Mistress. You have three scheduled supervisions, two matters of discipline and one extra-curricular consideration." Extra-curricular meant outside the grounds, which made Minerva's ears perk up, but not happily. She lashed her leather-covered thigh with the riding crop briefly, found the enjoyment of that recompense for having to think of the outside world, and calmed down again. "Very well, supervisions first, I think." "Certainly, madam." Charles made a complicated but quick hand gesture towards the doors, where an Adonis of a guard, wearing shorts carefully designed to get in the way of neither physical activity nor a good perve, while also being incredibly stylish, nodded, pulled open the door, and made a similar gesture outside. The door opened further and the head of development for Minerva's latest game strode briskly in, looking happy. Minerva had long ago decided that the only way to indulge her fancies, her abilities and her desire to be left the fuck alone by the rest of the world was to run some sort of computer company, preferably (abilities) software. Minerva could program in seven languages, only three of them related to each other, and was a fully-qualified systems administrator. Her staff were well aware of this, and she encouraged a healthy competition in attracting her professional, as well as personal, praises. Ziggy (not the name his mother knows him by) wasn't carrying anything, but his belt held his latest smartphone. On which, she was well aware, he had every detail she could possibly ask him for, either locally or via WiFi. For a laugh, she had tried cracking the encryption on that network once, and had personally (very, very personally) made her respect known to the administrator afterwards. "Well?" She asked, happy to see him happy. "Ahead of schedule, Mistress!" He replied cheerfully, before he had even finished walking. "The conversation AI has finally been finished, and is being fully tested, the last of the known bugs has been quashed and the beta testers are trying to find new ones, all the artwork is awaiting your approval and the rumors have been seeded on appropriate websites." Ziggy was expensively and stylishly dressed, but not revealingly so and had chosen the outfit himself. He wore no tie. He wore glasses, but they were titanium-framed, cost $600 and were chosen in collaboration with Minerva herself. She was always happy to honour requests like that, particularly when she gave Ziggy more leeway than he took. She raised an eyebrow "Beta testers?" He nodded vigorously. "Yes!" As he was talking, he was staring hungrily at Minerva's leather-clad, wide-open crotch. She liked that in her servants, and encouraged it, though without compulsion. Some could only think when they were looking firmly and unwaveringly at her face, some, like Ziggy, couldn't think if they were trying to expend the effort required to do so. A genius coder and fantastic manager, but satisfyingly weak-willed otherwise. She gave a small squeal of delight, and clapped her hands. "Excellent! Excellent! Ziggy, you're a precious. I'll send word on the artwork this afternoon, and when you finish you may visit the harem." Although Minerva employed married men, Ziggy was not one of them. "Oh, thank you, Mistress!" He said happily, his fog-free glasses beginning to steam up slightly. When he had left, and the guard's muscles had moved out of the way of the muscles he used to close the door, Charles smoothly moved onto the next item. "Website development, Mistress," he said calmly. At her nod, he made another complicated gesture at the door. This time the process resulted in a tall, unattractively thin woman with raven-black hair in a plait to her waist, a scarlet sports bra and a scarlet floor-length skirt, slashed to the waist on the right, revealing suspended stockings and, only just revealed by the length of the skirt, red high heels. She strode briskly, also empty-handed, each nail painted a deeper red and each wrist encircled by a broad, etched band of gold. She was good at what she did, but was relatively new and had been given an important task to test her. She also looked not entirely pleased to be there, a fact which could hardly escape Minerva's Holmesian abilities to read people. "How goes the migration?" the Mistress asked with a raised eyebrow. "I am afraid," the woman replied, choosing her words with care, "That there have been delays." Minerva knew what that meant. No one in her employ, no matter how distant from her or how recently their employment, ever dared try to wriggle out of blame, so it was unlikely that Kate was responsible. "Such as?" "There was a scheduled upgrade of the backup server, which was not quite finished when a cracking attempt was detected on the main server. That was defeated, all intrusion checks were run, then the kernel and the database server on the main server were upgraded for routine security announcements. So the scheduled upgrade of several minor utilities was bought forward while the main server was out of operation, and I was enlisted to help speed things up." "Really?" Minerva replied, drawing the word out over several heartbeats. "So what is the damage to your work?" "I should still finish on schedule," Kate smoothly replied. "Excellent, excellent. So is your composure. Get yourself a massage this afternoon and say hi to your team for me." "Thank you Mistress," Kate replied humbly, pivoted gracefully and retired. Say what you like about the woman's aversion to figure-building exercise, she certainly had grace. Minerva shifted on her throne, bringing both knees together and up to her chest, letting her feet dangle off the edge and showing her ass in its full, nearly unrestrained, glory. She waved a hand at Charles, who waved his, in a fashion, in the direction of the door. "Infrastructure," he announced. The manager in charge of the building-wide wiring, wireless access points, protection of same, email servers, authentication servers and the like was a short man, who might have attracted the designation "dapper" in any other circumstance but, believing that badges of status should be worn, was merely "scruffy." "Report?" Minerva asked, slipping easily into Gryff's habit of stripping sentences of all inessential words, including some of the essential ones. "Nothing at all, Mistress," he cheerfully replied, slipping just as easily into her occasional practised loquaciousness. "Nothing has happened to the wires, screws, bolts, whirring things or blinking lights. We haven't even changed anything." Now that really was going too far, she thought, but let it pass. Instead, she shrugged and waved him off. "Okay then, you may go." "Mistress," he replied, still cheerful, and left. Gryff was married, and was also almost unbribeable, unrewardable and unpunishable. There was nothing you could do to him that gave him greater delight than his job or his children, while he had never, in seven years, given any reason for anybody to get annoyed with that work. Minerva loved him dearly, and had already stymied three different attempts to head-hunt him in a way that dissuaded the hunters from ever, ever, trying anything like that on one of her employees ever, ever, again. Minerva was finding her attention wandering, then she brightened up considerably. Hadn't Charles said something about two matters of discipline? But first the work. She sat up straight and somewhat primly, laying her crop across her lap. "Charles," she said in a tone that he recognised and understood before the rest of the sentence had been complete, "What did you say about an extra-curricular matter?" Charles smiled slightly, something that immediately perked up Minerva's ears, if not also her nipples. When someone who knew her as well as Charles smiled at her like that, it meant that she was going to enjoy herself after all. "Last night," Charles began smoothly, "We caught a man trying to break in to the building. He was strong, fit, clearly very practised at what he was doing and equipped with an excellent array of tools. Unfortunately he wasn't expecting the technology arrayed in our defences to be as low as it was high and he was caught by the guards at their leisure. He rolled over when he saw the interrogation room," - which was why it looked so much more impressive than it was actually capable of - "Told us who his employer was and gave us quite enough to be going on with. He has no close family, nor pets. Here," Charles passed a sheet of paper to Minerva, "Are the relevant details of his employ." Minerva raised her eyebrows at not just being told, then read the paper and smoothly moved through surprise, smirking, chuckling, giggling and hysterical laughter. Charles almost laughed with her, an extreme response for the controlled viceroy. When Minerva had finished laughing, feeling rather weaker than when she had began, she mopped her eyes with a silk handkerchief thoughtfully provided by the female lackey who tagged along behind her for just such purposes, blew her nose on it and handed it back. The lackey put it back into her costume, much to the surprise of anybody who had seen how little costume there was to put anything into, even parts of her. "Bring him forth," Minerva said grandly, with an even grander flourish of her be-gloved hand. Charles gestured at the door, the door was opened and in sprawled the thief in the night, followed by a guard holding onto his collar. This guard was attired in the same manner as the one at the door, but was if anything even more chiselled in physique. The prisoner was only wearing more than the guard because he was wearing restraints. Specifically, he was wearing cuffs, chained a mere two inches apart, just above his knees. His arms were encased behind his back in a leather sheath that zipped up to his elbows, and the expression on his face suggested that his shoulders weren't happy about this. He had been stripped to his underwear - black, perfectly fitting and sensible - but had been provided with accessorizing bruises at the guards' discretion. At the guard's instigation he had been provided with a ball gag. The guard had also, coincidentally, provided the prisoner with a decent amount of neurosis by the simple technique of grinning at him. No matter how much he tried to avoid it, the prisoner found that a guard who clearly spent a lot of time in the gym, was only wearing a pair of what looked like lycra shorts and grinned at him, made him nervous. Minerva also started grinning at him, but with more teeth and less dimple. "Hello, you idiot," she said in a voice that still managed to sound cheerful and friendly. "You cocked that up, didn't you?" She asked, still cheerful. "Which is going to make the rest of your life miserable. No, don't bother trying to say anything," She added with a wave of her hand as the prisoner desperately started to say something through his gag. "You've already condemned yourself, you can't make it any better or worse, so don't bother trying. We already know everything that we want to about your sordid little business arrangements, you pathetic excuse for a professional. We also know that no matter what we choose to do, nobody is going to miss you. which means that you are literally fucked, because I don't care to let people escape the consequences of their actions. "So off you go, then. Enjoy your final moments." The prisoner's eyes widened in terror as he foresaw the near future and what it contained and got it right. His guard simpered, winked at him and gave the leash a tug, lisping "Come along, darling." As he pulled the frantically struggling burglar after him, eagerly but not unkindly, Minerva raised her voice to call after him. "Josh!" He turned back towards her. "Yes, mistress?" "Be nice to him, darling," she said with a smile. "Use lube." "Of course!" He exclaimed as he pulled the now frantic gimp after him, the doors closing behind them with a satisfied resonant clang. Minerva lay back, feeling properly happy for the first time since she had arrived home. "what's next, Charles?" "Two matters of discipline, Mistress." "Oh good! Do tell me more, Charles." "One lady and one gentleman, Mistress." It was Charles' affectation that he used formal terms of respect in such circumstances, something which Minerva found oddly endearing. "The gentleman stands accused of attempting to seduce a colleague's wife. The lady in question confessed after one assignation, tearfully and at length. Her husband has forgiven her but not his colleague." Minerva Author's note: this never happened. Minerva is a figment of someone's imagination. This is the first story I've posted in almost two years that hasn't been edited by my partner. Not edited by anyone, only me. ***** She was gorgeous. Dark-haired, alluringly sexy, entrancing long intelligent face, waiting outside her flat as his taxi arrived. He'd considered driving, but the attraction of reading on the train won over three hours on the motorway. Their eyes locked as he emerged from the taxi. She was nervous. He pulled her to him for a greeting kiss, arms stroking her back. No greeting kiss this. Lips yielded mutually and arms tightened around each other. Her soft body, jesus, instant erection. He didn't try to pull back, she deserved to know. Both were panting when they eventually parted: -Glad you're here. You'd better come in? Interesting voice. Assured, in control. He'd known that about her from their emails, but he hadn't heard her speak. His guts churned. Assured maybe, but she was his to use. She'd learn. -Yes. Thank you. Inside the door he pushed her to the wall to kiss her, but she pressed him off: -Later. If I decide I want you. Tea or coffee? A show of strength. Her eyes were smiling though. -Tea please. What do you have? -Coop teabags. Only the best. -If you're ever lucky enough to be invited to my place, the choice is Darjeeling leaf, or camomile. -Tea snob eh? Not sure I like that... -You know I'm no snob. I just know what I like. Old man's prerogative. But coop bags will be fine. He watched as she made the tea. When it was on the table: -Sit on my lap Minerva. We need to get to know each other. But get your clothes off first. She started at the change in his tone. Felt something move inside her. Fuck. Just six words, and her cunt was flooded. She stripped. Shit, he was just in the door and here she was, wet and naked for him. He could smell cunt as she slid onto his lap. Took a nipple in his mouth, sucked. As his fingers slid up her inside thigh his teeth fastened on the nipple. Pulled, stretched it. -Open your legs, your gspot needs wanked. His mouth fastened on hers as two fingers curled into her cunt. Tugging and rubbing. Fuck, how beautifully wet. What a gorgeous sub. He pulled back from the kiss so he could watch her face, watch its contortions as the sensations surged through her. How gratifying. His hand worked harder. -Oh fuck oh fuck ooooOOOOOOOOH. He watched entranced as she squirted the orgasm, soaking his hand and arm. He slid out from under her so she fell back on the couch: -Legs wide. I need to taste you. But taste yourself first. She licked the wet hand at her mouth, sucked the fingers. He knelt before her, lapped up her thighs. Into the cunt, smelling, tasting. Delicious. Every woman tastes different, and this was beautiful, tangy, sharp. -Suck my clit. Please. He looked in her eyes: -I need more than please. Shit, what did he mean? He wasn't touching her cunt now, just waiting, looking at her. His hands moved to her throat, not tightly, but enough. -Please... master. He smiled in her eyes: -You'll need a safeword. Not for now, but for later. And his face descended on her cunt, lapping, teeth nibbling, tugging her inner lips. She screamed as they sank into her clit. The second orgasm shuddered through her. He sat beside her and sipped his tea: -What do you want to do about eating, Minerva? Happy to buy you dinner out. -Um, there's something in the oven. Hope you'll like it... master. He pulled her to him, kissed her softly: -Thank you. I'm sure I will. Now, there's something I'd like you to wear for me. He drew the collar from his pocket: -Normally it's my policy to invite the woman to collar herself. Then it's her choice. In your case there is no choice. Bow your head and lift the hair from your neck. You know what this means. You're my slave. For the weekend anyway. It doesn't come off till I leave, not in the shower, not anytime. Her cunt was mush as she obeyed and he fastened the collar round her neck, his fingers shaking. His slave. Fuck. She hadn't expected that. Fear and excitement jostled in her head. Excitement won. -Now slave, I need to play with you properly before dinner. And fuck your arse. God, how lovely that mine will be the first cock in there. Bedroom. -Master? I need to pee first. -I need to watch you. On you go. She shivered. She felt extremely uncomfortable at the thought. No man had ever watched her pee. But she'd known there would be a few firsts this weekend. -Yes... master. He relished her body as she walked before him to the toilet. When she crouched on the seat, his camera appeared. Jesus fuck. But she had agreed to be his slave... -Legs wide, I need to see. She parted her legs obediently and he crouched, peering intently at her face, then her cunt. Shuffled a bit to get the camera angle right. Muffled clicks as the piss trickled, then gushed, from her urethra. -I'll wipe it, it's mine for now. Stand. When she was standing his mouth went to her cunt to lap it dry. -Good girl. Bedroom. There was a range of toys on the dressing table. She turned and looked him a question when she reached the bed. -On your back. I need to know how much pain your cunt can take. He selected a crop and a flogger, put them on the bed, undressed. Thrust his leaking cock in her mouth, grabbing her hair, thrust a few times, withdrew. She looked at his hardness, licked her lips, moved to take him in again: -It's been a long time since I tasted cock... -Not now slave. I want to spunk you somewhere else the first time. But now I've work to do. Open up... He attached the clamps to her nipples first, set them tight. Pulled her thighs wide and picked up the flogger. A nice one, not a wimpy Ann Summers standard. Knelt beside her head, began flogging her cunt, gently at first to get his swing. Then harder. Heard her flinch every time the wicked strands kissed her labia, inner thighs, her hole, her clit. Her cunt blushed pink, then red, moisture oozing from it. He paused and looked into her eyes: -Your safeword? -Durkheim... master. -You'll need it. This is just playing. He reached for the crop, began a sharp staccato rhythm on her clit. Glanced at her face as the leather played her, her breathing coming faster, eyes rolling up, fucking beautiful. She gasped as he increased the pressure, slaps ever harder, pleasurepain surging through her, moaning now, nearly there, harder leatherlashing... -Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck... She exploded, writhing and screaming, and his head dipped to her cunt, tasted heat and satiation, sucked and licked copious sexhoney. She lay back gasping and he held the crop to her mouth: -Clean yourself from the leather. Don't want it rotting. She obeyed and he kissed her mouth, his beard sodden. Licked her ear, whispered: -Good slave, that was so beautiful. And it's made your arse nice and slimy for its first cockfuck. Knees to shoulders, he needs in there. -Ohhh... so soon... master? He looks big. You know I've never had real cock there... -Well, you're getting it now. She grabbed behind her knees, bent double. Arse and cunt gaping, the ultimate submissive posture for manfuck. His fingers slid sexjuice into her arse. It was already greasy, no artificial lube needed. He knelt below her, rubbed his cock over her cunt, slid it in there to wet it, then pressed it against her sphincter: -Look at me. This arse is getting its first cock. I want to see your eyes as it takes you. Her face was strange, a cocktail of lust, defiance and fear. Her eyes widened as his forefingers pulled her anus open, mouth opened to teeth-clenched rictus as she felt cock probe her... force itself in. Intense pain tore her at first. Then a flood of relief as the bulbous head was accepted by her tight sphincter; diminishing pain as the hardness slid in, one slow constant thrust, till she engulfed him completely. She was glad he wasn't huge. -You OK? She nodded weakly. -I can assure you that I'm very OK. This – gently thrusting and withdrawing – is a most satisfactory arse. It needs its first fuck, doesn't it? Another slight nod. He knew her fulfilment was laced with discomfort, pain; but shit, she was his slave. As he increased the tempo gradually, sweat began to pour off her face, trickling down between her breasts. He pushed her knees apart and bent to take the tips of her distended nipples between his teeth, careful not to dislodge the clamps, as he fucked into her. Tugging relentlessly, stretching her obscenely as he took her. He wasn't going to last long this first time, fuck she was so tight. He left the nipples and focused on sodomising her, painsqueals as he drove harder, he was going to be the first to spunk this delicious arse, balls tightening oh fuck... then electricity in his cock as he surged and pulsed in her. He rubbed her clit and to his joy, she let go. Spunkspurts in the condom and she came with him, her hips rising and writhing to receive his need. He pulled her knees down, cock still hard in her, kissed her panting mouth, their facesweat mingling: -Thank you slave. A most wondrous fuck, delicious first scene. She didn't trust herself to say anything. They lay sweatsoaked for a while, stroking and kissing, recovering their breathing. They started when the oven bell sounded, and his cock slipped from her with their movement. She pushed him off her: -Dinner. I need to attend, master. She rose, a bit wobbly. Reached for her dressing gown. -No. Naked chef. ***** She was shivering by the time the meal was served and he relented, fetching her the gown, making her stand as he slipped it onto her. He knelt to suck and bite her nipples, licked her cunt wetly, bit her clit: -Now we can eat. He fetched the bottle of peach brandy from his rucsac, a glass from her kitchen, and a pint of water for himself: -I don't want you pissed, but you might be glad of a wee drop: we've the rest of the night. Slainthe. The vegetable casserole showed real flair. It disappeared fast. His foot was between her thighs as they ate and talked, big toe teasing wet cunt. He needed to keep her simmering. As he washed the dishes, he turned his head to where she stood beside him: -How's your arse Minerva? -Umm. Stretched. A bit sore... -And your head? Do you want more tonight? -My head's... fine. And yes. I want to see where you can take me. But no bondage, you agreed to that... master. -I stick to my word. Now, the dishes are done. Suck my cock. Naked. He hung up the dishtowel and turned to face her, his dressing gown open to expose the erection. The flimsy garment fell from her shoulders as she knelt, and her lips closed round his cock. This felt really strange, the smell, the spunk clinging from where it had been trapped inside the discarded condom, the taste of latex. And the sensation of him in her mouth. She knew she wasn't very good at this, hadn't had cock in her mouth in years. So she played with the head at first, taste and texture. He wanted into her throat, but knew this was strange to her, so he was patient. Held her head gently, only slight thrusts to begin with, but as he felt her confidence grow his grip became tighter and he started to fuck her face, cockhead touching the back of her throat. She gagged and spluttered but kept going. Fuck, if she kept this up he was going to spunk her, and that had to be for later. He reluctantly withdrew but held himself close to her face, mouth and cocktip linked by a string of saliva and precum. Then his fingers wrapped in her long hair and he dragged her up from her knees to face him. -Thank you for a delicious dinner slave. And for that service for me. To show my gratitude properly you need a present. Come. He dragged her by the hair into the bedroom: -Bed, on your back. -Yes master. That word wasn't coming with diffidence any more. -I think we need some scent. He withdrew a candle and lighter from his rucsac, set the candle on the bedside cabinet, lit it: -You're shivering slave. You need warmed up. She watched impassionately as he held the candle over her nipple. Tilted it. She didn't move as the trickle of wax hit, solidified. Fuck... but she remained silent, face betraying nothing. He was impressed: -You're not warm enough yet. The other nipple. This time she flinched. His hand went to her cunt. Slithery. His erection was dripping as he pulled her thighs wide. Swollen cuntlips, nicely parted to reveal her engorged clit. He lifted the candle again, watching her eyes. Fear and need. Good: -Hold your legs wide so you're completely exposed. She complied wordlessly, tensed. He held the candle low for accuracy and she felt the heat. Tiny hairs on her thighs singed when he deliberately moved the candle. Then it was over her clit. -FUUCK Her scream echoed in the room and he snuffed the candle. -Nice and warm now Minerva? Thank you, you did very well. He lay beside her, held her to him. Her arms went round him, clasped him tightly. He kissed her mouth. It responded, slack and wanton. His lips moved over her face, tongue lapping the wetness. He knew they were more than pain-tears. She was far out in subspace, eyes closed. They were closer than they had been all evening. That wouldn't do, against the rules. 'No love, no commitment.' He rose, his cock throbbing with need. But that wouldn't do either, not at this stage. Too intimate. So he donned his gown and went to make tea. When he returned with the mugs she remained as he'd left her. -Minerva? Her eyes fluttered open. Gazed at him, still somewhere else, but returning. -Master has brought his slave tea. A different type of warmth. Drink. She struggled onto her elbows, facing away from him. Lifted the mug and sipped. Tea dripped on the bed from the slight tremor in her hand. His hand touched her shoulder lightly: -I know you need space Minerva. I'll go and read. I'll check on you presently. He slid his gown on, took his tea and Cormac McCarthy, and left her to bury himself in the novel. When he returned twenty minutes later she was sitting up in bed reading Marge Piercy. -More tea Minerva? She beamed: -Yes please... master. He grabbed her nipple and twisted it hard: -I'm just master this weekend, remember. I haven't read Piercy in twenty years. -I'm... a little surprised that you know her, master. -I've been a feminist since my mid-twenties. My ex-wife and my women comrades saw to that. It changed my world, and Piercy was an important part of the process. 'Woman on the Edge of Time' is one of two convincing Utopias I've read, with William Morris's 'News from Nowhere'. He left to get more tea. She wondered about this strange man; dom and human being. He returned with the tea: -Ready for more, slave? And she'd thought he was in human mode for a minute... -I need more master. -Don't waste your tea. As she sipped, he fiddled to attach the clamps to her hard nipples. Then parted her legs. Sucked and nibbled her clit to make it engorge, and slid the clamp onto it. Her tea spilled. She put the mug down carefully, panting. He took the peeled finger of ginger, carefully carved, from his rucsac. -Hold your legs up slave. She complied. The hot core of ginger slid into her anus, held in place by the indentation round the base. He watched her eyes. Then brought the piri piri bottle from his store of tricks. Carefully dripped some on her clit. Rubbed it in. She exploded, expelling the ginger from her arse with the force of her contractions, writhing and moaning. He knew he'd gone too far, though there was no 'Durkheim'. He bent and lapped the sauce from her cunt, burning his mouth: -That better? -Yes master. Such control. He looked at her, admiration and lust mingled. -On your face now. I'm sure you know the posture. -Yes master. She slid over, her arse deliciously displayed for him. She shuddered when he pressed the plug of ginger back in her anus. He hefted the leather belt. By the time he was finished, her arse, back, and thighs were glowing red, and he was pouring sweat. She hadn't uttered a sound. The ginger protruded yet from her anus. He felt her cunt. Liquid coated his fingers. His cock had never been so engorged. Grabbed her hair, rammed into the cunt gaping before him. She deserved this and christ she would get it. Their evening had made him an animal, and he fucked like one. No thought of the woman whose head was jerked by the hair, no thought, just feral lust. Hard and wicked, slapping her arse, fucking and taking, his, all his. Her throat was stretched as her head was forced back further and his cock plundered her insistently. His balls tightened, hands went to her throat, fastened round it. Then one hand went to her clit, savaged it. The convulsions shook her as his spunk filled the condom. Eventually they collapsed together soaked with sweat. He kissed her. -That was beautiful Minerva. Thank you. They needed no other connection. This was just about rough sex. Minerva Minerva clapped her hands in delight. "Hear that, people! She's moaning! Well!" She spread her legs wide to straddle the footstool and sat down, knees spread to open herself fully. She reached down, grabbed Kim's hair and jerked her head up, so that she could look her prisoner in the eyes. They were still wet with tears, but also had a wild look of despair in them. "Oh, do give in, Kim darling. It's clear you're enjoying this, so just accept it and be a good little sub slut, okay? In fact!" Minerva reached down to the side of her Y-string and unclipped it, pulling the leather across to reveal her hairless, puffy and wet lips. "Since you're enjoying yourself so much, you won't mind participating a little more actively, will you?" She planted her boots, pushed the footstool forwards and pushed Kim's wide-open mouth down onto her aching sex. "Get to work, slut. If I don't cum, you don't get to leave this room." She kept her hand on Kim's head - after all, that blond hair did feel very nice - but it really wasn't necessary. The new slave was too terrified not to obey, although she almost gagged at the unfamiliar musk of another woman's arousal and her first efforts were unsure and random. You would think, wouldn't you, that a woman with such an active sex life would know what good cunnilingus felt like? Well, maybe Kim hadn't been paying proper attention. It was a workmanlike performance, but nothing more, interspersed with more frequent gargling gasps and moans as the steady pistoning of the guard's hips drove her towards orgasm. Not surprisingly, Kim got there first, losing all rhythm and forgetting about the task to mouth as she shook violently. Minerva slapped her sharply between the shoulder blades. "Bad girl! Did I tell you to stop? Keep going, slut." The guard didn't stop, though. So Kim climaxed again before her amateurish efforts finally wrung a satisfied scream from her Mistress. "We'll have to see what we can do about your abilities, won't we?" The Mistress purred, cupping the slaves flushed, tear-streaked face in her hands. "But don't worry. You'll learn soon enough. The girls in the harem will be only too willing to teach you. Take her away!"