3 comments/ 12445 views/ 1 favorites Seeking for Pleasure Ch. 01 By: Otto26 (Thanks, again, to my editor, snooper, and my test readers, Nibbles_n_Tits and slippedhalo. This story stands alone but is based upon one of my earlier stories, The Visit.) Charlotte closed the door to her room and then navigated to a directory on her computer. It was encrypted, so she had to type in her password. She ran the short program she had written and a small window popped up in the corner of her screen and began to display a sequence of images. She began preparing to work on a program for her Computer Science class and only paid attention to the progression of images with her peripheral vision. The images came from a web-cam she had discretely positioned on one of her shelves. It pointed out the nearby window and took a picture every ten seconds. An image caught her attention and she stopped the program, clicking back until she found the image she wanted. It showed a limousine in a pool of light on the road that ran by the house. "Bingo," she whispered. Her heart pounded in her chest as all of the things she needed to do flashed through her mind in a confused tangle. But Charlotte was a very organized young woman and had made a list of those things. It was another file in the encrypted directory and she opened it. Pretty much everything was done, had been accomplished ahead of time, and it wasn't as if she hadn't done this several times before. She went to her closet and pulled out a light tan jumpsuit and a pair of brown work-boots. There was a camel-back the same color lying on the floor. She tossed the clothing into a corner of the room and went down the hallway to fill the camel-back in the upstairs bathroom. The camel-back went into the corner with the clothing and she dug under the bed to find her video camera. She'd bought that with her own money, second-hand, after a long search and kept it wrapped in fabric like the valuable item that it was. She knew it was empty, but she checked anyway, and then loaded a blank disc into it. She checked the battery and then, satisfied that it was fine, dug out a second device. It was a spotter's telescope that had been modified, using directions from the internet, to hold the camera. Between the two devices she had a considerable optical zoom capability and she was very proud of her work. It had been a real challenge not to brag to anyone about it. Both of those went into the backpack she had sewn padding into and joined the clothing in the corner. She set her alarm for 4am and stuffed it under her pillow before going back to the computer and closing the encrypted directory. Then she did her homework. The alarm went off at 4am and Charlotte shut it off. She climbed out of bed and pulled on her underwear and a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Her cell-phone went into the backpack and then she bundled everything up and slipped down the stairs and out of the house. When she was hidden behind one of the sheds she pulled down her shorts and underwear and leaned back against the wooden shed to pee. When she was done, she pulled out a length of plastic tube and a bag. The bag attached to her thigh with Velcro straps and the catheter she simply taped to the bag for the time being. Then she finished getting dressed, pulling the brown jump-suit and boots on and tying her long, brown hair into a braid that she stuffed down the back of the jump-suit. She put the backpack on backwards, so that it was in front of her, and then put the camel-back on. Checking to see if anyone was watching she loped off into the cornfield. She slowed to a walk when she was well away. It took her an hour to cover the meandering three mile course between her house and her destination. Walking while wearing the bag was uncomfortable, but there wasn't much space to put it on at her destination. When she arrived she carefully crawled the last two hundred yards to her hidey-hole. The hidey-hole had taken her a month of work to dig. She'd found the instructions on the internet and had worked an hour or so per week, only at night. It was a shallow trench with a wooden roof covered by plastic and sod. It was nearly invisible unless you were right up on it, and it was a rattlesnake magnet. She carefully popped the cover off and found a big one curled up inside. She killed it with the axe she kept by the doorway and then used the second-hand salad tongs to pull out the head and the body. A little scuffing with the axe confirmed that no more snakes were inside and covered the snake blood with a layer of dust. She crawled inside and pulled the cover shut behind her. There was just enough room for her to roll over onto her side and pull the video camera and spotter scope out of the backpack. She set them up with practiced ease and trained them on one of the trees on the prairie below her rise. The catheter went in with practiced ease and she adjusted her clothing as best she could in the tiny space. When she was satisfied that she had done everything she could she rolled onto her back and grabbed a book from the sealed zip lock stash she kept in the hole. "'Taken for Pleasure'," she muttered. "Whatever will the slavers do to Misty this time, I wonder?" Checking her watch every few minutes she immersed herself in the misadventures of Misty True, kidnapped into a life of exotic sexual slavery by men who seemed an awful lot like the real jerks she remembered from high school and was discovering in college. Misty didn't seem to mind, though. She'd protest a little and then she'd leap, or crawl, into each new indignity with enthusiastic abandon. The slut. Charlotte envied her. After two hours the sun was well up and Charlotte sealed Misty back into her plastic environment and rolled over and looked down at the vista before her. She'd looked up instructions on this as well. She was methodical and competitive; if she was going to be a stalker, then she'd be a damn good stalker. She let her eyes unfocus slightly and gazed in the general direction of the orchard. Eventually, she spotted movement. Gradually she let her eyes move to the specific area and start to focus. She made out the familiar form of two human figures and licked her lips as she turned the video camera on and adjusted the zoom. It was hard with two zooms, one automatic and the other manual, to get a good picture, but she'd had a lot of practice. She studied the figures in the camera display. The male was familiar to her. He owned the old Tanner property or, at least, that portion of the Tanner property that everyone figured wasn't worth owning. He wasn't particularly tall or physically imposing, but he carried himself with a dignity that she found very appealing. He was wearing cotton work pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and work boots. The floppy hat hid the upper portion of his face from view, but she had the details committed to memory and saw the grey eyes when she masturbated in her room. The woman... "Well hello, Miss Big Tits. Are you back already?" she murmured. The woman was taller than Charlotte and heavier by twenty pounds. Mister Benson didn't seem to mind that. She had seen him with women of all types, though she'd never seen him with someone obviously obese. He didn't seem to be particularly concerned with physical details. Miss Big Tits was a brunette, almost blonde really, and wasn't in the best physical condition. "You've lost weight, though, haven't you?" Charlotte whispered. "Did he tell you to do it?" she pondered out loud. "No. He wouldn't do that, I don't think. You did it because you wanted to look good for him, didn't you?" She *did* look better than the last time, Charlotte thought. Since she was wearing sandals, a collar, and a leash it wasn't like she could hide anything. Charlotte's eyes darted down to her crotch; Miss Big Tits was clean-shaven and a little puffy. Charlotte envied her that. She had wanted to shave herself the first time she saw Mister Benson's hand gliding over a shorn mons. Gym class had put paid to that idea; while several of the girls trimmed, no one shaved, and she didn't want to have to explain why she did. Since she wasn't doing any sports at the community college she might be able to get away with it, but she wanted to be certain before she tried it. A second time visit was a good thing, a jackpot really. It meant a better chance of sex. He usually just had the first timers follow him around. Sometimes he played with them a little. But second timers... she watched avidly, chewing softly on her lower lip. Big Tits was being a help, displaying herself brazenly. When she knelt, her legs were spread and she lowered her eyes a little, but not too much. Mister Benson didn't like that for some reason; he wasn't like the guys in the books. When she stood she stood close to him, almost rubbing her breasts against him. Mister Benson smiled beneath his hat and Big Tits knelt down in front of him. "Bingo," Charlotte whispered as he unzipped his pants. She knew what that cock looked like and she groaned in jealousy as Big Tits took it into her mouth. She slipped a pair of fingers into her own mouth and pretended, imagining that she was sucking Mister Benson, that she could smell the sweat of him and taste the salt of it and his pre-cum. Big Tits was using her hands too, something Charlotte couldn't do lying by herself in her little hole. "Spray her," Charlotte prayed. "Give her a facial, Mister Benson. She's just a slave. Oh, fuck." He'd pulled out of her and walked around to kneel behind her. His hand disappeared between her legs, hidden by the angle, as she put her forehead to the ground. He toyed with her for a while before snugging up to her. He moved slowly, hands on her hips, as he took his pleasure with her body. Charlotte wondered what that felt like and resolved, again, to find out. He shouted when he came. He always did. And it was obvious that Big Tits hadn't finished, that she wanted more. "I'm right there with you, sister," Charlotte empathized. Mister Benson was standing and Big Tits was licking him clean. That was another thing Charlotte wanted to know more about. She'd tasted herself, of course, but she'd never tasted the commingled fluids. She could imagine herself licking Mister Benson clean, his gentle smile encouraging her. But right now the closest she could get to an actual sexual release was to relax her bladder and let it fill the bag strapped to her leg. They were walking back towards the house now, laughing at something one of them had said. He was holding the leash and she was following him closely. Charlotte couldn't decide if she was more jealous or envious. When they reached the house she turned off the camera. The windows of the house reflected too much light and she'd never found a way to get a look inside during the day. Unfortunately, the people inside could see out perfectly well. So she rolled onto her back and pulled out Misty, reasoning that reading the book would be less frustrating than watching the tape. It was dark when she got home and she changed behind the shed, emptying the catheter bag at the same time, before going inside. Her mother was busy with dinner and her father and younger brother were out in the new barn. She went upstairs and carefully put everything away before heading to the shower. The water was warm and ran down her body in rivulets that she pretended were fingers. She peeked out at the door, confirming that it was locked, and then got down on her knees and placed her forehead against the porcelain floor of the tub. Her hands reached back between her legs and softly traced the well-known pathways of her sex. Behind closed eyes she pictured Mister Benson and his soft smile examining her and whispering sweetnesses. 'Such a messy little slut.' "Yes, Master," she whispered. "Please may I be your slut?" 'My slut would know how to spread herself.' Charlotte's fingers tugged at her labia, pinning them like the wings of a butterfly to her flesh and exposing her core. She slipped two fingers into herself, pushing until she felt her cervix and twisting, tracing the tip of her finger around the fleshy cap. 'So warm, are you always this hot, little slut?' "Yes, Master. My body burns with desire, please quench me, Master." Her fingers worked slowly in and out, a surrogate cock that she clutched and pushed back against. Her free hand toyed with her clitoris, expertly tweaking and rubbing. She imagined Mister Benson's hands firm against her hips, moving her as he pleased. She came with a muffled hiss as pleasure washed through her body like the warm water that dropped from the shower head. 'Not bad, little slut. Lick me clean.' "Yes, Master. Thank you." She brought her fingers to her mouth and inserted them as deeply as they would go, breathlessly licking and sucking at them. Eventually, she groaned in frustration and put her face in her hands as she knelt in the tub. It just wasn't satisfying any more. If she was being honest, it had never been satisfying, but it had been enough to tide her over. Now... it wasn't. She wanted more, her dreams. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," she cursed softly. To get her dreams she was going to have to put her fears aside. With trembling hands she reached for the aloe-vera gel and began massaging it into the mat of pubic hair between her thighs. Then, slowly, carefully and inexpertly, she shaved herself. The razor scraped slowly across her flesh and had to be rinsed out irritatingly frequently. But bit by bit the hair disappeared until, at last, she could find no more. She ran her fingertips across the smooth flesh and her body shivered. Hopping out of the shower she regarded herself in the mirror, smiling nervously at the sight before her. "One step," she murmured. *** She parked the old jeep on the gravel driveway in front of the house and got out. She scanned the horizon, wondering if there was someone like her watching from a hole in the ground on one of the rises. The idea that someone might be excited by watching her, as she had been excited by watching others, was very, well, exciting. She was pretty sure Mister Benson was the only person home; the limo had picked up Miss Big Tits the night before and she hadn't seen it come back. Charlotte pulled off her t-shirt and bra, then her shorts and panties, and finally her shoes and socks. Because she was still Charlotte, she folded and stacked everything neatly on the front seat and laid her wallet next to the pile of clothing. She walked gingerly across the gravel to the poured stone porch and rang the bell before kneeling in front of the door. She copied the posture she had seen others adopt, knees spread and hands resting on her thighs. Her heart was pounding and it was difficult to breathe. "Who the hell are you?" a voice asked. Charlotte looked around in confusion and barely spotted a camera and speaker hidden in the shadows of the eaves over the doorway. "I want to be your new slave, Master," she squeaked. "No. Go away," the voice replied. "I can't. I won't, I mean. I'll stay here until you accept me," she blurted. This was as far as she had been able to plan, the worst case scenario unfolding. "This isn't a fucking Chinese monastery," the voice pointed out. Charlotte kept quiet and focused her eyes on the door. "Put your clothing on and return to the doorway," the voice said. Charlotte hesitated. "Obey me," the voice commanded. "Yes, Master," Charlotte replied. She hopped painfully across the gravel to the jeep and put her shoes on for the run back to the door. Quickly she pulled on her shorts and shirt and knelt on the ground again. "Why are you doing this?" the voice asked. "Because I've watched you for three years, Master..." "You are not permitted to call me 'master'. Use 'sir'." "Yes, sir. I've watched you for three years, sir, and all I can dream about is being your slave. I want to be ordered and used and appreciated for being me, not what the world thinks I should be. I'm nineteen, sir. I'm an adult and I can prove it. And I'll learn to do whatever you want me to. Please, sir." The silence seemed to stretch on for an hour and Charlotte's heart was rocking her body with each powerful beat. "You're William Lazenby's girl, aren't you?" Charlotte bit her lip and nodded her head. "Yes, sir." "Still living at home?" "Yes, sir." "Discussed this idea with your parents?" Charlotte shook her head. "No, sir. I don't have to. I'm an adult and I don't need their permission." "No, you don't. I'll think about this. Go home and I'll contact you." Charlotte nodded. This wasn't the fantasy she had hoped for, but it wasn't the disaster she had feared either. "Yes, sir. Sir, I have some recordings I have to give you." "What kind of recordings?" The voice sounded cold now, even through the speaker. "When I watched you, sir, I made recordings. Just for me. I've never shown them to anyone," she rushed to add. "There are no copies. I just felt that I couldn't start out by hiding something from you." She paused and then lowered her head. "They're no good to me any more anyway. I don't want to watch, I want to do, sir." "Where are they?" "In my Jeep, sir. May I bring them to you?" "You will bring them to the doorway and set them on the step. Now." Charlotte scrambled to her feet and jogged back to the jeep. She'd kept the disks in a small metal box under her bed, but she wanted to make an impression, so she'd purchased a cedar box just for this purpose. She placed the box right in front of his door and then backed away on her knees. "You could be prosecuted, you know." "I don't want to disagree with you, sir, but I believe that's not the case." It took her a moment to identify the distorted sound as quiet laughter, but that's what it was. "That's artfully said. Why do you believe you can't be prosecuted?" "I built my hidey-hole on the little hill that overlooks your property, sir. It doesn't belong to you. And I never recorded any sound, just images, and only when you were outdoors, sir." "Did you only record outdoors because you couldn't see in?" the voice asked after a pause. "Yes, sir. And I would have loved to record sound, but I couldn't afford a good microphone." "You're a very confident young woman." Charlotte shook her head. "I'm scared to death, sir. I'm shaking so hard it hurts." "Why me?" Charlotte paused, considering her words carefully. "Mostly because you're here, sir. I've spent all this time watching you and thinking about my desires and they've become... linked." "You're not in love with me?" "I don't know," Charlotte said slowly. "I'm very much in lust with you, and with what you represent in my mind, sir. But I don't think that's love. I mean, I don't really know you sir." "But you feel safe enough around me to show up naked on my doorstep?" "Yes, sir," Charlotte replied without hesitation. "Your women come back. They wouldn't do that if they felt you were unsafe, sir. And I've seen some of them leave. They're sad to leave." "Are you?" "Sir? I don't understand." "Are you sad to leave?" "I think," Charlotte hesitated, "that I'm hopeful, sir. You're going to think about this. That's not the 'crawl into my presence' I wanted, but it's better than the 'never contact me again or I'll call the police' that I was afraid of." "Go. I'll be in touch." "Yes, sir." *** Charlotte looked nervously around the lobby for the tenth time. The message, an e-mail sent almost two weeks after she had last talked to him, had only said to be in the lobby of the Hotel Monaco that evening at seven o'clock. It had also told her to wear a skirt and not to wear underwear. It was a wicked feeling that made her excited and nervous and just a little bit afraid. It was, she considered, a lot like a roller-coaster; she had the feeling that she was riding just on the edge of being out of control and it was exhilarating. Seeking for Pleasure Ch. 01 He was dressed casually, she saw, as he walked through the front door; blue jeans, expensive Oxford-style shoes, an open collar shirt and a coat. She stood to catch his attention and he nodded and held up a finger, ordering her to wait. He went to the front desk and spoke with the man behind the counter. A form was filled in, cards were exchanged, and then he was walking towards the elevators. His fingers snapped once, a sound like a pop that caused her to jump. 'That was for me,' she thought. She hurried over to stand next to him, entering the elevator when he did. "Four", he told the operator and moments later he was letting them out on the fourth floor. He walked down the hallway and into the room, never once looking back to see if she was following. The room was small, but it appeared to be very well decorated. "Skirt up," he said as he pulled a plastic-wrapped package out of his pocket. She blushed and lifted the skirt, exposing herself to him. He stepped forward and placed his hand against her, slowly rubbing her nude flesh. She looked up into his eyes, only inches from hers. "How have you been?" he asked. "Oh god, sir! I've been... terrified. I was so afraid you were going to decide the easiest way to deal with me was by just ignoring me. I nearly cried in relief when your e-mail arrived. Now, I'm just nervous. Have you been well, sir?" The surprised half-smile on his face warmed her heart even as she felt the warmth growing in her loins. "I have been. I am. I spent a lot of time listing the reasons I should ignore you. Foremost among them is the reaction when it comes out that you've been seeing me." "Am I going to be seeing you, sir?" she couldn't restrain herself from asking. He lightly pinched one of her folds and she bit her lip. "Don't interrupt me. When it comes out that you've been seeing me, and it will come out, it's very possible that the town will be very angry with me. They'll be frightened and start asking each other when I'm going to come after *their* children. Had you considered that?" The pinch hadn't really been painful, but it had been a little uncomfortable. Now that his hand was stroking her again she found that she was relaxing even more deeply into his touch. "No, sir. I hadn't really thought about that. I know my parents are going to find out. I'm going to have to tell them before they hear about it from someone else." "They're going to love that. I'm old enough to be your father." His finger slipped inside her and began to slowly turn, fingertip pressing against the muscles of her. "Sssss... I had thought about that, sir. I'm not looking forward to it. But if I'm an adult enough to do this..." "Good," he said as he slipped a second finger inside her. "In the end, I decided to fall back on my basic philosophy: don't be afraid. So here we are." He withdrew his fingers from her and Charlotte's disappointment was only tempered by her anticipation. 'Now what?' she wondered. But only for a moment. Mister Benson inserted a smooth plastic egg into her. It was warm from being in his pocket and it felt a little strange; not uncomfortable as much as it was simply unfamiliar. He handed her what looked like two pieces of elastic fabric. "Your underwear," he clarified. She looked at them for a moment until she understood. It really was two pieces of elastic fabric; a sort of g-string that was all string. She stepped into them and pulled them up, snugging the horizontal band high on her hips and then adjusting the portion that went between her legs. The band was narrow and she snuggled it between the lips of her sex, carefully seating it within her warmth. "It helps to hold the egg in place, sir?" "Yes," he said with a nod of his head. "They're sort of complementary. As for the egg..." She felt a soft vibration inside her that transmitted through the flesh to her clitoris. It vibrated slightly against the fabric of the underwear and she smiled. "That's very nice, sir. Are you going to be using that a lot this evening?" "If I like," he said. "Lick my fingers clean." Her heart pounded as she took the proffered digits into her mouth. She fell back upon her many imaginings and treated them as she would his cock, slowly moving back and forth on them, licking provocatively around the fingertips. His eyes never left her and she wondered what she looked like to him. "Good girl," he told her after several minutes. "But we have a play to catch. Make yourself presentable." He turned and walked into the bathroom and washed his hands. She spent the time arranging her skirt and re-doing her lipstick and then followed him out of the room. The play was 'Arcadia' by Tom Stoppard and it was both intelligent and laugh out loud funny. It was presented in a theater in the round format, and they sat in a small box that looked down on the stage. After, they walked a few blocks down the street to a little German restaurant where Mister Benson asked for, and received, a small table in the corner of an upper room. "This place is usually crowded earlier in the evening. I like it after the theater when the crowds have thinned. They've also usually got a very nice Riesling or two. Have you tried German food before?" "No, sir. Not really. Bratwurst at October-Fest and that sort of thing. What do you recommend?" "You'll have the Huhnerbrust Berliner Art and a soda water with lemon. It's a chicken breast topped with ham and pears and covered with a brandy sauce," he informed her. "Yes, sir. No wine?" "No, nor schnapps for you; you're underage. Perhaps at my home, but never when we're in public." "When will we be at your home, sir?" she asked quietly. He smiled. "Let's talk about that. I've looked up your birth certificate so I'm satisfied that you are legally an adult. You're going to have to get some blood work done at a lab to prove that you're healthy. I usually let my partners choose their own labs, but since you're local I'm going to send you to the lab I use. You understand all this will prove is that you aren't sick at the time the blood was drawn. HIV, for instance, can be present and undetectable for up to six months. Herpes can be dormant and sometimes tests miss it." The waiter interrupted them, filling their water glasses and telling them about the specials. Mister Benson ordered a cheese plate to start with, some wine for himself, and then gave him their dinner order. "Where was I?" he asked her when the waiter departed. "Lab tests sometimes miss diseases, sir," she replied. She felt the egg inside her begin vibrating and shifted in her seat. "Right. They do. So at best we're simply minimizing our risks. I've slept with a large number of women and, so far, I've been very lucky because I've been very careful. I usually require that my partners not sleep with anyone for a month before they visit me. I've got no real way of knowing if they do or not, but I suspect most of my partners are honest and obey my dictates. You're something of a problem for me; I've never had a local partner. Once a visit is over most of my partners leave. A few of them come back. Three of them visit me on a fairly regular basis. The agreement there is that they must be as careful as I am regarding their health. I haven't decided how to handle matters in the long term, but I think I'm going to wait to see if there is a long term. For now, you're not to have a sexual relationship with anyone unless I specifically allow it. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir," she replied. He regarded her carefully for a long minute and she blushed, feeling the warmth in her loins creeping up into her chest, but she didn't look away. "I would expect someone as young as you are to ask questions to establish the boundaries of my rule or probe for the loopholes. How will you deal with the inevitable advances you'll receive at school?" Charlotte shrugged. "I'll probably lie. I'll tell people that I'm too busy with school to date. I'll ask them for a rain check for next year. If I find someone I really like then I'll ask for your permission or I'll just stop seeing you." "So confident?" he murmured. Her blush deepened. "Let's talk about consent. I'm going to be telling you to do things and doing things to you. You might like to pretend that you've given up all control, but you can never surrender consent. You'll do what I tell you to do and suffer any indignities that I choose to inflict upon you because you consent to them. Do you understand that?" "I do, sir. Will we be discussing limits this evening?" "Do you think we should?" He was smiling, amused at her question. "Yes, sir. I think we should." The waiter came back bearing the cheese plate, a basket of breads, and their drinks. As he walked away, Mister Benson took a sip of his wine. "Tell me about your desires and then tell me about your limits." Charlotte picked up her glass and took a sip, as much to wet her throat as to buy herself a little time to order her thoughts. She nearly spilled the water when she felt the tingling increase in intensity. She looked at Mister Benson. "Variable speed control," he explained. "Well?" "I don't really know why I find it arousing, but since the first time I saw you playing with one of your partners..." "Detour," he interrupted her. "Tell me about that. How did you hear about me?" "You're the crazy guy who lives out in the rocks," she explained. "Everyone in town knows that. I think it's pretty much an open secret that you have women come out to be your slaves. The rumors are pretty wild. One said that you were a trainer; that women were sent to you to be trained before being sent overseas to be sold in foreign markets." "What makes you think that's just a rumor?" he asked quietly. She stared at him, wide-eyed. 'Does he mean...?' "Well, it is just a rumor. I've seen women at your house several times. They wouldn't send them back for more training. Would they?" "Would you like to be sold into a life of sexual slavery?" Charlotte's eyes darted across the room as she tried to assure herself they had a degree of privacy. This was crazy! "I think I'd like to play that fantasy," she said carefully. "Everything I know about real-world sexual slavery is pretty horrifying, sir." "Good. I'm very glad you can distinguish between fantasy and reality. For the record, I don't train slaves to be sold in foreign markets. Real life sexual slavery *is* horrifying. It's a blot on the soul of humanity. But you find the fantasy seductive. Tell me about spying on me." "We snuck out to spy on you, sir. There were four of us, and I think the two guys were hoping to get lucky. We brought some binoculars and we sat on the reverse slope of a hill and talked about what we thought you were doing. The guys speculated and tried to get us to speculate. We didn't see anything. Thinking about it, I don't think you were even home." "Did they get lucky?" he asked. She shook her head. "No. I might have if it had just been me and one of them. But not with Danielle along. I've always been afraid of what people would think, sir, about anything, but about this in particular. We left after a while to get some pizza." "But you came back," he stated. She nodded. "On the weekends. I was already intrigued by the idea and the thought that I might actually see someone doing that... I saw you walking through the trees with a woman on a leash and I wet myself. I wanted to run down and have you put me on a leash too." "Me, or any guy who happened to be leading a woman around on a leash?" he asked. "The latter," she admitted. "I really don't think I'm in love with you, sir. But I love the things you do and I'm very attracted to you. Mostly because of the things you do." She looked down at the table, embarrassed, and picked up her drink to cover her emotions. Her hand shook as the egg briefly roared within her and then settled down to the lowest setting. "I'm actually pleased to hear that. I'd have been a little disturbed if you professed a love for me without really knowing me. It sounds like we're both interested in what the other person has to offer. I find you attractive, for instance, but what really draws me to you is your desire to be dominated. What about domination attracts you?" "I'm sorry, sir," she apologized. "I don't really know. I've thought about it a lot, but I don't have conclusive answers. Why do women like confident men? I know I like the idea of being submissive. Being bound and under someone's control seems a little dangerous, out of control." She laughed. "Literally out of control. It's also, easier. I don't have to worry about whether or not you like me or if I'm making the right decisions; I just have to do whatever you say." "You don't really believe that last part, do you?" he asked. "It's part of the fantasy," she said. "What sexual acts have you tried?" "Vaginal sex, oral sex, anal sex." She shrugged. "Stop shrugging," he said. Charlotte nodded. "Yes, sir," she said a little uncertainly. 'How do I stop shrugging? It's a habit.' "Sit up straight and put your shoulders back a little. You're uncomfortable discussing this and you're trying to hide. Don't be afraid, I won't let any harm come to you." "Yes, sir," she replied. She squirmed a little in her chair, trying to adjust herself so that she was comfortable and in compliance with his direction. "Better," he admitted. He put a slice of cheese onto a piece of bread. "Keep your hands down, but try this," he said. Charlotte leaned forward and he fed the appetizer into her mouth. The cheese was sharp and very, very rich. "I like that, sir. Thank you." "Anal sex," he prompted. "That's about all, sir. I've never had anyone ask to tie me up and I've never asked." "Afraid what people would think?" "Yes, sir." "Are you still?" Charlotte didn't want to answer that question, but she'd promised herself she wouldn't let her fear drag her down. "Yes, sir," she admitted. "Do you want to be tied up?" he asked her gently. She nodded her head. "Very much, sir." "Ask." Charlotte swallowed. "Please tie me up, sir," she whispered. "Okay," he whispered back to her. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" Charlotte tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but she settled for shaking her head. "What else do you want?" he said in a quiet tone as he snacked on the cheese plate. "To be dressed up in slutty clothing. To have other people see me being submissive. To be used for sex. To have screaming orgasms. There's a lot, sir." "Yes, there is. That's a good start. Tell me about what you don't want." "That's harder, sir. Some of these I might be able to stretch. I don't want to be urinated or defecated on. I don't find urine or feces at all sexy. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want to be humiliated. I don't want to be abused. It's all so... subjective. I mean, if you called me a slut in a nice way I'd enjoy it, but I'd hate it if you were being nasty to me. Does that make any sense, sir?" "It does. And the way you're expressing yourself takes a load off my mind. I don't like being nasty. If I'm being nasty it's because I'm displeased or angry. That's not a good memory to keep. So you'd enjoy it if someone saw you being submissive, but you'd be afraid of what they would think?" "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. It's contradictory, but that's how I feel." He shrugged. "Emotions are rarely logical and consistent. I can work with that." The waiter appeared again with their food. "Would you like me to box the cheese for you?" he asked. "Yes, please," Mister Benson replied. "And would you please bring me a shot of the Apple Schnapps." "Yes, sir," the man replied and headed back towards the kitchen. "What do you think I like?" he asked Charlotte. "I think you like control, sir," she replied. "What else? Come on, you've been observing me for some time now. Surely you've learned something about me." "You like a shaved pussy," she blurted. A woman at the table next to them turned to stare at her. Mister Benson smiled at her until she looked away and then he turned his attention back to Charlotte. "That's true," he said. "What else?" "You like oral sex. You like to caress a woman's body. You like tight thongs and jewelry that attaches to the nipples without causing pain. You like to take a woman while she's kneeling. You don't like it when women don't look at you." "All true. Why don't I like it when women look away?" She felt her eyes starting to slip to the table and started. Looking him squarely in the eye she replied, "I don't know, sir." "Because it's hiding. I don't like it when my partners hide from me. They, and I, have a much better time when they really open up to me. Not physically, but emotionally. That kind of trust deepens the experience and makes the physical side of things pale in comparison. Can you open up to me, Charlotte?" Charlotte felt a little light-headed. The egg was happily humming away inside her and the slight vibration was moving her clitoris against the cloth band tightly-wedged between her thighs and lips, the people at the table across were clearly discussing them, and Mister Benson was staring into her soul and looking away wasn't an option. "I think I already have, sir," she said quietly. He smiled and her heart lit up. "Yes, I think you have. Try your chicken." Seeking for Pleasure Ch. 02 Charlotte closed the door to the Jeep and crunched across the gravel driveway to the red door set into the side of the building. She pushed on it, tentatively, and it swung open. Smiling, she walked inside and began her routine. The contents of her small backpack were laid out neatly on the metal table and, after the few moments it took her to undress, her clothing followed. The shower was, as always, freezing. She'd learned early on to fill the bucket for actual washing and use the shower itself for wetting and rinsing only. Her hands moved the wash-rag over her body, carefully scrubbing every inch of exposed skin. As the smooth, hairless skin between her thighs attested, she'd bathed, and shaved, before making the trip out. But the ritual cleansing was important, both as a token of her willing obedience and as a way to put herself in the correct frame of mind. When Charlotte was finished washing, she scrubbed down the area, using the rags in the hamper to ensure it was at least as clean as she had found it. Only when she was satisfied that this was the case did she squat down and put her hair into the tightest pony-tail she could. It was harder than it sounded, as she had discovered to her misfortune. Her master could be very meticulous, and a single loose strand of hair had been her downfall more than once. The lack of a mirror complicated the task and made it impossible for her to know if she had done an acceptable job. It was a trick, and he had explained it as such when she asked, but it was still effective; she always began every session in a state of uncertainty, hoping for his approval. The thought brought a smile to her face as she finished and padded over to the corner of the room where her collar and chain hung. The soft leather collar fastened easily about her throat, fingers dancing over the buckle with the ease of long practice. Its presence was both comforting and exciting and the weight of the long chain that hung from it was exciting and ominous. She walked across to the blue door and settled herself comfortably on her haunches, bent legs beneath her body on the stone floor. It was futile to try and get comfortable, but she tried anyway before ringing the bell next to the door. Gathering the chain into her hands she extended her bent arms in front of her and wondered how long she would have to wait this time. Not long, it turned out. No more than a few minutes and certainly nothing like the half day she'd once endured. The door opened and she smiled into the light and the dark form hidden in the brightness. "Good afternoon, Master." "Hello, Charlotte. How are you today?" he replied cheerfully. "That depends on how pleased you are, Master," she said. "Am I going to be pleased?" he asked as he walked past her to the table. "I believe you will be very pleased with my academic progress, Master. But I'm less certain about my success with the pony-tail." "Mmmmm," he said, that neutral sound which he used to fill up empty spaces in conversation. She could not see him, but she knew he was examining her progress report. Once again she reflected upon the gap between perception and reality. Her teachers knew that her scholarship depended upon her maintaining excellent grades and were more than happy to fill out the weekly forms which documented her progress. They didn't know that unsatisfactory progress was met with corporal correction. "These are all excellent reports, Charlotte. Some of your best in fact. Good girl." She beamed at that, basking in the warm glow of his approval. "Thank you, Master. I try very hard to not be found wanting." "One hair," he announced. She winced. One hair was the worst; so close to perfect and yet... He took the chain out her hands and she lowered them to the ground, following them with her head. She lifted her bare ass high into the air and waited, and silently cursed. Two hairs or more meant a session with the flogger, but one hair... She yelped as the chain impacted her raised flesh. One hair meant a single stroke with the chain and a welt she'd feel all weekend. "Th-thank you for your correction, Master," she said, swallowing hard and willing herself to relax and let the pain go. "Come," he ordered, tugging once on the chain as walked into the courtyard. She raised herself to hands and knees and followed after as best she could. He led her through the courtyard and into the living room where a snap of the fingers and an extended hand pointed to the dog pillow that she was allowed to lie on. "On your back, legs spread," he instructed mildly as he sat down in his chair. She crawled onto the pillow and turned around so that she was sitting with her head away from him. She spread her legs and drew her knees back towards her chest without covering her breasts. She reclined on her elbows so that she could face him. The position could get uncomfortable, but it was very revealing. Charlotte still recalled with excitement the first time he'd shown her a picture of herself taken from his perspective; it was almost grotesquely wanton and left nothing of her flesh to the imagination. He'd explained how exciting he found the position and Charlotte had never again complained about it, no matter how uncomfortable it sometimes became. "Your progress reports indicate you've been doing very well academically, Charlotte. How have you been otherwise?" "I've been very well, Master. With the weather warming up I've found my exercise much less of a chore. I've been doing more running, which has been difficult after a winter of mostly riding the indoor bike and treadmill, but I'm improving faster than I did after last winter. I was offered a team-leader position at work, but I turned it down because it meant working more hours and I felt I needed that time for my studies," she said brightly. "You didn't feel you needed the extra money?" he asked cheerfully. "No, Master. The extra money would only be useful for things that would take even more time away from my studies. I'm doing well with the money I have already. I explained to Mr. Shapiro that I was only turning the position down for those reasons and he seemed to understand." She watched as his eyes examined her, slowly covering every exposed inch of her flesh; a slight tremor of excitement rippled her thighs. "And your social life?" he pursued. "I really have been focused on my studies, Master, and I find I do my best work early in the morning. Accordingly I haven't really been going out at night. Since I last spoke with you I've had five boys ask me out. One of them asked me three times." "Were you attracted to any of them?" "Adam," she said in a matter of fact tone of voice. The tone was carefully cultivated because she still wasn't entirely comfortable with this aspect of their relationship. He had explained that he expected her to be interested in other men, that they would deal with such things when it became necessary, but she didn't want other men and the very idea of being attracted to another man felt disloyal. "He was very nice and I enjoyed the way he politely pursued me. I think he'd be a good friend, but he'd always be interested in me sexually and that would cause problems with the friendship." "You're still nervous about this," he observed. She swallowed. "Yes, Master." "That's okay," he assured her. "We'll leave it at that for now, in part because of your discomfort, but also because I'd like to play with you a little bit before dinner." "Thank you, Master," she said. She felt another tremor course through her thighs and couldn't tell if it was muscle fatigue or more desire, but she knew what she thought it was. "Up on your knees, hands behind your back," he instructed. She quickly rolled onto her knees and turned to face him. His instructions were not, as a rule, laced with special words such as the ones used by the Gorean-influenced dominants, but they were no less precise for all that. 'Up on her knees' meant kneeling with her torso upright, not with her head touching the floor as 'down on her knees' would have meant. 'Hands behind her back' was not the same as hands behind her head or neck. When she was in position he watched her for a moment and the feeling of uncertainty crept traitorously back into her fore-brain. When he rose and walked to the wardrobe the very lack of criticism conveyed his approval and brought a warm flush of pleasure to her chest and face. He returned with a blindfold, heavy silk that tied behind her head and left her isolated in her own little world of scent and sound. She began to softly shake with the buildup of adrenaline in her system, the anticipation of the unknown making her hyper-aware of her body. He put something on her back and ran flat silk cord over her shoulders, criss-crossing it between her breasts and wrapping it once around her lower torso before tying it in front. Her pony tail was undone and a brush run through her hair to make it cascade down her back and something light, a circle, perhaps a crown of some sort, was placed on her head. Another silk strap secured her forearms together, a careful adjustment of tension pulling her shoulders back and thrusting her breasts forward. She felt him undo her collar and then, a moment later, was shocked by the weight of an enormous metal collar that went on her neck. It was uncomfortably heavy and the rounded edge at the bottom pressed painfully into her skin. A length of heavy chain, by the feel of it, dangled from the front and made it an effort to remain upright, but she managed it for several minutes. "Yes, very nice," she heard him mutter from some distance away. The sound of the doorbell ringing was jarring and it took her completely out of the warm, safe, approving place she'd been burrowing into. She heard Master sigh and the soft sound of his footsteps walking out of the room. After several minutes she heard him returning but something seemed.... "I didn't realize you were occupied," a strange voice remarked. Charlotte felt a spike of alarm stiffen her body as she realized that a complete stranger was in the room with them. She flushed in embarrassment, blood rushing to her chest, neck, and face and, she suddenly remembered, she was powerless to cover herself! "Oh, Charlotte? Yes, we were just about to play a little game. Don't mind her, she'll keep," Master replied. "I'm glad you stopped by. I confess I was a little worried about you." "Well, you know how I am about e-mail when I'm traveling. Still, I'm sorry I worried you," the voice replied. "You've dressed her up as a fairy?" Her master chuckled. "Yes, I saw one of those car decals last week and the idea seemed exciting. I thought I'd break a fairy to my will this evening." The voice laughed. "Well, you've certainly got her secured well enough. Is she new?" Charlotte half listened to the conversation while her body trembled. The idea of being on display to a complete stranger was terrifying, but she didn't want to disappoint her master. She struggled to remain upright and tried to control the shaking, but her body had ideas of her own and she found that she was panting. "...just put some gloves on first, please," her Master said. "Of course," the voice replied. Charlotte tried to replay the conversation in her head but couldn't. She heard a snapping sound and then found herself unable to breathe as a rubber clad hand took hold of her chin and turned her head from side to side. "Very lovely," the stranger said. "Where did you find her?" "She found me, actually. She's a local girl and she spied on me with some of my visitors." "I thought you had a rule about keeping your hands off the locals?" the stranger asked. A moment later he said "Yes, I can see where that would be difficult when something like this shows up on your doorstep. May I?" "Be my guest, Charlotte remembers her safety phrases don't you Charlotte?" Charlotte swallowed once and stammered, "Y-yes, Master." "Good girl," her master said. The warm glow that accompanied his approval was accompanied by another jolt of whole body stiffening as the latex covered hand stroked her left breast and then gave her right a firm squeeze. "Natural," the voice remarked. "Young flesh," her master agreed. "How do you...?" the voice asked. "Down on your knees, Charlotte," her Master instructed. Charlotte obeyed, dropping carefully to one shoulder and then rolling slightly to one side so that her forehead was against the ground, before the implications of her position sank in. She had no more than made that connection than she felt the stranger's hand against her sex, fingers plucking aside the folds of her labia to reveal the core of her. She was audibly gasping for breath now and the air around her was cool as it wicked away the sweat that covered her body. "Very nice indeed." "Oh yes," her master agreed. "Would you care to...?" "I shouldn't, but how can I resist? Have you a... Thank you." Charlotte felt her pulse pounding in her head, loud enough to make listening difficult. She was listening so intently that the feel of something thick pressing into her came as a complete shock. She cried out in surprise. "Oh yes, very nice," the voice purred. A finger grated lightly along the welt on her ass. "Disobedient?" "Not at all. Charlotte's an excellent submissive and does not fail to do her best. Her best simply wasn't quite good enough in this case," her Master explained. His approval, and his words, spurred a determination in Charlotte. 'I will not fail,' she silently swore. Carefully, slowly, she ground back against the stranger. When no response was forthcoming she did it again, more energetically, and found herself relaxing into the familiar sensations and actions. "There," her master laughed, "you see? My lovely little fuck-beast." Charlotte nodded silently to herself. 'Yes, Master. Your obedient fuck-beast.' She ground wantonly against the stranger and stopped worrying about anything as she pursued the pleasure inherent in the activity. She even found the situation exciting, fucking a complete stranger because her master wanted her to. The stranger began to move within her and she squeezed his cock with her cunt muscles. "Oh," she moaned, softly at first, but more loudly and more frequently as his cock filled her again and again. She was on the verge of an orgasm when she felt him withdraw from her and only barely managed to avoid making a loud and heartfelt complaint. Moments later she felt warm drops on her ass and knew that he was cumming on her. "Thank you, sir," she breathed. "Thank you. I hope I have served you adequately and if I have not I beg for correction." Several breathless heartbeats later she heard the stranger remark, "Amazing. Truly. I envy you." "Stay the night then," her master told the stranger. "Charlotte is fresh yet and she'll fuck you all night long." The words did not horrify Charlotte as they might have but a few minutes earlier. Now she found herself nodding in agreement and half-hoping the man would stay. "That's very generous, but I really am pressed for time. Some other time, perhaps?" "Of course. Give me a little warning next time and I'll have proper entertainment arranged." The voices slowly faded into the distance and Charlotte wasn't sure if that was because the men were leaving the room or if she was about to pass out. Her body shook uncontrollably and she felt the semen on her body slowly cooling and the cool tiles pressing against her forehead and, without warning, the warm washcloth on her ass. She gasped, completely surprised by his return and the warm of the damp cloth. "Shh..." her master said. "There's a very good girl." He wiped her clean and then removed the collar from her throat. Helping her to her feet he guided her unsteadily across the room. His hands removed the wings from her back and then guided her down onto a couch. He sat down next to her and pulled her close to him. Safe and warm in his arms all the emotions in her exhausted body began to escape in sobs that seemed to last for hours. "Okay now?" he asked after a long while. "Oh yes, Master," she replied. "So very alright. Did I please you?" He chuckled. "Yes, of course you did. When have you ever not? I will not be in the habit of lending you out to others; I'm far too jealous for that, but that was a very good friend that I trust. I may, very occasionally, share you, but only to very select people who I know you will be safe with." "I'll do anything for you, Master, anything. May I ask why you encourage me to see other men, Master? It seems strange when you say that you don't like to share me." He sighed. "I don't like to share you. But you need to have a broad base of experience so that you don't get socially isolated, Charlotte. I enjoy you very much, but one day you're going to find a younger man that shares your interests and you're going to fall in love with him. I'm simply too old to be your life-mate of any sort." "But I love you, Master," she protested. "Thank you for that, Charlotte, and I love you too. But you are going to find someone better than me one day." Charlotte, deep in her heart, didn't believe that for a moment. But she was wise enough to keep her doubts to herself. 'Today can be strung together like a chain to form many todays that never end,' she thought as she felt herself drifting into that warm state that preceded sleep. Seeking for Pleasure Ch. 03 Note - This is not properly a chapter, it's more of a vignette. If you haven't read the chapters that come before it, you won't get as much satisfaction out of it. This is erotica, not porn, and this particular chapter doesn't contain any physical sex. I like to think it contains a lot of mental sex, but that's just my opinion. I'll save you some time and tell you there's no quick stroke here. If you're still here, then please enjoy this small offering. * When the blue door opened Charlotte smiled at the dark figure. "Good morning, Master," she greeted him. "Follow me," he instructed brusquely. Puzzled, Charlotte crawled after him. This was not in keeping with the usual routine and it puzzled her, made her nervous. She had to scramble across the polished boards to keep up with him and wasn't particularly paying attention to where they were going. When they stopped, she looked up and saw the living room had been transformed. The furniture had been moved to the sides of the room and a large chair stood in the cleared space. It looked something like a barber's chair, except it had padded leg rests like those that might be found in a gynecologist's office. A small, heavily tattooed man was standing next to it. "Get in," her master commanded and, dreamlike, she obeyed. The two men strapped her into the chair, thoroughly restraining her, even to the point of securing her head with a strap. It was easily the most confined she had ever been and it made her more nervous yet. But she thought she knew what was happening and hope pounded in her chest. "Do you still wish to bear my mark?" her master asked and Charlotte gasped in relief. "Oh yes, Master! Very much," she responded. She felt a gloved hand probing at her mons. "This'll do man," the artist pronounced. "Fresh shave, nice and smooth." "Then let's be about it," her master said. He disappeared from Charlotte's view and she heard the faint scraping of a piece of furniture being moved. "This is the antiseptic," the artist announced. Charlotte felt the cool alcohol on her skin followed by the rough fabric scraping away dead skin cells or any other matter that might have been left behind after her ritual bathing. "Normally I'd use a topical for putting a tattoo here," the artist said, "but your boss says no pain-killers. So this is going to hurt. I'm going to put the stencil in place now." She felt his hands moving against her and there was a soft tracing, such as might be made by a felt-tip pen, against her skin. She tried to visualize the design but it was hard to think about anything at all. She was both afraid and very, very happy. Charlotte had, after all, been gently prodding for this for several months. He, on the other hand, was opposed to body modification in general, and to tattooing her in particular. His arguments had been many and excellent: there was no point in marring her beauty with something so jarring, a tattoo was permanent and she was likely to regret it later in life, it would bring her unwanted attention, he was against it. She had not contested these arguments in any way and had, instead, simply begged. He had a weakness for that, as did she, so the process of wearing him down had been a pleasure. She became aware of a cessation of activity between her legs and then the artist came into view, standing. He opened a sealed package and showed her a needle. "I'm required by law to show you the needle is coming from a sealed, sterile package," he said. Charlotte couldn't speak and, when she tried, discovered she couldn't nod her head. By the time she'd wet her mouth enough to speak he had disappeared from view again. A moment later she heard a buzzing sound. "Last chance to back out," the man said. "Get on with it," her master replied. "Mark me, please," Charlotte whispered. The needle stung viciously, like a bee, and Charlotte was suddenly intensely grateful for the restraints that prevent her from leaping from the chair. She gasped in pain and her safeword rose to the tip of her tongue before she regained enough control to choke it back. Firey fingers of pain vibrated their way along the length of her body and she felt tears in her eyes and rolling down the side of her face toward her ears. Her fingernails, she discovered, were pressing into her palms as her fingers balled into little white fists. The needle traced slowly over her skin for hours and left behind an ache that was pleasant in comparison. She felt herself begin to drift, as if she'd left her body, and slowly floated on the waves of her heartbeat until the buzzing suddenly cut off. Getting back into her body seemed like too much effort, so she let the discussion between the artist and her master wash around her. Fingers releasing the strap that held her head down brought her back to herself and then strong hands lifted her head. She saw a mirror held by the artist and in it she saw her flesh. The design was a collection of angry red lines, fine and detailed. She smiled and sniffled. "You like it?" asked a soft voice in her ear. "Oh yes, Master. It's beautiful. Thank you," she whispered. "The ink?" her master asked and she realized he was talking to the artist. "Saline," the man replied, "and the smallest needle available. It was set to go pretty shallow, so the lines will fade in a week or two and you won't even be able to see it. Make sure she keeps it covered, clean, and applies the ointment. You don't want an infection." "Thank you. I'll send the chair back tomorrow." "Hey, no problem, man. It was a trip. Good working with you, Charlotte. Let me know if I can do some more work on you." "I... I don't understand," she said, dismayed. "Fade? No ink?" "No ink," her master confirmed. "I've thought about it, and it's unnecessary. In two weeks no one will be able to see that mark, but it will always be there. I'll know it, and you'll know it." She felt a sudden rush of love for the man and was only able to say "Thank you," over and over again. He'd turned a compromise into something unique that she would always treasure. The thoughtfulness of the gesture was overwhelming. Then his mouth was against hers and she gave herself up to him completely.