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Slave Girl Emily Ch. 01

By: Serafina1210



Author's note: This is Chapter 1, "Andrew," of a story about a young woman named Emily, a submissive with an assertive streak. A typical story line has a girl meet a Dom who introduces her to BDSM and helps her discover her inner sub. But does it have to happen that way? Here's a possible alternative. Tags: Bondage, Spanking, Toys, Straight sex, Oral sex.

* * *

Chapter 1. Andrew

Vibrators buzz in my pussy and ass. I'm frogtied, ankles bound to thighs, wrists bound to ankles, back to the bare floor, feet far apart in the air, clamps on both nipples. My body's humming with arousal, an engine revving higher and higher, tach in the red - I'm whining, "Please, Master!"

He looks on, mildly interested. He's dressed in a light gray suit, white shirt, lavender tie, black shoes. He sits close to me on a wooden chair, leaning back, relaxed. He watches awhile, then uncrosses his legs, reaches down, and turns the vibrators off. He sits back again.

"No, Master," I sob. I writhe on the floor and struggle against the ropes. If only I could free a hand and touch myself - or maybe I could work myself over to that table and rub my pussy on one of its legs. I try to wriggle towards it but can't make any progress - instead I fall over onto my side. "Master, Please," I beg, "Pleeeeeeze - "

"Not yet, Emily," he says, smiling gently.

"When, Master?"

"When I decide it's time," he says.

Master stands, turns me onto my back, and adjusts a nipple clamp. He sits again, leans forward, and massages my clitoris.

"No, Master, I can't stand it!"

There's a word I could say, just one word, and then he'd have to take the vibrators out, untie me, and let me masturbate. Maybe he'd even fuck me if I said it.

I don't have to guess the word - I know it as well as I know my name. It's not "please," not "no," not any of the words I've spoken, whimpered, shrieked for the last half hour as I've begged him for an orgasm.

I won't say the word.

Master turns on the vibrators. Oh, it's unbearable, the engine's screaming, needle slams through the red, off the scale, I'll explode if he doesn't let me come . . .

* * *

"I'm sorry," I said in a small voice, and I really meant it.

"Listen," Mark said. "I'm not saying you have to be perfect. But you were supposed to be here like an hour and a half ago. I tried to call, and you didn't answer. Where were you? Why didn't you answer your phone?"

I shrugged. I'd been at Starbucks with my phone turned off, reading my psychology assignment over a cup of tea. I knew what time it was, and I knew when we were supposed to meet up. I was looking forward to it. I just couldn't get up and go. How do you explain that?

"You aren't even going to tell me where you were? Don't you think I deserve some kind of explanation? Or maybe you were doing something you didn't want me to know about. Maybe you've been seeing some other guy."

"I'm not seeing another guy, Mark, I promise." I laid a hand on his arm, feeling its hardness, thinking of what it looked like when he swung a baseball bat, what it was capable of.

He pulled away from me, closed and opened his fists, strode across the room and back. "We go through this over and over, Emily. You're late, or you don't show up at all, or you go to the ladies room and disappear, and there's never a reason. You're not reliable."

"I know, Mark. I'm sorry."

"Maybe there's something I could do to help. If you have trouble remembering things, I can call a half hour ahead to remind you. If you'll just leave your phone on."

"Sometimes I forget to charge it," I said, but that was a lie. It's true I sometimes let the battery run down on my phone, but it wasn't forgetfulness. I wanted it to run down, and I wanted to be late. Not late to class or to meetings with my professors - just late seeing Mark.

"Well, I can understand forgetfulness," he said. "I forget things too. It's just that you're too important to me to forget. Maybe I'm not important enough to you."

Jesus, I thought. Here comes the Guilt Trip, right on time after the Offer to Help and the Understanding. I'd been putting up with this kind of shit for as long as I could remember.

When I was seven I broke a glass. I wasn't being clumsy, I've never been clumsy, I just broke it to find out what would happen.

Daddy said, "That's all right, honey. Even your mom and I break things now and then."

I said, "Jane says her mother spanked her after she broke a glass."

"Well, we don't spank in this family."

When I was thirteen and Mom found a pack of cigarettes in my purse, she said she was disappointed in me, and I said Lexi Miller had been grounded for a whole week after her father found cigarettes in her purse. Mom bought me a book on the dangers of smoking.

And when I was seventeen, and Mom said she thought I should stop going out with Bobby Cross because he didn't show me enough respect, I told her she was a meddling old cow, and she said that was a hurtful thing to say. I said Bobby's father gave him a beating when he said that same thing to his mother. Mom said that was the kind of behavior she'd expect from people like the Crosses, but she hoped she was setting a better example for me.

Mark said, "Maybe if I just - "

"Maybe if you just ate shit!" I yelled, and stomped out of his dorm room, slamming the door behind me.

At least Bobby didn't go around whining about how I was more important to him than he was to me. Once I turned up a half hour late to meet him at the Outback - I'd spent the time dithering about whether he'd like me better in my denim blouse or plaid. He just simmered all through dinner, not saying a word, and when we got out to the parking lot afterwards he backhanded me and knocked me down.

"Don't ever fucking do that again," he said.

I was shocked and upset. I knew I'd have a bruise on my face, and it'd be a pain to have to explain it to my parents. But after I got home and told my lie about tripping in a pothole, I lay in bed and thought about what it had felt like, getting hit like that, and what Bobby's anger had felt like, fizzing like a long fuse and just blowing up, pow! I masturbated before I fell asleep.

Bobby broke up with me the summer before I went off to college, and it was kind of a relief, really. We were an absurd mismatch: I was going off to an elite university in New York, he was all set to start clerking at a convenience store, and it looked like that was going to be his career path if he didn't get himself locked up instead. And even though it was kind of exciting when he got mad and hit me, there was a mindlessness to his brutality that I didn't like, and an aimlessness to him. He didn't know where his own life was going, and he didn't care where mine was going. I couldn't look up to him.

Mark was my fourth athlete. I know now why I was attracted to athletes: when I'd meet one I'd imagine the violent things he did with his powerful body: tackling, throwing an opponent down, swinging a bat. That was exciting. They weren't all like Mark, either. The other three were overbearing instead of manipulative. But the overbearing ones were crappy lovers. They had no imagination. I couldn't respect them.

By the time I stormed out of Mark's dorm room, I knew I was nowhere near finding what I'd been looking for. I avoided Mark for three days, and when I finally stopped screening his calls and ignoring his texts it was just to tell him I wasn't going to see him again. There was no point telling him I'd decided I was done with athletes too.

I drifted after that, avoiding old haunts like frat houses and football games. Sometimes I'd meet guys through friends and go out with them a few times, even sleep with them once or twice before losing interest. I had no idea what I was looking for.

* * *

My roommate Brenda had a boyfriend named Zach in the class ahead of ours, and he had a friend named Andrew, a Classics major. Brenda decided I had to meet this Andrew. "He's not an athlete," she said, "sort of thin and scholarly looking, but he's got a kind of suppressed forcefulness, like he's trying hard not to be bossy. There's something attractive about it."

He didn't sound all that promising, but I agreed to have dinner at Symposium with Brenda, Zach, and Andrew. And actually he was perfectly charming in an old-fashioned way, his conversation witty and full of quotations and allusions, which I'm sure the rest of us were catching only a few of, not being literature majors. In looks he was about a million miles from Mark and the other athletes I'd been dating. If I was going to go out with him, he'd take some adjusting to.

Our conversation drifted (or maybe Brenda steered it) into what was hot. Crazy Heart, we agreed, was hot. Lady Gaga was hot; so was Kanye West.

Andrew said, "There's nothing in modern culture hotter than what you can find in Ovid."

"Oh, come on," Brenda said. "I've read Metamorphoses, we all have, and sure, it's sexy. But Jeff Bridges hot? Steam-your-glasses hot? Panty-wetting hot?"

"If you want to get turned on," Andrew said, "read the Amores. But really, I'm constantly getting turned on reading ancient literature. It beats hell out of Internet porn."

"Okay," I said, "Tell us what's hot about, say, Cicero."

"Well," he said, turning to me. His eyes were gray, his gaze unwavering. "Let's see. Cicero was rich, a Roman senator, so he owned slaves. And you know, people then had no guilt at all about using their slaves sexually. If you had a good-looking slave and you wanted to get your rocks off, you just crooked your finger, and you got laid."

Brenda said, "But it was wrong, just like the way American slaveowners slept with their slaves."

"I'm not saying it was right," said Andrew, "just that it was hot. I mean, think about it. You were surrounded by these people who were totally at your mercy because you owned them, and they'd do anything you asked because they had to. You had the power of life and death over them; they had no will of their own, no property, not even an identity, apart from what you gave them. No one has that kind of absolute power over other human beings these days, at least not in this country. And of course I agree that's totally a good thing. But just tell me slavery wasn't hot."

Brenda said, "It wasn't hot."

I stared at Andrew. What he was saying turned me on. But more than that, I felt like I'd agree with anything he said, however outrageous, and that feeling turned me on even more.

"Yeah," I said. "It was hot." Brenda gave me a disgusted look. Andrew smiled at me, gray eyes smoky and warm.

By the time Andrew called me the next day, I'd picked up a copy of the Amores, and by the time we met for dinner the following night I'd read almost half the poems. He was right, they were hot. I was eager to talk to him about them.

He came to my dorm for me, and I just walked with him without quite knowing where we were going. "So you've been reading the Amores?" he said, striding along the sidewalk. He sounded like a teacher checking that I'd done my homework. I had to trot a little every few steps to keep up with him.

"I've been enjoying them," I said.

"Which is your favorite?"

"I like the one where he's going to be at the same dinner party with his lover and her husband. He makes demands he has no right to make, but he doesn't care, he just makes them anyway. He's really domineering."

"I like that one too," he said. "He just assumes he's number one even though she's married."

"I think he is number one," I said. "I'll bet she does everything he tells her - touches his foot under the table, twists her ring to tell him she thinks he's hot - "

I shivered, imagining myself in the scene.

He steered me into a pizza restaurant a block from campus.

"Do you have a favorite?" I asked as we slid into a booth.

He said, "As a slavery fan, I like the one where he's shocked, shocked that his lover would accuse him of getting it on with her slave-girl. The next poem is addressed to that very same slave, and of course they've been screwing. That's hot!"

I said, "If Corinna caught them at it, she could have the slave whipped, or worse."

He said, "There were some legal protections for slaves, but yeah, she could whip or sell her."

A waiter came, and Andrew ordered a pizza for us - mushrooms and olives. It was strange not being consulted. I was surprised to find I was a little relieved: I'd always had trouble deciding what to order. "Beer?" he asked.

"Anything," I said.

"Two Bengali Tigers," he said to the waiter.

The beer was good. We drank, and I listened to him talk about Ovid. The pizza came, and Andrew ate, but my stomach was fluttery and I just nibbled the slice the waiter had put on my plate.

There was a lull in the conversation. To break it Andrew said, "I knew I was going to call you when you said you thought slavery was hot. It was like you were a kindred spirit. Not that the hotness of slavery is all that big an issue. I mean, who cares anymore?"

"Lots of people," I said. "There are slaves right here in New York. They're couples that look normal when they're out in public, but when they're at home, one of them's a slave and one's a master or mistress. It's a sort of kinky sex game."

He said, "Takes all kinds to make a world," and made a dismissive gesture. But his eyes met mine, and I saw curiosity and interest there.

I said, "You'd have to be the master, wouldn't you, if you played that game?"

He looked away. "Yeah, I guess I would," he said. "I've been told I'm kinda bossy."

"You'd make a good master," I said, "strict, definite about your wishes, taking no nonsense, but fair and just if you had to, you know, punish your slave."

"I'll bet you'd make a good master too," said Andrew, looking back at me, smiling, polite.

"I don't think so," I said. "I'm inconsistent and irresponsible, a habitual fuckup. I need discipline. I've got to be the slave."

Andrew stared at me. "Talk about hot," he said. "This conversation we're having . . ."

He was right. I could feel my cheeks turning red, and my nipples and clitoris were heating up. I thought if we went on talking like this, or if I just looked at his gray eyes again, I might have an orgasm right here in the restaurant.

Fortunately for my modesty, it seemed neither of us had anything more to say. I was desperate to go on with the conversation, but my mind was a blank. I stared down at the barely-touched slice of pizza on my plate, cursing myself for the way I'm so often tongue tied.

I looked up at Andrew. He glanced away, as if he'd been caught at something. He seemed as confused as I was.

I looked down again, at my hands. I was wearing a ring - a simple silver one with an onyx. I twisted the ring, nervous, willing my hands not to shake.

I couldn't look up. Seconds passed; they seemed like eternities.

Finally he said, hoarsely, "Emily - "

I whispered, "Master."

He didn't say anything. I couldn't look up at him. The silence was unendurable. The waiter brought the check, and I stared at Andrew's hands as he counted out some bills and laid them on the tray. My eyes were tearing up, my nose starting to run. Now he'd politely walk me back to campus, shake my hand, and I'd never see him again. I'd fucked up, I was sure of it.

But after he'd put his wallet away, he said, "When I get up, make sure we haven't forgotten anything, then follow me out the door. Walk a foot or so behind me and a little to the right."

Happiness welled up inside me, a huge warm wave. I checked the table as he'd instructed and followed him to his dorm, where he signed me in. I stared down, not meeting his eye, as we rode the elevator to his floor. I trailed him down the hall to his room; he unlocked his door, walked in, turned around, and said, "Come in and close the door."

I did as he'd commanded, turned to him, and said, "Your slave awaits your commands, Master."

He paused, looking more than a little uncertain. Surely he'd had women in his room, there was no such thing as a virgin at this university, but he'd never had an encounter like this one. I knew that if I were in his place I'd be intensely aware that the woman in front of me wasn't really a slave, but just playing one. She could call the game off in an instant if I gave a command she didn't care to follow.

"Master," I said, "may I speak freely?"

"You may," he said, a little relieved.

"Master," I said, "a slave has no right to expect to be wooed or courted. The only pleasure a slave is permitted is that of serving her Master and obeying his every command. I am entirely your slave, and I will obey without hesitation."

Thinking back on that moment, I can't believe how naive I was, not imagining that any Master would ever ask a thing I'd find truly impossible, or so horrible I simply couldn't do it. But I meant what I said with all my heart.

Andrew stared at me, still uncertain. Then he took a deep breath and said, "Take your shoes and socks off."

I was wearing the more or less standard undergraduate uniform for New York in early April: sweatshirt, jeans, running shoes. And I'll just mention here that I've always considered myself pretty enough but a good bit short of beautiful. I have an oval face with a smallish nose, green eyes, and a shapely body with medium-sized breasts. At that time I had long brown hair, and I hadn't even dreamed of getting tattoos or piercings.

I kicked my shoes off and raised my feet, one at a time, to pull off my socks. I straightened up and faced him again.

"Your sweatshirt," he said. "Take it off."

I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and dropped it on the floor. I faced him again, wearing bra and jeans and feeling mildly self-conscious.

"Jeans," he said.

I pushed them down, stepped out of them, and faced him again. My face was hot, and my heart was pounding. I yearned for his next command, and I was terrified, too.

He paused for a long time before he said, "Take off your bra. And panties."

I reached around behind my back, unsnapped my bra, and let it fall to the floor. Finally I stepped out of my panties.

I stood facing him and let my arms drop to my sides, feeling more naked than I'd ever felt before, thinking about my prominent nipples and big areolae, my untrimmed pubic hair. I wondered if he liked the look of them better than I did. There was indecision in his face - he wanted to stare, and he didn't want to be seen staring. But I felt no indecision. I had wanted to be naked, wanted him to see my body - well, now I was naked, and he was looking at me. I said, "Your slave awaits your further commands."

He opened his mouth and said, "I . . ." Once again he didn't quite know what to do.

"A slave," I said, "is incapable of being shocked by anything she may see. She's not entitled to such feelings."

He hesitated only a moment; then he sat on the edge of his bed and took his shoes off. He stood again and took off his shirt and pants. He glanced at me; I frowned at him a bit, and he pushed down his underwear. He was lean, far from athletic, but his body looked strong, clean, and not too hairy. His cock wasn't hard yet; he was too nervous.

I said, "Allow me to arrange the bed for you, Master." I propped the pillow against the wall to make a backrest. My doing this seemed to give him confidence. He sat on the bed and leaned back on the pillow. I stood in front of him and waited.

"Come and kiss me," he said.

I said, "Yes, Master." How would slave and Master kiss? It wouldn't be a tentative, first-date kiss; it wouldn't be loving, not tender, not gentle. I would give, anxious, afraid not to please, and Master would want, take, and offer no thanks. I crawled to him over the bed till my hands were on either side of him, and my breasts brushed his chest, nipples already swelling - it was so sexy to be naked for a first kiss! I leaned into him, pressed breasts and belly flat against him, and kissed him. I put away all shame - a slave couldn't afford it - made it wet and lascivious, mouth open, tongue prying his lips apart, breathing hot into his mouth. And he responded with fierce need, taking me in his arms and crushing me to him, lips hard, tongue thrusting. His hands roved over my shoulders and back - my skin burned where he touched me - down to my ass: he squeezed my buttocks, fingered my crack.


Slave Girl Emily Ch. 01



I reached for his cock. It was hard now and warm in my hand; I stroked it and whispered in his ear, my excitement growing. "Master, you have the power to compel acts from your slave that a free woman - a girlfriend or wife - might refuse to perform. A slave can refuse you nothing."

I squeezed the shaft and ran my fingers over the head, slick with pre-cum; I spread it around with a fingertip. He was breathing heavily. I kissed him again, licking the inside of his mouth, making it lewd, and after a minute he said, lips brushing mine as he spoke, "Suck my cock."

"Yes, Master," I said, my arousal growing. I kissed him once more and slid down his body, pausing to give one of his nipples a soft bite on the way. I nuzzled his brown curly pubic hair, ran my tongue up the length of his cock, paused to tease his little slit, and ran my tongue down the underside. Then up again, and when I got to the top this time, I took an inch of him into my mouth, enjoying his warm hardness and the naughtiness of sucking his cock just minutes after I'd entered his room. I massaged him with my tongue and gradually took more of his length, as much as I dared. He gazed at my face, eyes wide. Yes, I thought, a slave would do this; but a slave would do so much more, if only Master would make her.

I licked and sucked Andrew's balls, teased the sensitive skin under them, and said, murmuring softly into his scrotum, "If commanded, a slave would do a thing she'd never done before. She'd lick Master's anus, if that was his desire. You could take a slave from behind, anally. She'd submit to your discipline, if you thought she'd been naughty. Her body is yours to spank, whip, or use as you please."

Suddenly I was afraid I'd said too much. He could get offended by this kind of talk and decide I was too slutty for him to have anything to do with. But after a few seconds he said, "You have been naughty. You need a spanking."

"Master is just and merciful," I said.

He scooted to the edge of the bed, and I let him take me over his knees, ass under his right hand, his erection prodding my side. He raised his hand and brought it down with an audible slap - an almost gentle blow, but I'd never been hit there before, and I was a little shocked. "Oh!" I breathed, shifted in his lap, and felt the head of his cock slide against my side. He took a sharp breath and hit me again, a little harder this time. I gasped, more with pleasure than pain, and he gave me a third blow. I felt the sting this time, twitched a little and whined, aroused by the pain and his cock hard between his body and mine. The fourth blow, still harder, landed right where the third one had, it nearly burned, and I shuddered and said "Oh!" again, a soft scream. He paused a long time now, five seconds or more, breathing hard, listening to my whimpering; and he held his breath and brought his hand down again and gave me a fifth blow, one that felt like a punishment. I sobbed, "Master!"

"Are you all right, Emily?" asked Andrew.

I was more than all right: my whole body was vibrating with excitement, but I didn't want Andrew, the boy who was suddenly concerned for me; I wanted more, more, more Master.

"Oh," I sighed, "Master must decide . . . how long to continue the punishment . . . how hard to strike. A slave must not presume . . ."

I squirmed a little, to make sure he didn't miss the point.

He groaned and brought his hand down again - the blow resounded in the room - and I jumped and cried "Ah!" He hit me again and again, blows a couple of seconds apart. His cock was slick now, oozing pre-cum. Tears came to my eyes, and I wept, losing count of the blows, absorbed in the pain and pleasure - till finally he stopped.

"Jesus, your ass is red," he whispered, almost reverently. My pussy was hot and ready even though he hadn't touched it. He tossed me onto the bed and got on top of me.

"Condom, Master," I said.

He breathed "Fuck!" but reached for his desk drawer, right next to the bed, took out a condom packet, opene it, and fumbled it on.

He shoved into me. I flung my arms around him and pulled him to me. He thrust hard for a minute, then slowed down to draw out the act. I liked the way he made love, liked his excitement and his fervent kisses. But was this how the senator would take his slave?

I whispered in his ear, "Master can be rough - he can be cruel," and my longing surged as I said the words. Oh, I wanted him to take me violently and use me carelessly.

He thrust fiercely now, breathed harder, cock penetrating deeper, battering my cervix; I could feel the heat building in him, in me, that lovely pressure, a dam ready to burst - and my orgasm was a torrent of sensation, I'd never come so hard - and as it died away I cried "Anything, Master!" and knew, as he fucked me brutally, gasping, that I would do anything for him, anything at all.

He pulled out of me, and I hardly had a moment to think before his cock was in my face and he was slipping the condom off and rasping, "Suck me!" On one knee and with a leg over my body, he seized my head in both hands and pushed into my mouth, so deep I was afraid of gagging.

But I was thrilled - by the taste of my pussy on him, by his forcefulness, by the way he'd commanded his slave - Suck me! I closed my mouth around him as tight as I could, and he thrust into me, moaning, cock a piston, till I sensed the primitive instinct taking over his body, felt his spasms, cock throbbing, semen pumping over my tongue, splashing against the roof of my mouth, flooding me.

Oh, here was a first! It was warm and viscous. I didn't love the flavor - salty, fatty, bitter, with something unpleasant that I couldn't figure out. But everything about it turned me on - even not liking it. What would the senator want from his slave? I forced it down - it felt submissive to do it, as if swallowing his cum sealed my bond to him, slave to Master.

Andrew collapsed beside me and lay quiet for a minute. Then he turned to me, looking as if he wanted to say something but wasn't sure what.

I didn't know what to say either, but I knew what I felt - like I'd survived a brush with death and was now more alive than I'd ever been in my life. It was a high like I'd never felt before, and I knew I couldn't live without it. And I knew what I needed now: not the sweet, slightly bossy college boy who was about to ask if I was all right, but the senator who commanded, owned, and did not doubt his right to my body. I said, "I am Master's to command."

"Am I still your Master, then?" he asked.

"If Master wants a slave," I said, "then I am his slave."

He said, "What I want is you. I want to have a relationship with you, not just a hookup."

I dropped the slave act long enough to say, "I want a relationship too, because this is the greatest night I've had in a long time - maybe ever. But I need to be your slave, not your girlfriend. Maybe we can have that kind of relationship later, but not now. Right now I have to be your slave."

He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a minute. Then he turned back to me and said, "Okay. You can be my slave when we're alone together, and yourself when you're not with me or we're out in public. It'll be a good game."

"As Master commands," I said.

But as we talked more about it, we realized that we were stumbling around in the dark and didn't know much about what we were getting into. We gave ourselves the assignment of finding out more about modern Master-slave relationships, and then we went to bed.

For a long time I lay awake beside Andrew in his narrow dorm bed. He'd said I could be a slave in private and myself in public, but I was already wondering which of those selves was the real me, the modern college girl or the slave-girl who wanted only to be told what to do.

By the time I drifted off into a restless sleep I still hadn't figured it out.

* * *

Over the next few days we researched BDSM on the web. There was plenty of online information to get us started. We learned about all kinds of fun things we could do - bondage, flogging, and more - and stuff we could get to help us do it. Just as important, we learned about safety - safe practices, safewords, and safe gestures.

Over time, we picked up rope and cuffs, a soft whip, a blindfold, and some books so we could find out more. We drooled over pictures of exotic pieces of furniture and equipment, but of course we couldn't have fit them in a dorm room even if we could have afforded them.

Andrew had been hesitant that first night, but soon the role of Master came easily to him. He was willful, with a talent for saying just what he wanted instead of wheedling or beating around the bush. He'd let me into his room after my classes were done for the day and as soon as the door was closed, snap, "Take your clothes off." Then he'd set me some task: cleaning or straightening the room, reordering his books on their shelves, or putting his laundry away. If I failed to do one of my tasks properly, he'd frown and make me do it again - and sometimes he'd spank or whip me. I'd make little mistakes - say, shelving Catullus before Caesar - because I loved both the frowns and the punishments.

I loved it when I didn't make mistakes, too, because then, when my task was done, I could simper and climb into his lap if he was sitting or press my naked body against him if he was standing, and whisper, "Haven't I been good, Master?"

He'd grump, "I suppose you think you deserve a reward, slave?"

I'd make my voice tiny and girlish and say, "A slave never hopes for a reward, but only to escape punishment." And then maybe he'd push me to my knees, shove me onto the bed, or bend me over his desk chair, and I'd get a rough fuck and maybe a mouthful of cum.

Whether it had been punishment or not, we'd cuddle on his bed afterwards and talk - about politics, the classics, goings on in my bio lab, all kinds of things. When we'd cuddled enough, we'd study, hunt up friends to hang out with, attend events, or go off separately to do our extracurricular stuff.

Andrew and I both went home for the summer, and I missed my Master terribly. My life at home seemed utterly without structure, and the only good I got out of my summer job with a local law firm was finding out I didn't want to go to law school. All I cared about was my nightly phone call with Master. He'd call around eleven, after my parents had gone to bed, and tell me the things he wanted to do to me - tie me up, whip me, choke me with his cock, slap my breasts - and what he wanted to make me do - suck his toes, lick his armpits, do his laundry. I'd whisper how I longed to submit to him and do his bidding. Sometimes he'd order me to masturbate, and I'd come, moaning into the phone. By the end of summer I was in a fever.

When we finally got back to the university, we made contact with some of the city's BDSM groups that welcomed beginners. We attended discussion groups, and after a while we were able to find mentors - experienced people we could count on being able to talk to about the many questions we had. My mentor was - still is - a sub named Kevin, who soon became a close friend.

I was dizzyingly happy as Andrew's slave, and my happiness showed up in every area of my life. I was a great student, active in extracurriculars, a good daughter to my parents, to all appearances comfortable in my life as a student at an elite American university.

* * *

A week before Andrew's graduation, he took me to dinner at the pizza place where I'd become his slave. We ate our pizza and drank our beer in near silence. When I'd pushed my plate away, he took a deep breath and said, "I love you, Emily. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to marry you, if you'll have me."

I wasn't expecting this. What are the chances a Roman senator would marry his slave? It hadn't occurred to me to want more from our relationship than what I was getting - unless it was anal sex, which we hadn't tried yet but I didn't feel I could suggest. I stayed quiet and waited for him to say more.

He said, "I brought you here to talk to you about this because this is where our relationship began, but also because this is a public space, a place where you're yourself. And I wanted to talk to the real you, not the slave."

I said, "What makes you sure my public self is the real me? What if it's the slave that's real?"

"How likely is that?" he said. "You're a modern woman, and this is the twenty-first century. Our slave game has been fun, it's meant a lot to me, but real life is waiting for us. We can't play the game forever."

I thought about what he'd said. When we were out with friends I'd sometimes slip and call Andrew "Master." They'd smile, thinking it was a cute endearment. They didn't suspect that I was struggling to maintain a facade, a bad actress playing the part of a modern American girl. On the other hand, it was easy to be alone with Andrew - to serve him, defer to his will and judgment, and submit to his discipline. It felt right.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to live with him as his equal - making my own choices, having my own desires, being consulted about decisions, maybe even being wooed with soft candlelight before lovemaking. Maybe he'd spank or flog me now and again as a special treat, but it wouldn't be routine.

The idea was appalling. I thought Andrew a good Master, and I looked up to him. Maybe I even loved him - but only as my Master. If he wasn't going to be that, he would be nothing to me.

"I'm sorry, Andrew," I said, "but you've got me backwards. The real me is the slave, not the free woman. If you want me in your life, you've got to be my Master, and I've got to be your slave."

He said, "You're pretty assertive for a slave."

I said, "Being a slave is the only thing I have to be assertive about. It's not a game with me, Andrew. It's the life I want to live. Command me to marry you and I'll do it, but then I'll be your slave forever."

He said, "A marriage isn't a marriage unless both people choose it freely. If only one of them chooses, then neither is free. I want freedom for us both."

The word "freedom" had such a fine, lofty sound. Wasn't it what all the world's downtrodden masses desired? Wasn't the yearning for it deeply rooted in every American soul? Surely there was something horribly wrong with me.

"I don't want to choose," I said. "I don't want to be free."

We talked a long time, but there was no way to bridge the gulf between us - maybe it had always been there, and I'd willfully ignored it. In the end we had to agree that we had no future together. I paid my half of the check and walked back to campus with him, feeling numb. I went up to his room just long enough to gather up the little stuff I had there. He gave me all our sex toys.

I went back to my dorm room, flung myself on my bed, and cried and cried.



Slave Girl Emily Ch. 02



Author's note: Here's Chapter Two of "Slave Girl Emily," the story of a submissive with an assertive streak. In Chapter One she met a boy named Andrew, and they made a stumbling start playing Master and slave. Unfortunately, that relationship didn't last. Now on her own, she introduces herself to New York's BDSM scene. Tags: BDSM, Bondage, Whipping, Humiliation, Anal Sex.





Slave Girl Emily Ch. 02



The frame was just that: a big wooden rectangle with a soft leather cuff attached to each corner by an adjustable cord. Master had me stand in the frame facing the wall. He attached my wrists first, leaving the cords loose, then my ankles; he tightened the cord holding my wrists so I was spreadeagled and helpless. As he tightened the cords for my wrists he said, quietly, "Remember: Yellow and I back off a bit; your safeword and I stop; Red and we leave."

Someone handed him a cat o' nine tails, much bigger and more dangerous looking than the little whip that Andrew and I had bought. I didn't have much time to look at it, because Master moved behind me, out of sight.

The first blow was a soft slap on my upper back that hardly made me twitch. But that, I knew, was just a warm up. He'd hit me lightly for a few minutes, and then harder as my body released endorphins, the magical substance that would make my pain pleasurable. He was a good flogger, pausing every so often to let my body adjust; then he'd resume, hitting harder. Soon my skin was burning and I was sobbing, but my whole nervous system was alight with pleasure, nipples and pussy hot and needy.

I have no idea how long the flogging lasted, but eventually he stopped, came to me, pushed my tail aside, put a hand between my legs, and stroked my clitoris with one finger as he slid another into my vagina.

"What now, Famula?" he said. "Had enough?"

"Oh, Master," I sighed, thrilled by his touch, "that's not for a mere slave to decide." I didn't care what he did at that moment, painful or pleasurable, as long as he did something. I craved his attention and longed for him to master me - everything else was unimportant.

He took his finger out of my pussy and put it in my mouth. I closed my eyes and sucked it, feeling wanton.

"I think that's enough discipline for now," he said. "But be warned: another infraction will bring more severe punishment."

I was a little disappointed when he released me from the frame. He held onto my leash as he moved around the room chatting with friends. I was already aroused from the whipping, and his hand on the leash and the people indulging their kinks all around us were making matters worse. I'd had no sex since May, and my frustration was becoming palpable.

I thought about how to get his attention. Speaking out of turn would probably get me nothing more than a rebuke, but I couldn't think what else to do. We'd been here an hour; the party could easily go on for three or four more, and I didn't know how I'd get through it. Master was having a long conversation with an older man dressed in black latex. I watched a man wearing only a leather top and a blond girl about my age, naked like me and with a collar like mine, having anal sex a few feet away.

From my angle I could see his cock penetrate her anus and her sphincter flex as he plunged into her. I could hear his raspy breaths, her moans, and an occasional fart as air escaped around his shaft. I wondered what Master's cock looked like and tried to imagine the sensation of it in my ass. Would it feel like my butt plug? To judge from the young woman's reactions, it would feel either much better or much worse. I'd take either.

The young woman turned around and sucked the man's cock. She noticed me watching and fixed me with a longing gaze. I'd never wanted sex with a woman before, but now I imagined kissing her, licking her anus where I'd seen the man's cock plunging in, eating her pussy.

Oh, it was unbearable. I put my hand on my pussy and masturbated as I gazed into her eyes and watched the cock slide between her lips. I couldn't help my heavy breathing, my heaving breasts, the moan that escaped me . . .

"Famula!" my Master exclaimed, his voice a sharp rebuke. "I didn't give you permission to masturbate!"

"Master, please," I whined. But I took my hand off my pussy.

He said, "And I didn't give you permission to speak!"

I whimpered. I was really ashamed and afraid, and I was getting more turned on every second. Beside me, the man in leather groaned and came in the blond girl's mouth.

"It's a troublesome slave," Master said to the man he'd been talking to.

"I can see that," said the man.

"Bit of a slut, I'm sorry to say," said Master thoughtfully.

"Got no shame at all, rubbing her cunt like that, right here in front of all these people," said the man.

My face was hot with humiliation; people were turning to watch, and my body was spinning out of control.

"No telling what a slutty vixen like this wouldn't do," said Master, unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants. "On your knees, slave," he said as he pushed down pants and underwear together, "and suck my cock."

I sank to my knees in front of him. I was intensely aware of all the people staring - but hadn't I been staring at a girl sucking a cock just moments ago? It had been sexy watching, and now the blond girl was among the watchers, excitement in her eyes.

I looked at Master's cock - it was long, thick, straight, and veined. I was overcome with longing for it and closed my lips around it. I drew it deep into me, enjoying its warmth and the way Master was growing more excited and thrusting deeper. Soon I was gagging a little, thick saliva flooding my mouth and running down my chin. I didn't know how to deep throat and was scared I might throw up if he went much deeper.

Still, I whined in protest when he pulled his cock out of my mouth. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back so I had to look at him. He still had on his white shirt, vest, tie, and suit coat. He said, loudly so his voice carried across the room, "You liked it when everyone was looking at your asshole, didn't you, slutty vixen? You want everyone to watch you get ass-fucked, don't you?"

After wishing for so long, I was finally going to get anal sex, and it would be as a punishment, painful and degrading. A crowd was gathering, eager to watch.

My heart was full to overflowing with mortification and heat; it was all I could do to nod in answer to Master's question.

"On your elbows and knees, slave," he said.

I raised my ass to Master, feeling exposed, vulnerable, and ashamed. I hid my face in my hands. He drew out the fox-tail butt plug and smeared more lubricant in my crack and anus. I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper . . . a few seconds passed, and then the head of his big cock pressed against the opening of my anus, stretching the muscles - I thought it was going to split me open. Oh, it was more thrilling than any spanking, more painful than the whipping, a hundred times better than when Bobby hit me. I heard a thin, piercing shriek, like a teakettle left on the burner too long, and was startled to realize it was me.

When Master was deep inside me, he slapped my ass, two-handed, the blows loud and stinging. Tears dripped on the floor between my hands, and I squealed with every slap and every thrust. I lifted my head and looked at the rapt people watching my first butt-fuck. There was the man in latex vigorously jerking off, the blond girl masturbating and twisting a nipple, her partner gloomily fingering his soft cock, and others too, playing with themselves or just staring. I fell from my elbows onto one shoulder, freeing a hand. I reached between my legs and found my clit - no one stopped me this time - and with the sting of Master's slaps, the pain and stimulation of his cock in my ass, the humiliation, and my masturbation, I came with a wail. And a short time later Master came too, thrusting painfully, groaning. He pulled out of me, and I collapsed onto the floor, curled up, and tried to make myself disappear.

But Master said, "Here's your tail, Famula," and he made me stand up and bend over, legs spread, so he could put the butt plug in me again. He straightened my ears, caressed a cheek with his fingertips, and kissed me. He said, "Well done, my slave," and I smiled and shivered with pleasure.

Master dressed again. The pale, beautiful girl in the black dress came and collected the condom. We stayed another hour, Master holding my leash while he moved about the room, talking to his many friends. I was docile now. I stayed quiet and watched the fucking, the whippings, and the other things that were going on all around us, until he said, "It's time to go."

He sent me to dress in the bedroom where I'd taken his bag. I packed away the fox ears and tail and went out to the party room again, not delaying this time. Master said his goodbyes, and the girl in black let us out. I glanced back at her as we walked away, and she met my eyes and licked her lips. Strange, I thought.

"Would you like to come home with me tonight?" Master asked as we rode down in the elevator.

"It makes me happy to obey Master's commands," I said.

"Come home with me, then," he said.

We took a taxi to an apartment building on East End Avenue. His place was much less grand than the one where the party had been, but spacious and comfortable.

We had a snack in his clean, modern kitchen, and then he said, "It's time for bed."

"Command me," I said.

"Come to bed," he said.

I did, and - gently but firmly, and without asking - he took my body for himself.





Slave Girl Emily Ch. 03



Author's note: Here's Chapter Three of "Slave Girl Emily." The heroine is an undergraduate who has discovered she has an overwhelming desire to be someone's slave. Together with another student, a boy named Andrew, she felt her way into the BDSM lifestyle. Her first relationship didn't work out, but now she has met a potential Master, attended a play party with him, and decided to begin negotiating a Master/slave contract with him. Tags: BDSM, Slave, Bondage, Whipping, Humiliation, Oral sex, Straight sex, Masturbation, Toys, Public sex.

* * *

Chapter 3. First day with Frederick

He smears lubricant around my anus; his finger slides in, slick and warm, lubricating me. Then a hard metal probe, another electrical device, tingling, buzzing, throbbing - with the probe in my vagina it's overwhelming, torture by pleasure. My whole body's heaving in my bonds, there above the floor - will he finally let me come?

He switches off the power.

My body feels thick, dull, full of melted wax instead of organs. I'm blubbering, "Oh, please," my tears sprinkling the floor.

I recite my safeword to myself silently. As long as I know it, I'm not his captive and this can't be torture. I'm my own captive as long as I don't say that word.

The tingling begins again in my pussy and ass, just a little, but soon my whole body will be humming - I picture myself lit up like a neon sign.

Master says, "I'd like to give you an orgasm, Emily."

"Please, Master . . ."

"You only have to say the word."

* * *

The term of my enslavement would be one year beginning September first, renewable on mutual agreement. When Frederick learned that I still had a year of college left, he wouldn't hear of my being his full-time slave: I would commute to the university each weekday, wearing clothing approved by him, and I would be his slave only in the evenings and on weekends; even then, I might have additional time if I had exams to study for or papers to write. He would allow me one week off to visit my parents at Christmas and one the following spring, after graduation. Otherwise I would be his slave at all times - evenings, weekends, and, next summer, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

My duties were the standard ones spelled out in roughly similar terms in most BDSM slave contracts. I would become my Master's property for the term of the contract, to be used by him in any way he liked for his own pleasure. My sole purpose would be to please him, obeying him in all things without question. I would strive constantly to please him more, accepting instruction from him for that purpose. I would renounce all claim to my own pleasure, instead deriving my pleasure from serving him. I would seek no reward, though I would receive rewards from him with gratitude. I would be free to make requests of him, though I would accept his decisions concerning these requests without complaint. I would confide in him and keep no secrets from him. I would accept punishment from him, whether for my correction or for his amusement, as gladly as I accepted rewards.

For his part, Master would support and protect me, providing clothing (including a collar which I would wear at appropriate times), shelter, and sustenance. He would promise to do me no harm. I still could think of no hard limits, but these could be negotiated at any time. He would respect my safeword. He would provide all toys needed for our play. He had the right to lend or trade me. The contract could be terminated by either of us for cause.

Of course, a contract like this isn't legally binding, but it's binding in the sense that the BDSM community regards it as legitimate. Within the community, it's public knowledge who's bound to whom by contract; to violate the terms of one's contract is a breach that's likely to have serious social repercussions. A Dom or sub who did so habitually would soon have a difficult time finding partners.

I managed to contact all but one of Frederick's former subs, and they all spoke highly of him. He had honored the terms of their contracts, had rarely pushed them so far that they had to use their safewords, and had respected the safewords when they'd had to use them. They'd parted on amicable terms for reasons that did not reflect poorly on him.

We got fresh HIV tests, passed with flying colors, and traded the printouts of our lab results. When we were both satisfied with the contract, we signed. I signed with my real name - it felt like being naked for him again. It was the twenty-eighth of August.

On the morning of the first, a Friday, a day when I had no classes, Master sent a car to collect me and my few belongings from the apartment where I'd spent the summer. When my roommates asked where I'd be living, I muttered something vague about moving in with my boyfriend - which only increased their curiosity, since they'd seen no evidence of a boyfriend in my life. They'd just have to be curious.

Master let me into his apartment. I carried a single suitcase, and it took the driver three trips to bring up my other belongings. I sat nervously till he was done and had been paid.

Master said, "Are you ready, Emily? You can call it off now, and no one will think the worse of you."

"I'm ready," I said.

He looked at me for a few seconds, as if deciding that he was ready too. Then he said, "Take your clothes off."

I stood up. I had on simple summer things - a halter top and shorts. In just a few seconds I was naked for him. It felt right - I wasn't self-conscious.

He picked up a box from a side table, brought it to me, and showed me what was inside: a collar of silver mesh with a silver lock in front. He put it on me and said, "This collar is the symbol of my connection to you, Master to slave, and my obligation to support and protect you."

I said, "I'm your slave, and . . ." but then something caught in my throat, and I couldn't say anything else or do anything but look at the floor.

He raised my face with a finger under my chin and kissed me, and that seemed to make it all right that I'd said so little.

My belongings were piled up in the living room. Master looked at them and said, "We'd better deal with these now." He sorted through them while I knelt and watched. My few books were all right - even the ones about BDSM that Andrew and I had bought. School supplies were also acceptable. My computer, an aging Toshiba laptop, didn't pass muster: he'd buy me a MacBook Pro and have all my files transferred to it. He rejected all but a few pieces of clothing and bagged it to be sent to Goodwill - he'd take me shopping the next day.

He rejected all my toiletries. He'd already bought me his favorite brands of shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, toothbrush, floss, deodorant, tampons, and other things. He threw my razor in the trash. He'd made an appointment to have my hair waxed: not only my legs and armpits, but also my pussy would be hairless during my stay with him. He approved of my emo look, but insisted that a professional see to both the coloring and styling of my hair. He smiled at my sex toys. "You won't need these," he said. "I'll box them up and store them for you."

He had me carry my clothing to his bedroom. At the foot of his bed, where I'd slept with him the night of the party, was a pallet with a pillow and sheet. "You'll sleep there," he said. He had me hang my few remaining things in the closet: he assigned me one end of a dresser drawer for things you don't hang up.

By now it was time for lunch. He showed me around the kitchen and talked about the foods he liked to eat.

"You'll make us breakfast and lunch when we're both here. Sometimes we'll have dinner out, sometimes you'll make me dinner here, and occasionally you'll eat here alone. How's your cooking?"

"Basic, Master."

"It's not likely to be worse than mine. You'll learn," he said.

He supervised while I made the lunches he dictated for us: a ham and cheese sandwich for him, salad for me.

He said, "A good many Masters make their slaves eat all their meals on the floor - from dog food bowls and the like. It's a sign of subordination, which of course is important. But I think less degrading signs will do just as well. So you'll serve me my food and then ask permission to sit. If I grant permission, you'll sit here" - he pointed to a chair near his - "and if not I'll tell you what to do. Occasionally I host dinner parties. When these involve others who are in the lifestyle, you'll eat as the other slaves and subs do - mostly on the floor. With guests who know nothing about BDSM, you'll pretend to be my somewhat shy and subservient girlfriend."

I brought his sandwich to the table and said, "May I sit, Master?"

"You may." he said. Then added, "At meals, you won't speak until you're spoken to."

We ate in silence. He pushed back his chair and said, "You'll clean up after every meal. Come to the kitchen."

He showed me a drawer containing dish towels and aprons. He said, "You may wear an apron while cooking and cleaning up. You don't want to fry bacon in the nude. I have to make some calls now. I'll come for you when I'm finished."

I cleaned up quickly and waited for him, thinking. Any of the hundreds of thousands of women who made meager livings cleaning wealthy people's apartments in New York would envy me my station in life - earning a college degree that was supposed to be my ticket to a brilliant future. And here I was, doing what they did, and for no pay at all. What were we, Master and I? We weren't employer and employee, not lovers, really. My condition was one that people in all ages and places had fled whenever they had the chance. But at that moment I wouldn't have traded places with a king or president.

Master came for me and showed me the washer and dryer, the cleaning supplies, the vacuum cleaner, and other things I'd need to know about. He employed a maid service, but I'd be responsible for making sure they did their job correctly and that everything was back in its proper place when they were done.

"Any questions?" he said.

I tried hard to think of a question, but nothing came to me.

"Then come with me," he said, and took my hand. "It's time to begin your training."

He led me down a hallway past the bedroom. He took a key from his pocket, unlocked a door, and led me into a room containing a bondage table, a Saint Andrew's cross, a tall cabinet, a wooden chair, and a floor lamp, which he switched on. A small collection of whips and paddles hung on a rack. In the center of the room, a rope with a hook hung from the ceiling down to about waist height; the other end of it was attached to a fitting on the wall.

"Stand next to the hook," Master said.

I stood by the hook, feeling fluttery and somehow more than naked. He went to the cabinet and took out a steel bar about two feet long with cuffs on each end, a set of leather handcuffs, and another length of rope. He took a cat o' nine tails from the rack. He cuffed my hands behind my back and bound my arms together at the elbow. He left the bar and whip on the floor.

"Kneel," he said, and I got on my knees, heels under my ass.

He pulled the chair over to me, sat, and said, "One of my duties, Emily, is to train you to be a slave. Not just any slave, but my slave. You need to learn how to please me, and also what to expect when I see fit to correct or discipline you. What we're going to do here will both please me and demonstrate my style of punishment.

"But before we start, I'm thinking I should have a naughty pet name for you. I've been mulling several possibilities: slut, cunt, skank, bitch, whore, bimbo. Do you have a preference?"

"No, Master."

"Whore won't do, I think, because I don't intend to sell your sexual services. Cunt isn't right, because there's a lot more to you than your genitalia. I don't like skank, because it implies a lack of cleanliness, and I intend to keep you very clean. A slut is a promiscuous woman, but I'm not going to allow you to be promiscuous, even if that's your inclination. Bitch is a possibility, but only because it can mean almost anything, as long as it's degrading. A bimbo is empty-headed, but I know your head is far from empty."

"Master is kind," I said.

"Do you have a favorite sex act? I could call you cocksucker, butt-girl, or maybe just plain cum-slut."

"I liked anal sex, Master, but I've only done it once."

"That was your first time, at the party? In front of a roomful of people?"

"Yes, Master."

"I wouldn't have done it if I'd known."

"I liked the people watching, Master. It was humiliating. It was a just punishment."

"Shall I call you butt-girl, then? Brownie? Exhibitionist?"

"Master will decide."

He sighed. "And then there are animal names - kitten, vixen, sow, cow, duck, hen . . . It's a difficult problem. I think I'll put off deciding till I've gotten to know you better."

He stood up, unfastened his pants, and took out his cock. It was hard already, maybe from the dirty talk. I wanted it: our talk had made me hot too, even though I hadn't liked his naughty names much. He came so close to me, I could have leaned forward and put my mouth around the head of it. I wanted to take it in my hand, but trying to reach for it reminded me that my arms were bound.

"Do you want to suck my cock, Emily?"

"Yes, Master."

"But that's not how we're going to do things," he said. "You must always be passive, and I'll be the actor. You don't suck my cock; I fuck your face."

He took my head in his hands and pulled me towards him sharply, and his cock rammed into my throat, hard and deep. My mouth instantly filled with saliva, and I started to gag. It was hard to think just then, but I tried to remember the web pages I'd read about how to deep throat: I hummed a little, stuck my tongue out, made fists of my hands behind me, breathed deeply, and managed not to throw up. It took concentration, but his excitement was hot, and currents of pleasure rushed all through my body.

It was violent and painful, and it went on and on, but I loved every second of it. Passivity felt good, I thought, even if it was hard work. My bonds felt good. I longed for him to control me, body and soul - I wanted to immerse myself in his will and desire and have none of my own. Thick drool overflowed my mouth and soaked his pubic hair.

He pulled out, bent down, and kissed me. "Naughty slave," he said. "Stand up. I can tell you've been having wicked thoughts, and you need to be punished."

He took the bar and fastened one of my ankles to each end, forcing my feet far apart. He hooked my handcuffs onto the rope behind my back; then he went over to where the other end was attached to the wall.

"This isn't supposed to be tight enough to hurt," he said, "but it can be painful or even dangerous if we're not careful. If you safeword, we'll stop. If you say it hurts, I'll listen to you, but I'll use my own judgment to decide what to do."

He pulled on the rope, lifting my arms behind me. He adjusted my position and the rope several times until my back was horizontal, my arms high above and behind me. The position was stressful - maintaining it would be a chore.

"Do you know what this is called?" he said, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Strappado." I'd been doing my homework.

"Not very comfortable, is it?" he said.

"No, Master."

"That's good, Emily. You must always be honest with me."

He was naked now, lean and tan, with strong chest and shoulders, flat belly, narrow hips. He picked up his cat o' nine tails. I wondered if this was his favorite toy. He walked around to my rear and hit me on the ass - a harder blow than he'd begun with at the play party, but still more pleasurable than painful. I twitched and said, "Oh!" He hit me again and again, in a steady rhythm, till my skin started to sting. Then he paused and hit me harder, making me gasp.

The whipping was like the one he'd given me at the party, but I quickly learned that it wouldn't do to twist and turn when tied in a strappado, since that made my shoulders hurt and my leg muscles burn. He took his time, pausing frequently, hitting just a little harder after each pause. The pain built so slowly, I could hardly tell when it went from stinging to burning, burning to excruciating. By the time he started to put his back into it, pausing many seconds after every blow and raising welts, I was euphoric and overwhelmed with arousal, my body singing. I shrieked with every blow and sobbed in between.

Master walked around to my front and petted my hair. "No safeword yet, Famula?" He said.

I shook my head.

"Have you ever used your safeword?"

I shook my head again. "No, Master."

"Still, I think that's enough," he said. He went to the cabinet again and returned with a little green jar, from which he applied some soothing cream to my sore bottom. His touch was as gentle as his whip had been cruel. I sighed with pleasure.

But then he set the jar down, grasped my hips, and shoved his cock into my damp, hot pussy.

It was so sudden it was painful, and I cried out. But then his cock stretched and filled me, it was exquisite, and I said, "Oh!" a drawn-out sigh.

But Master said, "Quiet, slave. Listen to your pussy."

I forced myself to be quiet and heard the slap of skin against skin and the liquid slurping and sucking of his cock driving into me. I was sure I'd never been so wet or so excited. All of me - aching shoulders, arching back. straining thighs - contracted into that one spot where he penetrated me. I'm a pool of hot cunt, I thought. Master's cunt.

Still thrusting hard, he squeezed my sore ass with both hands, then slapped it. My shoulders throbbed to his rhythm, my legs ached, and my tender skin blazed under his hands. He wrapped his arms around my waist and hammered me still harder, grunting with the effort, oh fuck it hurt, I'd never imagined sex could be like this and any man so forceful - my body shook with the pounding, my shoulders screamed with pain behind me, and I screamed too, a continuous screech.

I lost track of time - maybe he fucked me for five minutes, maybe an hour. His hands roved over my body, grasping my breasts, massaging my back, thrusting fingers into my mouth, rubbing my clit, exciting me more and more till I was on the point of coming. But just when I felt myself losing control, seconds from orgasm, he pulled out, came to my head, shoved his cock into my mouth, and fucked my face again, just a few deep strokes before he flooded me with his warm, viscous cum. He put a hand over my mouth and said, "Swallow, Emily."

My own desire surged inside me, bigger than I'd ever felt it - to serve him, to submit to his will, to be his nothing and his everything. I'm his cum-slut now, I thought, and swallowed.

He untied me, and I sat on the floor, knees drawn up, and massaged my sore shoulders. He sat in the chair and looked at me.

"Lie on the floor and spread your legs," he said.

I lay on the floor with my pussy towards him, legs spread, knees up.

"Spread your pussy," he said. "I want to see."

I pulled my labia apart, wondering why men loved looking at women this way.

"Your pussy is beautiful," he said, "wet and hot pink inside. Your vagina's still open - it's a dark tunnel. After the waxing you'll be even more beautiful."

His gaze and his words were heating me up. I shifted a little on the floor.

Master slid off the chair and knelt between my legs. He wrapped his arms around my thighs, lifted me to him so I rested on my shoulders, and sank his lips into my pussy, lapping up my wetness.

Oh, what a gift! I felt his breath on me, his hard tongue probing my slit and my vagina, teasing my clitoris, lighting up my torso and limbs. But no! He was eating me out, growling into my pussy, for himself, not me - that was what we'd promised each other. His gift to me was to take me and use me for his own pleasure, and the thought aroused me, even more than his tongue and lips, till once again I was seconds from orgasm. But as if he'd read my mind, Master set me down, stood over my head, and stroked his cock, hard again.




Slave Girl Emily Ch. 03



My body was trembling with need - I had to find relief.

"Master, can I masturbate?" I asked.

"No, Emily, not now."

"Please, Master, I need to come."

"Don't argue, slave," he said. "That gets you a punishment."

He straddled my face and sat down, pressing his anus against my mouth. Oh fuck, I thought. I'd had fantasies about this, and even enjoyed online videos of women rimming men and men rimming women - but I'd never come close to actually doing it. My mouth watered as my lips met his asshole.

"Lick it, Emily," Master said. His anus was tight and brown and lightly haired - and I wet it with my tongue. I'm really a bottom now, I thought, and savored the humiliation as he jerked off above me, balls slapping my nose, and his anus scrubbed my mouth.

He groaned, lifted himself a little, and pointed his cock down at my face, still jerking off, till he came, not so much as before - but the spurt and drip of his cum on my nose and cheeks felt like the harshest slash of his whip.

He climbed off me and stood up. Surely he'd let me come now. "Please, Master," I begged.

"We have to stop, Emily. We have to get ready to go to dinner."

I whimpered a little - I couldn't help it. I was all hot, needy pussy, and eating seemed an impossibility.

He got up and dressed. I had nothing to put on, so I just watched him, fevered and desolate. "Come," he said, and I rose and trailed him out of the room.

He led me to the bedroom, went to the closet, and took out the one dress he'd left me, a flouncy one with a black-and-white pattern. "Put this on," he said, "and those red shoes," pointing to the only shoes I had besides sneakers. On the closet shelf there was a black leather purse with silver fittings - not mine; he'd thrown mine away. He picked it up, said "Come to the living room when you're ready," and carried it to the door, where he paused and turned around.

"Oh, and Emily," he said, "don't forget to wash your face. And don't you dare masturbate before I tell you to."

I washed up, changed, and presented myself to Master, who was relaxing on the living room sofa, looking cool and collected. I'd managed to calm down a little, but his gaze heated me up instantly. "Very nice," he said. He came to me, lifted the hem of the dress, and peered underneath.

"Oh, no," he said. "That won't do. No panties allowed."

I gave him a stricken look, but said, "Yes, Master," and went back to the bedroom.

He was still standing when I returned, feeling naughty even though I knew no one would know I was naked under the dress. He handed me the purse and said, "While we're out, you'll speak to no one but me. Not the taxi driver, not a waiter. If you see a friend, you can smile and wave, but say nothing till I give you permission. You'll follow my instructions without question, just as you'd do here at home."

"Of course, Master," I said, wondering why he thought he needed to point that out.

He took me to one of those wonderful holes in the wall, informal and dimly lit, with lots of intimate booths and great food - the kind of place you never read about in the Times, but only hear of from friends. The waiter who came to our booth had on a plain black T shirt, black pants, black hair of the sort you can only get by dying it (I should know), and a fabulous collection of tattoos - skulls, roses, griffins, dragons, all kinds of things worked together into beautiful collages that cascaded down both arms. He had a collar, too - a plain black one with a bronze lock.

He introduced himself as Jonathan and asked if we wanted a drink. Master ordered chardonnays for both of us, and Jonathan gave no sign that he thought it in any way strange that he didn't consult me. No surprise, I thought, if the collar isn't just decorative.

When he'd gone to fetch our wine, Master said, "Relationships in the lifestyle always seem bizarre to anyone who's outside looking in. To them, our life looks like an endless round of abuse - perverse and completely loveless. There are even people in the BDSM community who believe that love isn't possible for us. I don't agree. I believe ours is a path that leads to love - not a path that everyone can or should choose, but one that works well for a select group of people.

"This afternoon you gave me the greatest gift a submissive can give to a Dominant. You saw me with the whip, and even so you made yourself helpless for me. You accepted the risk that I'd harm you and trusted that I wouldn't. That was a greater gift than anyone in a vanilla relationship can give to a lover."

"Master is kind," I said, thinking I'd let him tie me to a railroad track just then, if he wanted.

He continued, "Not everyone, even inside the community, understands that a Dom has to give a similar gift of trust. When I'm whipping you, having rough sex with you, or humiliating you at a party, I have to trust that you've communicated your limits to me truthfully, so I know where the line is between pleasurable and hurtful, or hurtful and unendurable. If I don't know your limits, then I run the risk of exceeding them, which would break the bond between us and make love impossible."

Listening to him, I felt a little queasy. I knew what was coming.

"It's hard for me to do my share of trusting, Emily, because I don't know where your limits are. You've left me to stumble across them for myself. I can only do that by violating them, and when I do, it may lessen your trust for me and make it harder to build our relationship."

"I'm sorry, Master," I said, "but I don't know where my limits are either."

He sighed and said, "Then we'll have to explore and try to find them. Put your hand on your pussy."

"Master?"

"Hike up your dress and put your hand underneath - touch your clitoris."

I put my right hand under the table, lifted my dress, and touched my pussy as he'd instructed. It was scary even though the table and my dress hid what I was doing.

"Masturbate," he said. "Move your hand and stimulate yourself."

I started to rub my clit lightly, hoping it wouldn't be too obvious.

"Look around the restaurant," he said. "It's after nine, and this place is almost full. There must be another dozen couples here, and four or five bigger groups. And here you are, in the middle of a crowd, masturbating."

I looked around. It was true: on this Friday the place was packed with respectable-looking people chatting and eating. My face was heating up, and my pussy was getting wet under my fingers.

"What would they think of you if they figured out what you're doing?" he asked. "What would they do? Do you think they'd be outraged? Would they call the manager and demand that you be thrown out? Would one of them call the police?"

"I don't know, Master," I said in a very small voice, feeling hot and edgy. "May I stop masturbating now?"

"No, you may not," he said. "I'll punish you severely if you stop masturbating. Perhaps tomorrow I'll make you masturbate on the subway, or a city bus. How would you hide your pussy if I did that? Do you think you could do it?"

"I don't know, Master." I was afraid, and my fingers felt magical on my pussy - energy was coursing through my body.

Jonathan approached with our wineglasses. I hastily took my hand out from under my dress and laid it on the table. He gave us a warm smile and said, "Are you ready to order?"

We'd been ignoring our menus. Master looked at me and said, "Do you know what you want to order, Emily?" He was teasing me - I knew he'd never make me choose.

I shook my head.

Without looking at the menu, he said, "We'll both have the tomato soup and then the red snapper. We'll decide on dessert later."

Jonathan said, "Thank you," and left.

Master frowned and said, "You've disobeyed me, Famula. I told you not to stop masturbating. I'll have to punish you."

My stomach gave a lurch.

"I'll see to it when we get home. Now go on masturbating," Master said, "and don't stop till I tell you."

Again I hiked up my dress and touched my clit - again my pussy grew hot and wet under my hand.

"Does it feel good, Famula?" Master asked.

"Yes, Master."

"You haven't discovered a limit yet?" Master asked.

"No, Master."

"Look in your purse," Master said. "You can stop masturbating while you do it."

I opened the purse and saw a little pink bullet vibrator with a loop on one end and a matching remote control. The purse also held a set of Ben Wa balls, a little tube of lubricant, and a packet of tissues.

"Lubricate the vibrator, Famula, and put it in your vagina," Master said. "Then wipe your fingers with a tissue."

As I took out the vibrator and lubricated it, holding it under the table, my hands shook so badly that I almost dropped both the vibrator and the lube. But I managed to slide the vibrator all the way into me, leaving just the loop outside. I had to scoot forward in the seat to do it. I used a couple of the tissues to wipe my fingers.

"Give me the remote, Famula."

I handed it to him, and he turned it on. It made almost no noise, thank heaven. A vibrator works fast: pleasure radiated from my pussy and lit up my whole body.

"Fingers back on your clitoris, Famula."

I stared at Master as I masturbated, enthralled by the hard look of him, not quite believing what he was making me do, that I was doing it, and that I could be so turned on in this public place.

Master touched the remote, and the intensity of the vibrations increased. He said, "Your face is flushed, Emily, and you're radiantly beautiful. I believe this kind of play agrees with you. Pity we can't get away with a blowjob, because I'm getting a hard-on watching you."

"Master," I said, "May I - "

"Not yet, Emily," he said, holding the remote under the table. "The waiter's coming with our soup, and you don't want to frighten him."

This time I knew better than to stop masturbating. Master stepped the intensity up again as Jonathan set down the soup bowls and spoons. I gasped, and the waiter stared, then looked away. I was trying to keep my body under control, though the effort not to move my hips and moan was, if anything, turning me on even more. I was slouching in my seat obscenely, and I'm sure my mouth was hanging open, my eyes vacant. Master smiled reassuringly, and the waiter hurried away. He must have guessed what I was doing under the table - but either he was okay with it or unwilling to put his tip at risk.

"Master, please," I begged, thinking I was about to explode.

"Okay, Emily, you can come now," he said, and turned the vibrator up again. I masturbated frantically, mouth open, breathing heavily, staring at Master.

You absolutely cannot stay completely still when you come: I dare you to try. You have to move your hips at least a little, and you have to pant - you just need the air - but you don't have to cry out, and your breasts don't have to heave. It is possible to get away with it, and I did, that night.

Almost.

He turned off the vibrator and handed me the remote.

I put it in my purse and said, "May I visit the restroom, Master?"

"Take your purse with you," he said. "Take out the vibrator and put in the Ben Wa balls."

I walked, weak and unsteady, to the back of the restaurant. The little hallway leading to the restrooms also led to the kitchen. Our waiter was coming from the kitchen, and we stopped and stared at each other by the ladies' room door. His eyes were shining. He took a quick step towards me, grabbed my right hand, and held it to his nose.

"Yes!" he hissed, put my fingers in his mouth, and sucked on them. I was too startled to pull away - and besides, what he was doing felt good.

He let go of my hand and said, "You're a slave, aren't you?"

I just looked at him, eyes wide.

"You don't have permission to speak, right?"

I nodded.

"I get it," he said. "I'm a slave, too. Look." He lifted his shirt a little and pulled down his waistband a couple of inches to reveal an elegant tattoo of two oriental characters. "It's dorei, Japanese for slave. I'm glad you're obeying your master. Nothing makes me happier than obeying my Master."

I smiled and touched his collar.

He took me by the shoulders, kissed me on one cheek, and said, "You're so fucking hot." Then he hurried away to the dining room. I went into the ladies' room, peed, lubricated myself, and put in the Ben Wa balls, which stimulated me mildly as I walked to the sink. I washed up and went back to Master, pleased with the sensation of the balls in my vagina.

Master spent the rest of our dinner trying to explore my limits by asking questions. How had I liked it when he'd called me a slut at the party? Had I enjoyed the fox's ears and tail? Being called a vixen? Displaying my anus to the crowd? How did I feel about humiliation generally? How would I say the pain he'd inflicted would rate on a scale of one to ten? Had I been ready for him to stop when he did, or had I wanted more flogging? How had I felt about him sitting on my face? Did I have a favorite type of whip, or any that I wanted to avoid? How many ways could I remember being tied up? Had I ever been suspended? Blindfolded? Had anyone ever used clamps on my nipples or labia? Administered electrical shocks? Had I ever made love to a woman? To more than one person at a time? Had I ever been sexually assaulted? Did I favor any fetishes (feet, urine, animals)?

I couldn't say much about the things he mentioned that I'd never experienced, but I'd liked everything that had been done to me as a slave, so by the time he'd asked all his questions, we were no closer to discovering my limits.

But as I gave him answers, revealing more of myself to him and feeling the stimulation of the Ben Wa balls every time I shifted in my seat, I gradually got more and more aroused, until finally I was as hot as when I'd masturbated over the soup course.

Master said, "Do you want dessert, Famula?"

I hesitated for a moment, afraid to say what I wanted - but finally worked up the courage to say, "I'd rather be at home with Master."

He studied me for a few seconds, evaluating my request. Then he said, "Yes, Famula. I think it's time to take you home."

We said nothing in the taxi or in the elevator. It wasn't until we were in his apartment and he'd closed the door behind us that either of us spoke.

I fell to my knees, eyes downcast, feeling miserable, and said, "I'm sorry, Master."

"What?" he said. Then he said, "Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten!"

I stole a glance at him: he was grinning wolfishly.

"Of course," he said, "I owe you a punishment for when you stopped masturbating."

I burst into tears, and desire swept through my body like a wildfire. 



Slave Girl Emily Ch. 04



Author's note: Here's Chapter Four of "Slave Girl Emily." Warning: There's lots of peeing in this chapter! If that kind of thing doesn't float your boat or isn't your cup of tea, then skip this and just paddle on over to one of the other stories in the BDSM section, of which there are many excellent ones. Don't you dare read to the bottom, go "oh ick," and write something nasty! If you do, I'll deep six your comment, because you have been warned.

The year is 2011. Emily is a college girl who's discovered that she has a powerful need to be owned. Finally she has found a Master and has negotiated and signed a contract with him. This chapter opens on the second day of her enslavement. Tags: Slave, Bondage, Humiliation, Oral sex, Lesbian sex, Toys, Watersports, Urine.

* * *

Chapter 4. Damp dinner party

He's attached clamps to my nipples. Wires trail away out of sight. The machine is off, but I'm not at rest, hanging here in my ropes. The room's too hot, or maybe I'm in a fever. I'm tense, breasts heavy; my clit must be huge and obscene.

I don't know how long I've been in this room, tied up, tortured with vibrators, probes, and Master's hands - such beautiful, skillful hands! Meanwhile, my body's normal processes continue.

"I need to pee, Master," I say.

"You may," he says. He's sitting in a chair behind me, legs crossed, trousers neatly pressed.

There's something deliciously humiliating about performing such an elemental bodily function while my Master watches. If I had any power at all over my own body, I'd go to the bathroom and close the door. Peeing in front of Master reminds me of what I've given to him.

But I can't pee, not with probes in my pussy and anus.

"I can't, Master," I say.

"Ah," he says, understanding. He gets up and walks out of sight. The tingling begins again - pussy, anus, nipples . . .

* * *

I didn't want to wear the butt plug on our shopping expedition, but I didn't dare to object, and it turned out to be a nice reminder of the painful anal pounding Master had given me the night before as punishment for my disobedience at dinner. He'd tied me into an obscene knot, face down, bottom up, and fucked me hard on the tiled floor of his playroom. I had fallen asleep on my pallet, tired, sore, and hugging myself for happiness. It was exciting to wear the butt plug in the changing rooms and while modeling clothes for Master.

There were lots of things to do over the following weeks. Waxing was painful, but I liked the way it left my armpits and legs. Master loved my hairless pussy, and I loved it because he did. The hairdresser Master chose for me did a wonderful job with my hair, leaving it feathery and black with a purple streak. I got my first tattoo, a white one, the word "slave" on my right pelvis in an ornate script, with a flourish trailing onto my mound.

Master made sure I kept up with my schoolwork. He hired a driver to take me to and from the university, picking me up at eight in the morning and dropping me off again around five thirty. I thought that was unnecessary, but when I protested he said he'd whip me if I said anything more about it. He devised study schedules for me to make sure I had time for both schoolwork and my duties as his slave. The structure helped: I'd gotten good grades before, but now my work improved.

A typical day might go like this. I'd get up at six, shower quickly, make breakfast, wake Master at seven, and feed him. If all that went well, I might get some of his cum to swallow or even an orgasm before the driver picked me up. I'd attend classes, fitting in a salad somewhere as time permitted, and then read or write in the library till five, when I'd meet the driver at the Broadway gate. I'd get back a few minutes before Master, undress, put on my collar, and have a drink ready for him when he got home from the office. I'd make dinner while he had his drink and read the Times online, and if I'd been good I'd be allowed to eat with him. Evening was always playtime, and Master was inventive when it came to devising games for us. If I'd been bad, I'd have to be punished, of course, but to tell the truth my punishments weren't all that different from our games - only my shame and a bit more violence made them different. Master introduced me to all kinds of things I hadn't had any experience of before: the cross, the table, the riding crop, the paddle, the ball gag - the cabinet in his playroom seemed to be stuffed with endless goodies.

Sometimes we'd go to dinner together, and sometimes to BDSM events. I loved being slavish and submissive in front of other people - mousy and shrinking in restaurants, cringing and subservient at munches, whipped or publicly fucked at play parties. He'd mentioned the possibility of dinner parties, but for a long time they didn't happen. Instead, once a week or so, he'd go to dinner with some friend or other, and if the friend was a kinkster with a submissive in tow, Master would take me along, but otherwise he'd leave me at home to read or watch TV. I think probably no one really expects a bachelor to give dinner parties, even if he does have a live-in slave.

And so it was a surprise when he told me, one Friday evening in the third month of my enslavement, that he was giving a dinner party the next night. The guests were Daniel and his wife Karen, the couple who'd thrown the first play party we'd attended. Daniel was a senior partner in Master's law firm, and his wife, as it happened, was the woman I'd seen him cuffing to the Saint Andrew's cross. They'd be bringing their slave with them. Fortunately, Master didn't expect me to cook; instead, he'd engaged a kink-friendly caterer to take care of all the food and wine. The other slave and I would serve drinks and dinner, and we'd be available for play.

The guests arrived at seven. Master, looking impossibly handsome in a dinner jacket, opened the door. I stood behind him, naked except for my collar. Daniel was in his mid fifties, tall and solidly built. Karen was nearly as tall as he was and heavy, not quite fat, with blond hair (expertly dyed) and a colorful and extravagantly patterned dress. Their slave was the pale black-haired girl I'd seen at the play party. I'd thought her beautiful then, and she still seemed beautiful tonight. She stood behind her owners and gazed at me, hardly even glancing at Master.

Master said, "Daniel and Karen! Thank you so much for coming! Please come in." They stepped in, offered little gifts, and made the kind of small talk you make at the beginning of a dinner party. At some point Karen turned to glance at the slave, just briefly, and she shrank a little, as if she'd been struck, and quickly stripped. She was a couple of inches shorter than me, and thin, almost starved, with small, slightly deflated breasts and dark little nipples pierced with silver barbells. On her left breast was a tattoo of a fly, and on her right side was a sad-looking girl holding a bleeding heart. She stood very still, holding her clothes. I went over to her and whispered, "I'll show you where you can put those." Looking grateful, she followed me back to the bedroom, where I took her things from her and put them on a closet shelf.

When I turned back to her, she was staring at me. She didn't look away like most people caught staring, but said, in a voice that was scarcely a whisper, "Piss in my dinner tonight?"

"What?" I said. I wasn't sure I'd heard her right.

"They'll feed us from dog bowls. I'd really like it if you'd piss in mine. They won't get mad, I promise. I'll do the same for you, if you want."

I said, "I guess . . . I'll try. But you don't have to do it for me, thanks."

She hugged me quickly and said, "Thank you." She seemed really grateful. "I've been thinking about you ever since I watched your Master fuck your ass. You looked so . . . I don't know - like nobody could ever beat you? It was such a hot scene. I drank his cum out of the condom. I wish I could have drunk it out of you."

All I could think to say was "Oh," remembering how she'd collected the condom he'd used that night. Her interest in me was making me nervous.

"I'm Mouche," she said.

I said, "I'm Famula."

"We'd better get back," she said, "before they get mad."

When we returned, Master, Daniel, and Karen were sitting in the living room. Master called me to him. "Daniel and I will have Glenmorangie on ice," he said, "and Karen will have gin and tonic. Mouche will help you with the drinks."

We went to the kitchen, where a man and a woman were busy preparing dinner. They took little notice of us as we went to work at a small bar at the far end of the kitchen. I suppose they were used to seeing naked slaves.

Mouche whispered, "Mistress always orders a tall drink. Watch her: she'll drink it fast and ask for another. Then she'll want to piss."

We carried the drinks into the living room and knelt on the floor, watching our owners. It was true that Karen drank fast: within about ten minutes she'd emptied her glass and handed it to Mouche, who scampered off to the kitchen for a refill. Half of that disappeared within another ten minutes, and then Karen rose grandly, said "Come, Mouche," and marched off, slave in tow, towards the bathroom. The men went on chatting, but I didn't pay much attention to what they were saying.

When the women returned a few minutes later, Mouche gave me a triumphant smile, as if to say, "I told you so." She knelt beside me, and I whiled away about a half hour trying to decide whether it was an occasional faint whiff of urine wafting from her direction or just my imagination.

The woman caterer came a few feet into the living room and gestured to Mouche and me. We looked at our owners, who nodded, and we scrambled to our feet and followed the woman back to the kitchen. I had carefully set three places at the dining room table in the late afternoon: now we had to bring out the hors d'oeuvres and pour water and white wine. We did this quickly and called our owners to dinner. When they were seated, I knelt on the floor next to Master while Mouche knelt between me and her Mistress.

The dinner was formal, with lots of courses, and we were up and down a lot, bringing food, taking away dishes, pouring wines. Having spent the summer before working as a waitress, I knew what I was doing, and Mouche seemed just as competent. But we slaves ate nothing, and by the time we'd served the last course except for dessert, I was really hungry.

The caterers brought out the dinners for Mouche and me. We weren't going to get all the courses, but just some salad, potatoes, and pork tenderloin, all cut up into bite-size chunks and jumbled together in two large dog food bowls, which they set on the floor next to the entrance to the kitchen. One was a plain plastic bowl of the kind you can buy in any pet store; the other was silver and had "Mouche" engraved in large letters on the side.

The owners turned to watch, and the caterers loitered just inside the kitchen, where they could see. Clearly our eating was going to be part of the evening's entertainment. Master had told me the rules: we had to eat not only without silverware, but also without hands. We were expected to raise our asses high while we ate, displaying our pussies and anuses to our owners. I'd never done anything like this before, and I was intensely embarrassed before we even began.

It didn't help that Mouche leaned close to me, as we were getting up from our stations by our owners, and whispered, "Remember, you promised!"

Karen said to Master, in a stage whisper, "Mouche had a special favor to ask Famula." Then she said to me, "You will do that, won't you, dear? It means so much to her!"

Blushing even more furiously than I had before, I squatted over Mouche's bowl. I looked at Master, who smiled at me, clearly amused. My pee wouldn't come. It will come as no surprise to anyone who's ever tried to pee with four people looking on avidly that I was completely locked up.

I strained and strained, my face getting redder by the second. After about a minute it occurred to me that it might be easier to do this favor for Mouche if I turned around and faced the wall. I did that and tried to forget the watching people. If it were just Master, I thought, I could do it. Behind me, someone poured water into a glass - and it was like some mysterious valve had opened up inside me, and I started to pee into Mouche's bowl. Our owners all applauded, and Mouche herself made a weird but obviously delighted mewing sound.

I decided not to empty my bladder completely, but even so, after I'd cut off the flow and stood up, I saw that Mouche's dinner was swimming in a substantial pool of urine. She hugged me as she had in the bedroom, tightly and enthusiastically. Maybe it was the strangeness of her that made me aware of the beauty of her small, desiccated body in a way I hadn't been before.

We set to work eating. People really aren't designed to eat without tools or hands. We don't have snouts like dogs and cats, so we can't do it without getting our faces messy. It was easier for me than for Mouche: The chunks of my dinner were more or less dry, and I could pick a lot of them up with my teeth and lips without getting sauces and juices on my face. But she had to submerge her face from the nose down in the puddle of pee to get at her food, and so she was making quite a mess of herself. And yet the loud slurping noises coming from her direction signaled that she was enjoying her dinner.

For myself, the best I can say is that I didn't like it but got through. We both had dirty faces, but our smuttiness was part of the entertainment too, and no one offered us towels or bathroom breaks so we could clean up. Instead, we served coffee and dessert, crepes with berries in a sweet syrup, and knelt by our owners while they ate and occasionally fed us tidbits, smearing our cheeks and chins with the dark, sticky syrup and laughing at the mess they were making of us.

After dessert and coffee it was time to play. The game that night was Truth or Dare. The three owners would play among themselves: the truths would be the usual naughty questions that adults ask each other, while for the dares, players could be made to do something either to or with the slaves. After all, the Doms at any BDSM gathering are there to play with the subs, and the subs are there to be played with. By tonight's rules, any of the owners could be dared to play with either of the slaves. That was scary, even though we slaves could be vaginally or anally penetrated only by our own Masters or Mistresses.

The oldest player (Daniel) was the one to start the game, and his victim, decided by coin flip, was Master, who chose Truth. Daniel said, "Tell us about the first time you struck a lover."

Master was quick with a reply: "You know the answer to that one very well, Daniel. When I first joined the firm, you saw how overbearing I was with my girlfriend. You saw me lose my temper with her and slap her face at a party in your apartment. You and Karen taught me to channel that negative energy in a positive direction."

The victim became the next questioner. Master's victim was Karen, who chose Dare. "Put a butterfly vibrator on your slave," he said. "I know you brought one."

It was true: Karen had brought one in a cloth bag I'd mistaken for an outsized purse. She strapped it on Mouche, hiding her pretty mound. "Did you want me to turn it on now?" Karen asked.

Master said, "I'm sure you'll find a good moment for it."

It was Karen's turn, and her victim was Daniel, who chose Truth. She said, "Tell everyone what I did to you last time we had sex."

Daniel said, "She spanked my cock with a ruler and made me jerk off while she pissed in my mouth."

Mouche leaned close to me and whispered, "They're both switches."

Karen said, "Shut up, toilet-slave," and turned on Mouche's vibrator. The slave shivered and fell silent. I shivered too, hearing the vibrator buzz.

Daniel's victim was again Master, who chose Dare. "Put Famula on the table," Daniel said, "and we can play the rest of our game in the playroom."

I thought I'd probably be immobilized for a long time. I hadn't emptied myself into Mouche's dinner, and now it seemed a good idea to pee before this game went any farther.

"Master," I said, "may I visit the bathroom first?"

Mouche turned to Karen and Daniel, eyes shining, and said, "Oh! Can I go too?"

Master, Karen, and Daniel chuckled indulgently, and Master said, "Of course, Famula. The two of you run along, and we'll play when you get back." Karen turned Mouche's vibrator off.

I wasn't sure I wanted Mouche with me while I peed, but it seemed I didn't have a choice. I headed for the bathroom, and she followed close behind me. She didn't wait outside, but came into the bathroom with me and closed the door.

"You first," she whispered, breathless with excitement, and stared as I sat on the toilet.

Of course I locked up again. Not a drop came out of me. After a minute I looked at Mouche mournfully and said, "I'm sorry. Could you . . ."

"Oh, don't mind me," she said, bustled over to the sink, and started to scrub her mouth.

Even with Mouche occupied at the sink, it took another minute or so for me to pee. As soon as my pee started to splash into the toilet, Mouche rushed over, crouched in front of me, and stared between my legs, entranced. She reached in to wet her fingers in my stream, and put them in her mouth.

I was relieved that nothing stranger happened before my bladder was empty. I washed my face and touched up my makeup while Mouche sat on the toilet and peed. Then I waited while she wiped, washed, and touched herself up. We returned to our owners, who all grinned at us as if one of them had just told a good joke at our expense.

"Time for the table, Famula," said Master.

We went to the playroom where, after some debate, they decided to lay me on my back with my arms tied down at my sides. They frogtied my legs, ankles to thighs, so my knees were high, and they tied my ankles to fittings on either side of the table, forcing my legs far apart, exposing my pussy and anus to their gazes. Mouche stood rigid against the wall beyond my feet and stared. When she made her little mewing sound, Karen noticed and turned on her vibrator. Her mewing got louder.

Now the game resumed. Master's victim was Karen, who chose Dare. It occurred to me that in a group like this Dares would be much more popular than Truths.

Master went to the cabinet and got out a vibrating butt plug, a remote control, and a bottle of lubricant. We'd often used the butt plug together: it was delicious to have it vibrating in my ass while he fucked my pussy or ate me out. I thought of it as one of our personal toys, and it felt like a violation when he handed it to Karen and said, "Put this in Famula's ass."

Her touch was different from Master's - less caring, somehow - as she lubricated my crack and anus, pushing two fingers in, making me gasp and twitch. Then she pushed in the plug - not gently or slowly, it really hurt - and switched it on.

She handed Mouche's remote to Daniel and said, "Here, you can take over this one."

Even though I hadn't liked Karen's touch, the butt plug felt as good as it ever had. I had a little trouble paying attention to the game as Karen said to Daniel, "Truth or Dare?"

Daniel said "Dare."

Karen rummaged in her bag of toys, pulled out a pair of clamps with wires attached to them, and handed them to Daniel. "Put these on Famula," she said. While Daniel put the clamps on my nipples, Master went to his cabinet and came back with a little electrical box with a pair of dials.

Master had put clamps on my nipples before, so I knew the kind of mild stimulation they gave. But then Daniel attached Karen's clamps to the box and turned on the power. First there was a tingling in my nipples, but as he slowly turned a dial, tingling gave way to humming and humming to throbbing, and with the vibrator going in my ass, my whole body was a dynamo, lit up, strobing. Oh fuck, I was going to come . . .




Slave Girl Emily Ch. 04



"Better turn it off for now," said Master, and I whimpered, "No!"

But Daniel turned off both the clamps and the vibrator, and Mouche gave a strange little high-pitched chuckle, there against the wall.

Master chose Dare, and Daniel said, "Piss in Mouche's mouth."

She mewed again.

"Here?" said Master.

"We should put down a towel or bathmat," said Daniel, "but otherwise you don't need to worry about the floor. There won't be much of a puddle."

Master left the room briefly and came back with a big beach towel. I wondered if he'd take me to the beach if I asked. He spread the towel on the floor near me, so I could see well. He stood on one end, and said, "Come here, Mouche." She got to her knees on the towel, gazed up into his face, and waited.

Master didn't have nearly as much trouble getting started as I'd had. Almost immediately his pee splashed on Mouche's lips and she opened her mouth wide to receive his stream, shifting her gaze from Master to me. When she was full, she closed her mouth to swallow - pee splashed on her nose - and then she leaned forward, took his cock in her mouth, and swallowed again and again, like a greedy child drinking lemonade through a straw. And all this time she stared into my eyes.

Watching her drink Master's pee, I was almost as turned on as I'd been with the clamps and vibrator. Her dark eyes were so beautiful, and what she was doing was so degrading - yet she seemed euphoric, glowing so much with happiness that I could almost swear I saw an aura around her.

Now Karen said, "Dare," and Master said, grinning wickedly at me, "I want your slave to give mine a kiss."

Mouche climbed onto the table and sat beside me, legs tucked under her. Her eyes gleamed; her breaths were short and sharp; her dark lipstick was glossy, her breasts wet. She smiled at me happily, and I thought of what she'd been doing tonight, drinking Karen's pee, and mine, and Master's - how could it give her so much pleasure?

She leaned forward and kissed me. She smelled like an unclean toilet, and as she thrust her tongue into my mouth she tasted salty and acrid, not at all nice. And yet my body responded to her taste, her smell, her little pierced nipples brushing my skin. Even tied up as I was, I couldn't help moving my hips a little.

Then they turned on all our devices. My body exploded with the sensations. Mouche's kiss became wild and frantic, and she mewed into my mouth.

Somewhere in the far distance I heard Daniel say "Dare," and Karen said, "I want to see Mouche eat Famula's cunt," and things were getting rearranged, I don't know how, and my pussy, already damp and hot, was the center of the galaxy, everything whirling around it. And somehow Master was up on the table, and his cock was in my mouth, and I was gagging on it as he thrust, craving it, and Daniel was humping Karen against the wall.

I screamed around Master's cock and came with an orgasm beyond any I'd ever felt; excited, he fucked my face hard till he came in my mouth, and I gulped down his cum. Mouche sat up between my legs, and we all watched as Daniel and Karen finished up against the wall.

The owners laughed and talked as they untied me and took the devices off Mouche and me. They dressed, and we slaves trailed them back to the living room. They relaxed on sofas and chairs. Mouche sat huddled in a far corner of the room, knees up, looking miserable. She was the only person in the room who hadn't had an orgasm. I sat near her, leaned against the wall, and watched the owners.

They seemed deeply engaged in their conversation. I looked at Mouche: she was staring at me again, head lowered, eyes sad. I didn't want to make love to her. I wasn't aroused and didn't think I'd like eating her pussy. But I felt obliged to her somehow - for the orgasm she'd given me, for her strange devotion to me this night, for the mere sight of her, which had moved me and given me so much pleasure.

I crawled towards her on elbows and knees, quietly, trying not to draw attention. She spread her legs for me: her pussy was bare, her outer labia thin and pale, inner labia dark pink and forbidding as they opened. I went flat on my stomach between her legs. She made a thin, tiny whine in her throat as my tongue touched her clit.

I'd never touched a woman there before, never seen, smelled, tasted a woman so close up. I was terrified and repelled by her damp, her pissy, cunty smell, her desolation and need. But, oh, I wanted so badly for her to have an orgasm. I closed my lips over her clitoris and massaged it gently with my tongue.

And I discovered a need of my own - to give pleasure to this slave whose wretchedness, like mine, was no less real because she had chosen it, whose pain was no less intense because she embraced it, and whose desires were no less beautiful for being strange and rare. And in my own need, her pussy became beautiful to look at, and its warmth and wetness felt delightful on my lips and tongue, its smell divine, its taste a heaven beyond description. This was Mouche - woman, slave, lover - and I kissed her womanhood as passionately as I'd ever kissed any man.

She responded to me, clit and labia swelling, growing warmer, wetter - and she slid forward into me and moaned, just a tiny moan - but that's what must have drawn the attention of our owners.

"Famula, stop that!" Master's voice was the crack of a whip.

"Mouche! Bad slave!" said Karen, shrill and scolding.

I shrank away from Mouche's pussy, suddenly small and ashamed. She drew her knees up and pressed them together, folded her arms over her knees, put her head down, and sobbed. I thought my heart was going to break.

The owners were standing over us. "We'd better take Mouche home," said Daniel. "It's getting late. We'll deal with her punishment there."

"Get Mouche's things," Master said.

I ran to the bedroom, got her clothes from the closet, and brought them to her.

"Go to the bedroom and wait for me," Master said.

I slouched away, stomach sinking. I turned in the entrance to the hallway and looked back. Mouche was staring at me, but the others were talking among themselves. I met her gaze and licked my lips, then turned and ran to the bedroom.

I curled up on my pallet. I was hot, tense, and unhappy, yet still aroused and unable to dismiss from my mind the image of Mouche's pussy, pierced nipples, pale skin, and dark eyes - the haunted, needy look of her and the excitement of that second of rebellion when looked into her eyes and licked my lips.

From where I was, I couldn't hear the voices from the living room, but I knew they were saying their goodbyes and leaving. Minutes passed; they seemed like hours.

I heard Master's step; his black leather shoes appeared by my pallet.

"Sit up, Emily," he said.

I sat, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around my legs. I couldn't look at him, but stared forward, seeing nothing.

"Look at me," he said.

I forced myself to look up at him. His face was severe, mouth a hard, straight line.

"Your body is mine," he said, "not yours. You do not choose what to do with it - not what to eat, where to sit, where to go - I decide those things for you. You have no will, no agency, no power at all over yourself or others - all that is mine. Your sexuality is mine - your sexual pleasure comes from me or at my direction. You have no right to give pleasure to others without my leave, and yet that's what you did tonight."

"I'm sorry, Master," I said, and for the first time since I'd come to him I found no enjoyment in my fear and anxiety.

"For the next three nights you'll sleep on the table in the playroom, not here with me."

The playroom sounded like a cold and lonely place. "Yes, Master," I said, and started to gather up my blanket and pillow.

"Leave those here," he said. "You'll be warm and comfortable enough without them."

The table was hard, I was cold, and Master was far away. This was the worst punishment he'd ever given me.

The next morning I woke up early, stiff and cold. I took a hot shower and went to make breakfast. I got Master for breakfast as usual, and when I brought his food and asked permission to sit, he said, "No. Eat in the kitchen."

Feeling miserable, I ate standing at a kitchen counter. Master mostly ignored me all day, only occasionally calling me to fetch him something. I stayed out of his way and read my schoolbooks. As the dinner hour approached, he announced that he was going out, that he might be coming home late, and that I needn't wait up for him. I didn't hear when he came in.

The next morning he let me sit with him at breakfast but said nothing. That evening he was already home when the driver dropped me off. When I let myself into the apartment, he was sitting on the sofa, looking at me. I felt awkward. He seldom saw me with my school clothes on.

"Come sit with me," he said.

I went to sit at his feet, but he said, "Here," and patted the sofa cushion beside him.

I sat next to him, feeling even more awkward, and waited for whatever was coming.

He said, "I don't want to belabor the matter of your infraction last Saturday, but before I let it go I want to know why you did what you did."

I said, "I'm sorry, Master," and I really was. I was still feeling ashamed and miserable.

He said, "I'm not going to punish you more than I have. I just want to know. You're supposed to confide in me, and in this case you can do so without fear."

"I'm sorry, Master," I said again. "Everyone at the party had an orgasm but her, and she looked so sad. I wanted to make her feel good."

"I thought it must be something like that," he said. "She comes across as rather a waif. But we can't consider the impression a slave makes when we manage her."

"I don't manage slaves, Master," I said. "I am one. Like her."

"And so you understand very well that she chose the life she's living, as you did."

"We did choose to be slaves, Master, but we don't make that choice at every moment. We're really not free and completely your responsibility."

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. He let a few seconds pass and then said, "She's beautiful. Were you attracted to her?"

"Yes, Master. I got more attracted to her as the night went on."

"She had something of a fixation on you. But you shouldn't let that bother you: she does everything obsessively."

"It bothered me at first, Master, but then I decided she was harmless."

"She has unusual kinks. Some find them repulsive. But you didn't?"

"No, Master."

"Not when I made her kiss you with piss on her breath?"

"No, Master, not after a few seconds."

"So I failed to find a limit there," he said.

I didn't know what to say. The silence became awkward.

"Shall I make your dinner, Master?"

"I don't want dinner right now," he said. "Come with me."

He led me to the bathroom and said, "Take off your clothes."

I stripped and dropped my clothes on the floor.

"Sit on the toilet," he said, putting the lid up.

I sat, and he took his cock out and aimed it between my breasts. It felt like a gun pointed at my heart.

"Master?" I said.

"Yes, Emily?"

"No? please?"

"Is this a limit, then?"

"I'm not sure, Master. Maybe a soft limit for now? Do you really need to do it?"

"I don't need to piss on you," he smiled, "but I need to piss. You'd better get up."

I stood up. He raised the toilet seat, and I watched him pee. On an impulse I put my hand into the stream; pee splattered on the floor, on his trousers, and on my legs.

"Emily!" he exclaimed, pinching his cock to make himself stop. "Look what you've - "

"Oh, Master!" I giggled. "You've peed yourself!"

He turned to me and said, "Emily - "

He looked really funny standing there with his cock in his hand, trying to look stern.

"Master, you - " I snorted, trying to suppress my laughter, but the effort just made it more hilarious.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Emily, you will go to the playroom and wait for me there. We have serious business to attend to."

"Yes, Master," I sang, and skipped out of the room.



Slave Girl Emily Ch. 05



Author's note: Here's Chapter Five of "Slave Girl Emily." This is the second and last of what you might call the "defecation chapters." It contains one brief and (to my mind, anyway) intense scene of paraphilia. But you can skip it if you like! Just do this. When Karen says "this will be educational," use your browser's search function to find the word "coprophage." Start reading again there, and you'll learn (approximately) what went on without having to witness the scene.

Maybe you're asking why I wrote this bit of the chapter. Well, there's just one kink, apart from the obviously illegal ones, that I've never wanted to write about because it turns my stomach. I wanted to know if I could write about it - that's all. It was unpleasant enough that I don't think I'll do it again. But it also has a significant role in the story - so it stays.

The year is 2011. Emily is a college senior who's entered the BDSM lifestyle and become a slave to an older (thirty-five-year-old) man named Frederick. At the end of our last chapter she was (to all appearances) deliriously happy. But you can't have a sunshiny day without shadows. A little less sex here than in some earlier chapters, and a little more plot advancement. Tags: BDSM, Lesbian sex, Straight sex, Scat, Coprophagia, Urine.

Chapter 5. On loan

My whole body's thrumming; the probes and clamps torture my pussy, ass, and nipples. I'm too exhausted to raise my head; I can see Master only from the waist down. His trousers are neatly pressed, but I can see the bulge his cock makes: he's enjoying my torment.

"Oh!" It's a long, drawn-out whine. The orgasm's building inside me again -

Master turns off the machine, and I sob with frustration.

I still need to pee, but I can't with my pussy and ass stuffed. The room's gotten colder - my arms and legs are prickly with goosebumps - and the cold makes the pressure in my bladder worse.

I can see Master's feet as he walks to the cabinet, opens it, closes it, and comes back to me.

"Master, I - "

He gives me a stinging blow on my bottom - the slap echoes from the hard walls and floor. I recognize the pain: it's the paddle.

I love the paddle: the slap, the sting, the red marks it leaves. But now it detonates something in my bladder. I've never needed to pee like this . . .

* * *

"Daniel and Karen want to borrow you for a few days," Master said.

It was December 27. I'd gotten back to the city, and to Master, only that morning. The week with my parents had been full of lies and hedging. They thought I was living with a boyfriend, and that was fine with them - they were liberated parents. It was fine with them that he was a dozen years older than me, and they were glad he was well off - not that they put it so crassly. They wanted to meet him, of course, but I didn't think I could bear pretending to be his equal for their benefit. I said he was very busy and stayed vague about what my life with him was like. I could tell they were worried about me but afraid to push too hard for information. They were afraid to tell me, too, that they didn't like my hair, clothing or makeup. They could barely conceal their dismay at the extravagant tattoo I'd gotten over several days between the end of term and Christmas: a rose vine climbing my back and twining about my neck, around my right side, and up between my breasts.

It had been a relief to get back to a place where I could live honestly. We'd spent the afternoon playing, and now I was lying on his bed, head in his lap. He was combing my hair with his fingers, and until a few seconds ago I'd been calm and happy. Now I was tense and wary.

Master continued, "They're giving a big New Year's Eve play party, like the one you and I attended. They want you to help them get ready."

"Is that all they want, Master?" I asked. "Just some help?"

"No," he said. "They want to play with you too. And they want you to be their slave at the party."

"Will you be there, Master?"

"Yes, but you'll be their slave, not mine, till the party's over."

"You told them they could borrow me, then, Master?"

"Yes, I did."

"Do I have to go?"

"You have the right to refuse."

"But there would be consequences?"

He sighed. "Our contract doesn't say. But I'd be embarrassed and unhappy. Our relationship would be different - it's hard to predict exactly how."

I thought our relationship would be different anyway. "When you say 'play,' Master, do you mean just BDSM activities, or sex too?"

"Where do you draw the line between them?" he said.

"So you want me to have sex with Daniel and Karen."

"If that's the direction things take."

"I don't want to be a whore, Master," I said.

"I'm not selling your sexual services, Emily. I'm lending you to people you already know and have played with before. And I thought it would be good for you and Mouche to make friends."

I did want to make friends with Mouche. But I still had reservations, and I didn't want to make this easy.

"Master," I said, "you have a duty to protect me. Doesn't that include safeguarding my value as a slave? If I had to find another Master, he'd look at me differently knowing you'd passed me around among your friends."

"Daniel and Karen aren't just any friends," Master said. "They've been my closest friends for many years. I swear to you, Emily, that I would never lend you to just anyone. You don't ever need to worry about that."

I thought about what he'd said. I wasn't attracted to either of them, but they didn't frighten me, and Master was right that I'd already played with them.

"Condoms," I said.

"What?"

"No penetration without a condom," I said. "Or latex gloves," I added, thinking of Karen's fingers.

"Fair enough," Master said, smiling.

"When do I have to start?"

"Tomorrow morning. Their chauffeur will pick you up at ten. You'll return home with me after the party."

That's how I found myself standing in the foyer of the grand apartment on Park Avenue, holding a little bag containing some toiletries and a couple of changes of clothing, staring at and being stared at by a naked Mouche.

She whispered, "I'll take your coat," and hung it in a closet by the door. Then she glanced around to make sure we were alone, stepped to me quickly, pressed her body against mine, and kissed my lips. I held her briefly. Her kiss felt good, and she didn't smell like a toilet. That was a relief. I had to admit that all the peeing the night of Master's dinner party had been hot, but it had also been unsettling. I'd had to wonder if there was something wrong with me.

"You'd better come," Mouche whispered. "Mistress is waiting."

The room where the play party had been was now just a very large living room filled with ornate furniture. It had the feel of some Regency-era palace. Karen rose from a chair at the far end of the room and took her time traversing the distance from there to where we stood. She wore another brightly colored dress and held a black collar in her hand.

When she reached me, she said, "You'll be ours for as long as you're here. You may take your clothes off."

I was wearing jeans, a black T shirt, and sneakers. I had everything off in a few seconds, and Karen put the collar on me. She walked around me slowly, touching my breasts and belly, my shoulders, my face, my ass. When she came around to the front of me, she was holding a latex glove, which she pulled onto her right hand with a resentful snap.

She massaged my pussy and said, "You'll find us stricter than Frederick. We do not tolerate the slightest violations of our rules or the smallest hints of disobedience. We do not punish infractions with play."

In spite of myself, I was responding to her fingers. I didn't like her, but I could feel her authority. I concentrated on breathing evenly. She slid a gloved finger into me.

"You will take your meals on the floor, with Mouche. Like her, you will sleep on the floor in a room near ours, so you can hear us if we need you in the night. Failure to come when called, day or night, is a serious infraction. Any delay or show of reluctance in following our instructions is a serious infraction. You have no limits?"

"None that I know of, Mistress. My contract gives me the right to set limits if I discover them."

"We'll see about that," she sniffed. "Today you and Mouche will be packing up the things in this room. Mouche will show you what to do." She took her finger out of me and left the room.

"Don't worry," Mouche whispered. "There isn't nearly four days of work for us to do. And Mistress's bark is worse than her bite." She led me to a tiny carpeted room with blankets and pillows piled in a corner. "This is our room," she said. I dropped my bag, and we returned to the living room.

As we worked, Mouche talked about our job and the household. We'd be responsible for transforming the living room into a large playroom, packing up all the portable things. There were flattened cardboard boxes leaning against a wall and stacks of packing paper. Only at the last minute would a crew come in to do the heavy lifting, moving the BDSM furniture from the playroom to the living room and the living room furniture to compact storage in the playroom.

I assembled a box and wrapped up a figurine. Mouche said, "I usually do this by myself. I think they borrowed you just because they wanted you here."

They employed a cook who was in the lifestyle herself - a Domme with a submissive husband. "Sometimes she tries to treat me like her own sub," Mouche said, "but I can't serve anybody I don't love."

"You love Karen and Daniel?" Somehow what she'd said sounded strange to me.

"Oh yes," she said emphatically. "They're so good to me. They give me everything I need." Her gaze slid away from me and returned. "Don't you love your Master?"

Suddenly it seemed odd that I hadn't given a lot of thought to how I felt about Master. I venerated him, longed to obey him, and craved his approval, or at least his attention. And he'd told me there ought to be love between us. Was there a word for how I felt about him?

"Yes," I said, "I suppose I love him."

Karen bustled back into the room and harrumphed at the progress we'd made.

"Come, Mouche," she commanded. And then she said to me, "You'd better come as well, Famula, this will be educational."

She led us into a large and well-equipped playroom containing all the devices I'd seen at their play party, and in a corner, what looked at first like a large black metal chair. But after a second I saw that its seat was a toilet seat, under which a sort of funnel emptied into a cage with bars on three sides and a headrest under the funnel. Karen gave no instructions; rather, Mouche scrambled into position, head in the headrest, and waited patiently. Her mouth was perfectly aligned under the funnel.

Karen lifted her dress, hoisted herself onto the toilet seat, and let her feet rest on Mouche's torso, above her breasts. First Karen peed. Her urine fell through the funnel, and Mouche swallowed it without losing a drop. Then Karen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. I watched in horrified fascination, stomach queasy, as one of Karen's turds fell from the bottom of the funnel into Mouche's open mouth. I looked away then and concentrated on keeping my stomach under control till Karen stepped down from the toilet chair. She waited while Mouche got out of the contraption, then raised her dress and bent over. Mouche cleaned her crack with her mouth.

They both straightened up. Mouche looked at me mournfully. Her mouth was a brown mess.

Karen said, "Come here, Famula."

I walked to her with heavy feet.

She said, "Give Mouche a kiss."

I looked at Mouche, at the brown goo on her face. I couldn't move.

"You were eager enough to eat her cunt last time you saw her," said Karen. "Now she just wants a little kiss. It's a command from your Mistress."

A command, I thought. I forced myself to take a step towards Mouche, who stood perfectly still. I leaned towards her, and she made no move towards me. Her eyes were wide and dark. My lips were an inch from hers, the smell of shit strong in my nostrils. She was still as stone. I closed the distance between us and touched her slimy lips with mine. The sickening smell caught in my throat.

I turned away, bent over, and vomited on the floor.

Karen said, "We seem to have discovered a limit for Famula. What do you think, Famula?"

I choked, "Yes." The effort of speaking made my stomach heave, and I vomited again. I said, "I think so."

Karen said, "Clean up, you two, and get back to work." She left the room.

Mouche hesitated for a second, as if she wanted to say something, then turned and snatched up a roll of paper towels standing next to the toilet chair, tore one off, and handed it to me. As I wiped my mouth, she took another paper towel and scrubbed her own mouth with it. Then she used more paper towels to clean the inside of the funnel and threw them away in a lidded trash can. She found two cloth towels in a cabinet and handed one to me, and together we cleaned up my vomit.

She led me to a little bathroom adjoining our room, and I watched as she knelt in front of the toilet, put her hand in her mouth, and made herself throw up. She went to the sink and spent a long time washing her face. Then she gestured me to the sink. While I washed, she rinsed her mouth repeatedly from a large bottle of mouthwash, spitting into the toilet. Then she flossed and brushed her teeth.

I got my toiletries from my bag and returned to the bathroom. I flossed and brushed, even though I was pretty sure I'd gotten no shit in my mouth, and washed my face.

We returned to the living room and went on with our work. After a while Mouche said, voice small and flat, "I'm a coprophage." She touched her fly tattoo. "Like a fly. You won't kiss me again. Nobody ever does."

I said, "Is it a thing you need to do?"

She worked quietly for a minute, maybe putting words together in her head.

"Everything that comes out of the body," she said, wrapping what looked like a very old book. "Piss, shit, sweat, cum. Even blood sometimes. Ear wax. I eat it all. Ever since I was little. I spent like half my life in psychiatrists' offices. When I got to high school they decided I was cured. Then when I left for college I went completely off the rails. I'd go to BDSM things and hook up with random people. I got sicker and sicker, and dropped out of college. Then Karen and Daniel found me."

"Doesn't it make you sick anymore?"

"Sometimes," she said. "But I think I must have just about every antibody in the world by now. And I just do it with Karen and Daniel anymore, so I don't get a lot of new germs. They make me throw it up. And they give me medicine that helps. They taught me to clean myself afterwards. And they don't give me their shit to eat every day, but just once or twice a week. Mostly as a reward. But I don't think it was a reward today."

We worked quietly for a little while longer, and then she said, "You see why I love them? They saved my life. And I like being their slave. They're good to me."

"Do they kiss you?" I asked.

"Nobody does," she said. "I'm unclean. I spread disease."

Master kissed me many times every day. Whipping me, ass-fucking me, or tying me in a knot, he'd pause for a kiss. I tried to imagine what life would be like without kissing. I didn't think I could bear it.

I'd kissed Mouche, and now the memory made my flesh crawl. I didn't want to kiss her again.

That evening, Mouche and I served dinner, and afterwards we ate ours from the same dog bowls we'd used at Master's dinner party. No one peed in Mouche's bowl tonight. While we ate, Daniel and Karen watched us and traded ideas for ways to use us at the New Year's Eve play party. They'd gotten excited watching Mouche go down on me at the dinner party, and ever since then they'd wanted to do something with the two of us.

"Tie them together," said Daniel.

"Yes, obviously," said Karen. "But how?"

"Let's see," said Daniel. "How about if they were side by side on the table, tied together?"

"Or bind them face to face," said Karen, "and make them kiss."

"One of them could wear a facial dildo," said Daniel, "and fuck the other's mouth. Or we could tie them in a sixty-nine and just let them eat each other out all night."

"Or a sixty-nine with facial dildos," said Karen.

"Sixty-nine with vibrators," said Daniel.

After Mouche and I had eaten, they took us to the playroom to experiment, posing and tying us up in various ways and having long whispered discussions while we held the poses. This wasn't very sexy. Mostly what we accomplished was to figure out that their ideas were impractical. They didn't leave us in any scene long enough for us to have fun. By the time we were done for the evening, I was bored, but also reassured. Bored because we had nothing much to do or think about, but had to let them move us around like puppets, and reassured because, despite their extravagant fantasies, they seemed to understand that there were limits to what they could make us do. It was fun for them to fantasize about tying us up and inviting all the partygoers to fuck us, but they understood that they couldn't get away with that.

After we were done in the playroom, it was time for bed. Mouche and I stood by as Daniel and Karen brushed their teeth, changed, and climbed into their big four-poster bed. Daniel said, "You two can go now." He smiled and added, "Do what you want till morning. We won't need you."

Back in our tiny room, we took turns washing our makeup off and brushing our teeth. Our blankets were twin-size, so it made sense to lay out two separate beds, side by side. But soon after we'd crawled in and said goodnight, Mouche scooted over to be closer though she kept her back to me. I started to feel the same stirrings I'd felt the night of the dinner party. What we'd been doing tonight had been boring and unsexy, but I'd been looking at Mouche's naked body all day, and the memory of her pale, fine features, dark eyes, and emaciated body excited me. I sat up and rearranged our blankets so they were over us both instead of between us, then lay down again facing her. I remembered her brown mouth and how she'd purged and scrubbed herself, so fastidious about the kink that would have made her an outcast almost anywhere but right here.

I thought about her open pussy and how I'd kissed her there, just once, briefly. I was ashamed that I didn't want to kiss her, and my shame aroused me, as it always does.

I touched her shoulder and whispered, "Mouche?" She rolled over and gazed at me, eyes wide and curious. Her lips were delicate and exquisitely curved, pale now in the faint light. She made no move towards me.

I said, "Kiss me."

She mewed quietly. We wound our arms around each other and pressed our bodies together. She smelled clean and fresh, nothing like shit or piss. The skin of her back was smooth under my hands. Her breasts were soft and warm against mine, her barbell piercings spots of cool hardness. But it was the kiss that mattered. My stomach lurched as my lips touched hers, but the revulsion passed in an instant, and I loved her hungry lips, her tongue searching inside my mouth, the way she breathed me in, devouring my scent. Oh, you can't survive long without a kiss! She held me so tightly she was flattened against me from thighs to lips, and her nails dug into my back. I thought we might grow together like trees planted too close.

I enjoyed her ardor for a long time, then gently pushed her away, down towards my breasts. She kissed my nipples, which were already swollen for her, and she slid down my body to tease my belly button. She lay between my legs and kissed my mound, nibbled my thighs, traced the outline of my labia with the tip of her tongue. She sighed and breathed heat and life into me, and I spread my legs wider.




Slave Girl Emily Ch. 05



"Harder," I whispered, and she sucked my clit into her mouth. I wondered if we were betraying our owners. Our bodies were not ours and we were stealing this pleasure, but Mouche's need made me weak, and whether it was betrayal or not, I couldn't bring myself to stop it. And if I didn't do this, who would kiss Mouche? Who would touch her, if not another slave - someone with no dignity to lose? I thought of her tattoo, the sad girl holding her heart in her hand, and I came, a long gentle orgasm. I stifled my cries with a fist.

I lay on my back; she was on her side, turned towards me. We rested for a while.

She said, "My name's Amanda."

I turned to her. She looked into my eyes, the way she always did.

I said, "It's beautiful. Not a name for a fly, but a beautiful human girl."

I kissed her and drank her desperate need, squeezing her nipples, petting her stomach and thighs, exploring her pussy, already wet, penetrating her. And my own need drove me down her body: to her nipples, her belly button, her thighs, her mound. Her pussy drew me in - clit, urethra, dark opening. I thrust in with my tongue. I kissed her gently and followed her growing passion till I was eating her out with lips and tongue and teeth, not quite believing how good she smelled and tasted, how warm her flesh was under my hands, how musical her mews and moans. When she came, she whispered her cries as she whispered everything.

We lay together again. I drew designs above her breasts with a fingertip.

"Emily," I said.

Amanda whispered, "Emily."

I was drifting into sleep, holding her. I'm not sure if I dreamed that I heard a soft rustle from the little hallway leading past our bathroom to the door, and in a far corner of my vision saw movement, a flash of something white. Maybe it was in a dream that when I turned my head there was no one there.

* * *

The next three days were a lot like the first one. Daniel and Karen didn't play with me the way Master did: it was clear the reason they'd borrowed me was to use me at their party, and the reason they'd wanted me days in advance was so they could experiment with Amanda and me. We'd be a big part of the entertainment - if they could think of something fun to do with us.

We worked during the day, drawing out our tasks because there wasn't all that much to do. In the evening, we submitted to their experiments, and before falling asleep at night, Amanda and I made love, deliriously licking, nibbling, and spanking pussies, ears, nipples, asses, belly buttons - everything. I was sure Karen and Daniel were aware of what we were doing and didn't care - or maybe our lovemaking was part of their plan somehow.

Over our three nights together I became more and more the dominant partner, and Amanda the submissive. Already on our second night, I was directing our lovemaking as if it were a play. After we made love, she begged to drink my piss, and I found it easy to do - I don't know why. We lay down a towel, and I squatted over her face and peed in her mouth. I thought I must be feeling what Master had felt - power, superiority - when he did this to me. Urinating, I marked her as mine. By the third night, I was ordering her about like any Dom, having her arrange our bedding, lick me just so, and bring me things, while she murmured "Yes, Emily," sounding for all the world as if she were really saying "Yes, Mistress."

I was surprised by the direction my relationship with Amanda was taking, but I suppose I shouldn't have been. Doms are different from subs in important ways, but we all share a belief that we're most likely to find happiness in a relationship that's strictly hierarchical. With the right partner, I suppose many subs who've never considered themselves switches could become Doms. There was something about Amanda - she wanted someone to manage her, and it seemed a kind thing to do, and easy.

On the morning of New Year's Eve, a moving crew came and, in just an hour, swapped the playroom and living room furniture. Most of the playroom furniture was distributed along the walls, leaving a large space in which the partygoers could mill about, but a huge bondage table had been placed in the center of the room.

Amanda said, "That's different," looking at the table. "They usually put it over there," pointing to a space along the wall where a man in a white jacket was setting up a bar. But soon we got busy setting out trays of canapes, and we didn't think about it any more.

At six thirty we served Daniel and Karen a light dinner, and after that we ate the same dinner from our bowls. Guests would begin arriving at nine.

Around seven thirty, Daniel led us to the party room. He pulled a gym bag out from under the bondage table and took out a big tangle of leather straps, which he separated into two large harnesses.

"You'll wear these tonight," he said, "with collars and leashes."

Daniel and Karen fitted them on us. They were ingeniously constructed so they looked a bit like clothing but covered nothing. Straps outlined our breasts like bras, but didn't cover them; they ran down to our crotches like bathing suits, underneath and up over our asses, but they didn't cover our pussies or cracks. Here and there were rings for attaching ropes and straps. The harnesses were exciting. Amanda looked ravishing: I wanted to run to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.

They fitted leashes on our collars, and Daniel said, "Now - here's the plan."

The doorbell interrupted him.

Karen said, "Why don't the two of you go see who that is?"

We ran to the door, and Amanda put her eye to the spyhole. She gave me a big smile and opened the door wide.

My heart gave a leap, and I shouted "Master!" He looked absolutely demonic in a leather tuxedo, with a wicked smile and his coat over one arm. I couldn't help myself: I charged and leapt at him, wrapping arms and legs around him.

He let me have my way with him for a few seconds and then said, "Do we really want to do this out here?"

I climbed down, blushing, and Amanda and I led him inside.

He greeted Karen with a hug and a kiss, and Daniel with a handshake. "Forgive me for being early," he said. "I thought I'd look in to make sure my slave was in one piece."

Karen smiled and said, "We used her hard, but she's sturdy."

Daniel glanced at his watch. "It's not quite eight," he said. "If you'd like some time alone with Famula before the party, you're welcome to use one of the bedrooms."

"Thanks," Master said, "I'd like that." He walked towards the bedrooms, assuming I'd follow, and of course I did. I'd missed this feeling of joyful submission - I'd obeyed Karen and Daniel, but now I yearned to sit at Master's feet and be petted.

There were several bedrooms in addition to Daniel and Karen's and the little one Amanda and I had shared: I followed Master into one of these and closed the door.

He sat on the bed. I knelt beside him and looked up at him happily.

"What have you been doing, Emily?" he said. "No - I'll tell you. You've been helping set up for the party, cooperating with Daniel and Karen's scheming about what to do with you tonight, and making love to Mouche."

My heart skipped a beat - but he was smiling, and his eyes were warm and kind. "Did they tell you, Master?" I asked.

"They did," he said.

"And you're not angry for . . . for what I did with Amanda - Mouche?"

"Is that her name? Amanda? No, I'm not angry. It sounds as if they wanted the two of you to make love - I don't know why. You were being obedient, even if you didn't know it. Did you learn more about Mouche's kinks?"

"Yes, Master. And I learned that I have at least one hard limit. Shit."

"That's a start. There are other kinds of edgeplay that you could probably add to that. Bloodplay, asphyxiation. When you insisted on condoms, you were ruling out barebacking. Those kinds of limits are easy for most people to make."

"Yes, Master. All those are hard limits."

"It was generous, what you did with Mouche after you learned about her kinks."

"People don't kiss her, Master. It's terrible to have to live without kisses."

"You deserve a reward." He stood up, unbuckled his belt, and undid his pants. "Lie here on the bed," he said, gesturing.

I lay on the bed, near the edge.

Naked below the waist, he straddled my head and put his cock in my mouth. Already hard, he was delicious - how I'd missed him! He reached down and stroked my pussy, exposed between my leather straps. I spread my legs for him and relished what his strong, gentle fingers were doing to me.

He gave my pussy a sharp slap, and I said "Gmmf!" around his cock as lightning flashed from clit to nipples and all through me. I sucked him harder, willing him deeper into me as he returned to massaging my clit.

He pushed in deeper and thrust three times, then slapped my pussy again.

"Ngghh," I said, and he fucked my throat hard and slapped - not rhythmically, but at irregular intervals so I didn't know when the next slap would come, and waiting for the slaps was almost as delicious as the slaps themselves.

He came in my mouth, and when I'd swallowed his cum and he'd pulled out of me, I said, "Master, please, can I have an orgasm?"

He said, "Later, Emily. You need to be fresh for tonight." He carried his pants to the bathroom adjoining this bedroom and came back a minute later looking as calm and freshly pressed as ever.

"Come, Emily," he said, took my leash, and led me back to the party room.

It was a little after nine, and guests were already beginning to arrive. They were more or less respectably dressed: they'd change as the evening progressed and they started to unwind.

Master took me to where Daniel and Karen were chatting with one of the new arrivals. Amanda was with them, Karen holding her leash.

Master handed my leash to Daniel and said, "Treat her well. I'll collect her after midnight."

Then he strolled off to talk to the partygoers.

Everyone who arrived had to say hello to the host and hostess, and since Amanda and I were with them, we got to see everyone close up. Karen and Daniel didn't introduce us, of course, since we were only slaves, but occasionally a new arrival would take a moment to admire one or both of us, and even compliment us.

Mostly, though, people looked at us briefly and then paid no more attention. I looked around the room. A lot of people had changed into play clothing - a wild variety of outfits in leather and latex, from Master's tux to just a jock strap, slinky dresses to harnesses even skimpier than Amanda's and mine. There were stranger things, too: a man wearing a chastity belt, a woman in a diaper, a bearded man dressed like a schoolgirl, a woman in a straitjacket.

People were beginning to stage their scenes. A naked man was cuffed into the frame, and his Domme was flogging him. I watched, remembering the first time Master had flogged me. I guessed that the table in the middle of the room would be popular: a heavy woman with a ball gag was tied up there in an impossible-looking knot, hands bound below her ass, legs above her head, ass up high, while an equally large man straddled and fucked her. From their behavior I guessed that scene would be over with soon.

Near me, a man said, "Your slave is beautiful."

I looked away from the table and saw him looking at me. He was about fifty, with a lean, strong look, short gray hair, and blue eyes that seemed to see right into me. He was dressed in a tuxedo - nothing kinky about his clothing. He gave me a little smile. Looking at him was like touching a hot stove, and I shifted my glance to the woman whose leash he was holding. She was lovely, with an oval face, creamy skin, sparkling blue eyes, and short brown hair. She looked at me critically.

Daniel gave me a warm glance and said, "She's not mine, really. I've had her on loan from Frederick for a few days, and she's been a fine slave."

"Frederick?"

"There in the leather tuxedo," said Daniel, nodding in the direction of Master, who was halfway across the room talking to a woman of about sixty with an elaborate hairstyle and a red corset.

The man stared at Frederick for a few seconds. Now his slave was looking at me with dislike. I gave her a reassuring smile.

The man looked back at me. "The roses," he said, "are magnificent."

I smiled and felt shivery all over.

The man and his slave moved away. Daniel and Karen led Amanda and me off in different directions so they could circulate among the guests. Near me, the blond girl I'd seen at the earlier party was cuffed to the cross and gagged with tape, and her Dom was torturing her clit with a vibrator that looked strangely like an electric toothbrush. Moaning loudly, she gave me a pleading look, and I smiled, wishing I could talk to her and tell her how much her performance at that earlier party had meant to me.

Daniel glanced at his watch and at the central table, which no one was using at the moment. "It's time," he said, and led me to the table. Karen brought Amanda a few moments later. Curious and fluttery, I glanced at Amanda, who shrugged.

Daniel pulled another bag from under the table and took out a collection of devices. He and Karen went to work attaching them to us. We leaned back, bent over, whatever we were told to do to help out. At the end of the process we were each wearing nipple clamps, a dildo, a butterfly that fastened to our harnesses, and a butt plug. All these things were vibrators.

They lay us side by side on the table, Amanda on my right. They cuffed my right hand to her left and my ankle to hers. They cuffed our free hands and ankles to the corners of the table. We'd drawn a little crowd by this time. Sensing the people looking at my naked, penetrated body, I was embarrassed, squirmy, and turned on, not to mention incredibly filled up. I looked at Amanda, who turned to look at me. I opened my mouth and touched my tongue to my upper lip.

She mouthed, "I love you."

Daniel took a paper bag from his gym bag and poured a little pile of black remotes onto the table. Then he turned towards the part of the room where the crowd of partygoers was thickest, raised his hands, and shouted, "Friends! Your attention, please!"



Slave Girl Emily Ch. 06



Author's note: Here's Chapter Six of "Slave Girl Emily." No defecation in this chapter (well, not much, anyway). For those tuning in late, Emily (scene-name Famula) is an enthusiastic slave-girl, and Frederick is her Master. She's just met a gray-haired man who seems fascinated by her rose tattoo; the man has a slave who seems to have taken a dislike to her. As our chapter opens, Emily and her friend Amanda (Mouche) are all set to provide some entertainment at a big New Year's Eve play party thrown by an absurdly wealthy couple, Karen and Daniel.

Disclaimer: I have no idea whether it's actually possible to use a universal remote with a vibrator - this is fantasy, so suspend disbelief for me, okay? Acknowledgment: This chapter riffs on an idea sent to me by a slave named Sue. Thank you, Sue! I hope you enjoy the chapter. Tags: BDSM, Bondage, Humiliation, Exhibitionism, Lesbian Sex, Straight Sex, Toys, Pissing.

*****

Chapter 6. On display

The room's so cold; I have to pee so bad. Master spanks me with the paddle, and every blow jars my bladder like a punch.

I'm so aroused it's painful, there in my pussy, just at the opening - it's an ache. My whole body's heavy with desire.

Master's still wearing his suit. Why won't he take it off and fuck me? I can see his trousers and black polished shoes. If I weren't hanging from the ceiling, if my legs weren't tied, I'd crawl to him. The thought is exciting.

I say, "Master, I want . . ."

"You want to piss?" he says. "You want an orgasm?"

"No. . . . Yes! But - I want to lick your shoes."

My mind isn't working right. My thoughts are foggy, my desires muddled. But the sight of his shoes, black and polished, nearly overwhelms me with desire.

"No, Emily," he says. "I won't let you lick my shoes." He hits my ass with the paddle, and it's like an explosion inside me.

"I'll do anything, Master."

"That's not true," he says. "We haven't gotten to the point where you'll do anything. Not yet."

He hits me again. Oh, what does he want from me?

* * *

People tapped their glasses, and the noise in the room slowly died away.

"Friends!" Daniel called. "Bound to the table here beside me are two beautiful slave-girls, Mouche and Famula."

The partygoers craned to get a look at us. I felt hot all over.

He continued, "Each of them is wearing four vibrators: one in her vagina, one on her clit, one in her ass, and one - a pair, actually - on her nipples. They're operated by remote control."

He held up two of the black remotes.

"But these aren't the remotes that came with the vibrators. These are universal remotes, and they all look the same. So when you turn one on - "

He pushed a button on one of them, and the butterfly vibrator on my clit began to buzz, making me gasp and squirm. The people standing near enough to see and hear laughed. I wished I could become invisible.

"When you turn one on, you won't know quite what's going to happen. Notice that there are also dials on these remotes, so the vibrators can be turned up or down."

He turned my vibrator off, and I relaxed in my bonds.

Karen spoke up now, and her strong voice carried through the crowd. "Now you all know the rules about subs and slaves at parties. You don't touch any but your own. But you have our permission to play with the remotes."

She grabbed one and pushed the button, and Amanda drew a sharp breath. She set the remote down among the others and jumbled them together.

"When you push a button, you won't know if you're turning a device on or off. If you want to know what you've done, you can ask the slaves. Just observe this rule: Don't push the same button twice. If you turn a vibrator on or off, you have to leave it that way."

Daniel continued, "The slaves are forbidden to come . . . until they're called" (titters in the crowd). "If one of them has an orgasm without permission, she'll be severely punished. But that's not your concern. Your concern is simply to have fun."

Karen said, "Here are the slaves, and here are the remotes. Experiment, play, and have a good time."

Karen and Daniel left and mixed with the partygoers.

I whispered, "Where is it?"

"Ass," she said.

"Ooh," I said, and shivered, half wishing the vibrator in my ass were going.

The blond I'd seen gagged on the cross came to the table with her leather-clad Dom.

"Pick one," the Dom said. She pointed to a remote, and the Dom picked it up and pressed the button. It was my nipple clamps: the vibration was mild, but the clamps had already sensitized my nipples, and I closed my eyes and sighed, enjoying the sensation. 

When I opened my eyes again, the blond was leaning in, close to me. "Your nipples?" she said.

"Mm hm," I said.

"I love vibrators on my nipples," she sighed.

I said "Oh!" - her Dom had dialed up the intensity.

"Is it embarrassing, being on display like this?"

"You could say," I said, noticing a man at the end of the table staring intently between my legs.

She said, "I wish . . ."

But her Dom said, "Let's go, babydoll," and they moved away.

Our hands and feet were cuffed together loosely enough for me to take Amanda's hand and squeeze her fingers. I had a little time to look around the room, though I couldn't see a lot lying on my back at table height. People had resumed their conversations and returned to their scenes, or started new ones. Amanda and I were an attraction, but not the only one in the room.

A redheaded woman, magnificent in a skimpy red leather dress, came to the table. She hardly looked at us, but jabbed at one of the vibrators with a red-nailed finger and stalked away.

Amanda squeezed my hand. "She just turned my ass off," she whispered.

Now I could see Master near me, talking to the gray-haired man who'd complimented my tattoos. He was urbane and graceful: I caught myself wishing he'd come and turn on all my vibrators. Master was looking over the man's slave and saying something with a smile - was he complimenting her? I felt a little stab of jealousy but suppressed it. After all, he hadn't been jealous of Amanda. Master and the man laughed at something, and then someone blocked my view.

I twitched as my butterfly started to buzz. I turned my head to see a heavyset man in latex holding one of the remotes and grinning at me.

"Took you by surprise, didn't I?"

"Yes," I gasped, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by the vibrators on my nipples and clit going at once.

"Let's see now," he said. Moving a finger over the collection of remotes, he muttered, "Eeny meeny miny moe . . ." and jabbed at another.

"Ah!" I cried, as my ass started to vibrate.

"Not that one," he said, turning it off (and breaking a rule of the game - not that I minded). "Gotta find one for the other girl." He picked up another, pushed a button, and Amanda mewed loudly. The man leaned in to listen. "Get your cunt there?" he asked.

Amanda nodded.

"Bull's eye!" he said, dialed the intensity up, and wandered off.

Over the next half hour or so, people came by our table, sometimes turning on vibrators and sometimes turning them off. It was becoming more and more difficult for Amanda and me to keep our bodies under control. By the time Master paid a visit to the table, we were a mess. I could barely focus on things people were saying to me.

He said, "It's an ingenious game, Famula. How are you liking it?"

"It's intense," I gasped. "Promise you'll give me an orgasm tonight, Master? Please?"

He studied me for a moment. "Yes, I promise. Which vibrators are on?"

"Clit and nipples, Master. Amanda's clit."

"Let's see," said Master, studying the little collection of remotes. "This one's lying off to the side. Maybe no one's used it in a while." He picked it up and pushed the button. Amanda whined.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Tits!" she squeaked.

The gray-haired man joined Master now. His slave came up beside him and pressed in close to him.

"Christopher," Master said, "this is Famula. Christopher's been raving about your roses."

The words seemed to be coming from a great distance, but I managed to say, "Thank you."

Christopher's slave had no tattoos that I could see, and she was looking sour. I couldn't blame her: most Doms wouldn't make a sub or even a slave get a big tattoo like mine, but she was learning, if she hadn't known it before, that her Dom loved tattoos. 

Master said, "You should try a remote. I promise it's fun."

Christopher selected one and pushed the button. My nipples turned off, and I relaxed a little.

"Did he turn one off, Famula?" Master asked.

"My nipples, Master."

"Better see if you can turn one on," Master said.

Christopher picked up another one and pushed the button. Amanda said "Mnff."

"What was that, Mouche?" Master asked.

"Pussy," she whispered. "Oh - "

"Are we allowed to do three?" Christopher asked.

"I don't see why not," Master said.

Christopher said, "You choose, Pipit."

She grabbed one of the remotes and pushed the button. The vibrator in my vagina started to buzz, and I gasped and squeezed Amanda's hand hard.

Master smiled benignly and said, "Have fun, girls."

He and Christopher moved away together. Pipit lingered till they were a few steps away, then snatched up the remote for my vagina, gave the dial a vicious twist, threw it onto the table, made a "take that!" face at me, and scampered away after her Master. 

Now both my clitoral and vaginal vibrators were on, and the vaginal one was going full tilt. For the moment, Amanda and I were alone. I felt like my body was about to blast off for Jupiter. I squeezed Amanda's hand hard and whispered, "I can't last much longer."

A man wearing only a leather jock strap came and turned on a remote. "Eeee!" said Amanda. The man stood and watched her squirm.

"Ass," she whispered. "They're all on - I'm going to come."

"Let's do it together if we can," I said. It felt like I was proposing a suicide pact.

"How?" she whispered.

I whispered, "I've thought about you every hour for three weeks. You're so beautiful, I go weak whenever I'm near you. Your white skin, your black hair, your brown eyes, your tiny pierced nipples, I get wet every time I see them. I want to kiss your lips. I want to lick inside your mouth and bite your nipples. I'll eat the lint out of your belly button. I'll nibble my way down to your clit and suck it; I'll bite your labia and lick your slit until you're wetter than you've ever been in your life. I'll spank your pussy. I'll get on top of you and piss in your mouth while I eat you out, then I'll shit in your - Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"

My orgasm was a tornado inside me, laying me waste. My body heaved on the table, and my cries echoed in the room. I don't know if Amanda was tipped into orgasm by the word "shit" or my cries, but she came with a piercing screech. Everybody stopped what they were doing and turned to look at us.

Someone shouted, "Happy New Year!" People cheered, and those who were holding glasses raised them for a toast.

By the time the cheering had died away, Karen was looming over us, face gleeful. In a loud voice, she announced, "Our slaves have had orgasms, disregarding their instructions. They'll have to be punished."

Daniel appeared beside her and said, "Plan C, dear?"

"Definitely Plan C," she said.

Amanda and I both whimpered and pleaded for mercy, though mercy was the last thing either of us wanted - but we had fun begging and weeping.

As a crowd gathered, Karen and Daniel removed our cuffs and devices. It felt strange to have no vibrators going and nothing in my pussy or ass. They lay me spreadeagled on my front and positioned Amanda on top of me so both our asses were exposed, one above the other. They cuffed me to the table and Amanda to me. Karen stood on the table beside us with a cat and yelled, "How many lashes?"

People called out numbers from twenty to a million.

Karen had a nasty bark, but her bite was tasty. She counted the blows until she got to sixty - thirty for each of us - each one a little more intense than the last. She knew how to give pleasure with the pain - and with Amanda's warm skin on mine, her cries in my ear, and the exclamations of the people in the crowd, I was soon as hot as I'd been before our orgasms, though by the end both of us were howling with each blow.

Karen released our bonds and said, "Stay on the table till we come for you."

People started to drift away as Amanda climbed off my back. We lay facing each other. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Karen's good, don't you think?"

"Yeah," I said, touching her face. "I'm really hot."

"What you said to make us come," she said. "Did you mean it?"

"I guess I don't really want to shit in your mouth," I said.

"That's okay," she said. "But . . . some of it?"

"Kiss me," I said, and pulled her to me. Her mouth was warm and soft, her breath fresh and good. She put her arms around me and let her hands slide down my back till they scalded the raw skin of my ass.

"Yes," I breathed. "A lot." I urged her onto her back, knelt above her head, bent down, and kissed her forehead, nose, mouth, chin. I browsed down to her breasts, bit her nipples, and licked her lovely barbells. I probed into her belly button, cleaning it out (but finding no lint). I made my way down to her mound, and, knees on either side of her head, lowered myself to her mouth.

Someone nearby said, "Whoa! Check this out!"

Fuck, I'd forgotten the people. But it didn't matter; her labia, dark pink, damp, open, hungry, drew me in, and I closed my lips around her engorged clit and sucked gently. Oh, how could I ever have been repulsed by this?

I wrapped my arms around her raised legs and paused to enjoy her tongue licking the length of my tender slit - it was delightful - warm, wet and healing. I could feel her breath in my crack.

There was a loud slap and searing pain, and I shouted "Ow!" I looked around: it was Daniel, standing behind me on the table with a paddle. He grinned and said, "Don't mind me. That's a command."

I sank my lips into Amanda's pussy again, ass hot and stinging, and waited for the next blow, which came just as I was no longer bracing for it. "Ow!" I cried, thinking how good oral sex was with a sore ass. Amanda could look between my legs and see the paddle descending, and she squeaked with every blow.

Daniel must have given me five good spanks with the paddle before Karen, standing by the table, said, "What about Mouche? Plan G? Turn them over?"

Daniel said, "Plan F. Make Famula paddle her."

I didn't want to do it: I was a slave and it wasn't my place to hold a whip or paddle. I lifted my head and said, "No, I - "

Karen said, "Mouche wants you to do it, don't you, Mouche?"

She mewed between my legs.

I stood up, feeling heavy. Still lying on her back, Amanda raised her feet and wrapped her arms around her legs, behind the knees. Karen found a cushion under the table and put it under Amanda's bottom. Daniel handed me the paddle and climbed down from the table.

I looked around: I could see everything in the room now. A little crowd of partygoers was waiting eagerly for Amanda's paddling. Farther off, people were performing their own scenes. My blond friend was getting face-fucked again. Pipit, Christopher's slave, was in the frame, and my Master was flogging her.

Anger surged inside me. The bitch! I thought, and gave Amanda's bottom a savage whack. She made a noise like a referee's whistle, and I instantly felt horrible: what did my sweet Amanda have to do with that evil bitch in the frame? The people around us cheered, and I hit Amanda again, softer this time.

Someone shouted, "Hit her hard, slave!" and Amanda whispered, "Harder!" It wasn't easy to do despite my anger, but I hit her hard again. She screeched, the crowd clapped, and pleasure surged inside me. So this was how a Dom felt holding the whip! I wished she was tied up.

I gave her three more blows before someone shouted, "Paddle her pussy!" She moaned and pulled her knees apart. But I was timid again. How hard should I hit her?

I stood beside her, aimed carefully, and gave her a gentle tap. She hiccuped and twitched a little. I looked at her face, and she gave me a pleading look. I decided to take that as encouragement and hit her a little harder. I straightened up and looked over at the frame. Master was putting his back into it now, and that filthy cunt Pipit was writhing and sobbing: I could see the welts on her back from where I was. I gave Amanda a solid whack, and she screamed, closed her legs, and flopped onto her side.

I watched this with horror. My own pussy burned in sympathy. I dropped to my knees beside her, took her in my arms, and said, "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry."

She sobbed in my lap for a minute or more, while I felt like the world's most worthless scum. Then she rolled onto her back, spread her legs again, and looked at me wide-eyed.

I kissed her and stood up. I looked over at the frame. The woman in red who'd turned off Amanda's anal plug was cuffing a fat naked man into it. I looked around for Master and finally spotted him a few feet from the cross, half hidden by the crowd, pants off, taking Pipit from behind. Slut, I thought.

Someone near me shouted, "What are you waiting for? Spank her cunt!" I swung the paddle and she screamed and closed her legs, but opened them again.

I don't know how many times I hit Amanda, but when I finally stopped her pussy was lobster-red. I was tired, and my mind was turbulent and full of foreboding.

Amanda said, "Please, Emily, can I come?"

I guessed it was my call, since I seemed to have been appointed her temporary Dom. I knelt beside her, put two fingers on her clit, and massaged her gently. She looked into my eyes and sighed.

A dozen or so men and women were still watching us, though the paddling was done. I leaned down and whispered in her ear: "Everybody's looking at your pussy, Amanda."

She gave me a fearful look, chuckling mirthlessly down in her throat.

I said, "Can you feel their stares? Does it make you ashamed?"

Her hips moved, and she squeezed her nipples. I rubbed harder.

"Isn't it humiliating," I said, "to need an orgasm so bad you don't care if the whole world sees?" I kissed her cheek and whispered, "Come for me, Mouche. Just for me."

She moaned loudly, her body writhed, and she came under my hand.

Amanda looked exhausted, and I suppose I was too. I hoped Karen and Daniel didn't have more activities in mind for us.

"Do you want me to give you an orgasm?" she whispered.

"No, that's okay," I said. I wanted my orgasm from Master.

We sat quietly. Our little crowd drifted away, and soon Daniel and Karen came for us and attached our leashes.

They led us over to where Master was chatting with Christopher, his slave standing quietly beside him. I had to stand next to Pipit. Daniel said, "Thank you for the loan of your slave, Frederick. She deserves a reward for her cooperation and exemplary behavior."

Pipit leaned close and whispered, "I hear you're a toilet-slave, and your Master shits in your mouth twice a day."

I didn't know what to say. I wished I was the kind of person who always had a devastating comeback ready. I just whispered, "Whore!"

It was enough. She flew at me, knocked me down, and slapped at my face furiously with both hands. I raised my arms to protect my face and tried to roll away, but she grabbed a fistful of my hair and held me in place while she kicked me. I tried to kick her, but my kicks didn't connect.

The fight lasted only a few seconds. Christopher pulled Pipit off me and said, "What's this about?"




Slave Girl Emily Ch. 06



As Master hauled me to my feet, Pipit hissed, "She's a shit-eating toilet-slave!"

I shouted, "She's a disease-ridden whore!" and rushed at her, aiming blows at her face and ears, kicking her shins, and almost knocking her down.

Master pulled me back by the waist, held me while I struggled, and said, "That's enough."

I turned on him and spat, "I hope you used a fucking condom . . ."

"I said that's enough," he said.

Suddenly I was overwhelmed by how in the wrong I was. I'd been jealous - plain and simple. And what right did I have to a feeling like that? Even if our relationship had been a vanilla one with conventional expectations of fidelity, I'd hardly be in a position to complain, given what I'd been doing with Amanda the whole time I was here.

I said, "I'm sorry, Master," collapsed against his chest, and cried.

He didn't put his arms around me. I was very frightened. No one spoke for a long time. Then Master said, "The frame's free right now."

Christopher said, "So's the cross."

"Which do you want?" Master asked.

"I'll take the frame," said Christopher.

"Come, Famula," Master said, and led me to the cross.

He cuffed me facing the room, adjusting the cords so I could barely touch the floor and my wrists had to take a lot of my weight.

"Are you going to whip me, Master?" I asked.

"No, Famula."

"What are you going to do, Master?" I asked.

"I'm going to come back for you when it's time to go home." He walked away and joined Christopher, directly across the room from me. He was finishing up with Pipit, who also faced the room. He spoke to her briefly, then walked with Master towards one of the bars. Christopher said something, and Master laughed.

"In the shit, eh?" said one of the men who'd played with our remotes - the heavyset man in latex. He'd come up to me as I was gazing at Master's back. He was standing closer than I liked.

I thought the answer to his question was obvious, so I didn't say anything.

"Bit uppity for a slave, seems to me," he said. "Master got the right to sell you?"

I shook my head.

"Pity," he said. "I'd buy you up in a heartbeat. Big cunt. Great nips. Puffy - I like that. I'd have you straightened out quick enough, I bet. My subs always get straight quick."

I wondered if there would be consequences if I told him to fuck off.

"Too bad we're not allowed to touch," he said. "Like to stick a paw in that cunt of yours. Bet that dildo left it looking like the Holland Tunnel."

I'd just about decided to risk the consequences when a man in leather pants came up behind him, slapped him on the back, and said "Freddy! Where've you been, old boy?"

As he steered Freddy away, my savior looked back and winked at me.

I looked across the room at Pipit, who was disgustingly gorgeous in her frame. She stuck out her tongue at me, and I wrinkled my nose at her. I wondered if Christopher had the right to sell her.

The blond girl came up to me, without her Dom. She said, "I was so turned on watching you with that slave - what was her name?"

"Mouche," I said.

"Funny name," she said. "I've never made love to a woman. I wonder if I'd like it."

"I don't know," I said. "I never did it till a few weeks ago myself."

"Did you want to - before?"

"Not a lot. If I'd thought about it, I'd probably have said it was icky." I decided not to tell her I'd once fantasized about her.

"Are you really a toilet-slave?"

"No. But one of my best friends is."

"Now that's icky," she said.

"We're all icky here," I said. "Have you told your mother what your love life is really like?"

"No," she said. "I guess you're right." She hesitated. "If I ever get a chance to make love to a woman," she said, "I want it to be you."

"Thanks," I said.

I think she wanted to say something else, but her Dom came and hauled her away. I passed some time summoning up memories of what she'd looked like getting fucked.

My arms and shoulders were sore, and my feet were starting to hurt from stretching my toes out to touch the floor. It occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't try to support myself, but just relax and let my body sag. I tried that, but it made my arms hurt more. It seemed there was no way to get comfortable.

There was a draft - not much of one, but it made me shiver even though the heat in the apartment was set pretty high for all the naked people. My bladder was filling up. I tried to distract myself by looking at Pipit again. She was miserable, too, naked in the frame. I wondered if she was cold and had to pee.

She looked up at me, but I didn't see anger in her face now, just tiredness and strain. She spoke to a woman who was passing by. The woman said a few words to her and walked on. If Pipit was asking the woman for something, it didn't work, because no one came.

I thought about Master. Of course he was right to punish me, leaving me alone and exposed to everybody's gaze. Humiliating me this way was a fitting punishment for embarrassing him. I thought about his firmness, how gentle he could be when he wanted, how considerate. I tried listing all his little kindnesses in my head - there were many. Then I thought about his punishments, and, tired as I was, reviewing them turned me on. I had no idea how much time was passing; I was in a reverie.

I heard a shout, and laughter. I lifted my head and saw Pipit, looking completely miserable, peeing - urine trickled out of her as if she were trying to suppress it; it puddled on the floor. A little group of people had gathered around, commenting and laughing.

I couldn't hold out much longer myself. Now that my reverie was broken, I realized that my bladder was about to burst. I closed my eyes and concentrated on staving off disaster.

"Do you need to piss?"

It was Amanda's whisper. I opened my eyes, and there she was, looking beautiful and holding a quart Mason jar.

I said, "I've never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life."

She held the jar under me. A few people gathered to watch, but I wasn't nearly the show Pipit had been. I peed, it seemed like forever.

Amanda held up the jar so I could see. It was more than half full. "It's really yellow," she said happily.

"Thank you, Amanda," I said.

She gave me a radiant smile and scurried away with the jar. I knew exactly what she was going to do with it, and I didn't mind even a little.

Pipit was sagging in the frame, not trying to support herself at all, head hanging. I wondered if she was passed out, sleeping, or just tired. A man in a white jacket was mopping the floor under her. I sagged too. I didn't have much choice - my arms would just have to hurt.

The redhead in the red dress paused by my cross. "You look fucking awful," she said.

"Thank you," I said.

"You can safeword, you know."

"I know."

"Why don't you?" she asked. "I'd've safeworded ages ago."

"I don't know," I said. "I guess I'm just not there yet." I didn't want to insult her by implying I was tougher than she was.

The woman moved off. I wondered where my limit was and what would trigger my safeword in the end: my sore arms, the cold, needing to pee again, another man talking about putting his paw in my cunt?

Pipit moved in her frame. She hadn't safeworded either. She was tough. She raised her head and looked at me. She looked fucking awful too - ghostly white, rings under her eyes, makeup mussed. I smiled at her. She let her head fall again.

I wondered what time it was. The room was only about half as full as it had been when Master had cuffed me to the cross. People were keeping Karen and Daniel busy with goodbyes.

Master came to me and uncuffed me - first my feet, then my hands. My legs wouldn't hold me: I fell into a heap on the floor. Across the room, Christopher was uncuffing Pipit, but she managed to stay upright.

Master said, "Daniel and Karen have offered us a bedroom. Come - you'd better have a snack."

He picked up my leash and I got up on my hands and knees. People stared as I crawled beside him, slowly, out of the party room and down a hallway to the kitchen. Master left me curled up by a little breakfast table and went foraging in the cabinets.

He returned in a couple of minutes with a bag of trail mix. He pulled a chair close to me, sat, shook a little trail mix into his palm, and bent down, holding his hand out to me. I ate from his palm, happiness blazing inside me. He fed me three handfuls this way, and then I shook my head when he offered more.

"Come to bed, then," he said.

I crawled beside him to the bedroom we'd used earlier.

We stopped by the bathroom door. "Do you think you can clean your makeup off?" he asked.

"I think so, Master," I said.

"Don't worry about the rest."

I crawled into the bathroom and struggled to my feet, holding onto the vanity.

Washing revived me a little - I walked from the bathroom into the bedroom. Master had turned down the bed. He took off my harness and collar. "Get in," he said, and I crawled into bed. He undressed and climbed into bed on the other side.

"Master," I said, "you promised to give me an orgasm tonight."

"I did," he said, "and a promise is a promise. This is your orgasm. What would you like? Some nice vanilla sex, since you're tired?"

"Never," I said.

He sat up beside me. "You're assertive for a slave," he said.

"There's just one thing I'm assertive about, Master," I said. "Being a slave."

He smiled, reached for my pussy with his left hand, and slapped my face - not hard, but he'd never done that before, and I was startled.

"I don't know you, slave," he said. "Tell me what you are." He slapped me again, and I squeaked. It wasn't like when Bobby Cross had given me a black eye: there was meaning in it, it was communication, and I liked it.

"I'm your fuck-toy," I said.

He slapped me a little harder and rubbed my pussy. It was sensitive from the vibrators, Amanda's licking, and being stared at all night. "What else?" he said.

"Your cum-slut," I groaned. My cheek stung and my pussy hurt.

"Okay," he said, and slapped my face. "Tell me more."

"Cunt. I'm Master's cunt."

He slapped me again.

"Your piss-slut."

He slapped a breast.

"Butt-fuck vixen."

He slapped my pussy. Every inch of me was aroused.

"Dyke!"

Other breast.

"Rimjob skank!"

He climbed on top of me and shoved into me roughly.

"Say!" he hissed. "I still don't know what you are."

"Master's - slave!" I cried.

He pounded me mercilessly and pulled my hair, jerking my head back. "Are you a good slave?"

"I'm a bad slave!"

"Tell me!" He yanked my hair, slapped my face, and thrust viciously.

"I'm jealous!"

He let go of my hair and took my chin in one hand. He held my face firmly, mouth an inch from his. "What else?"

"I want - "

"What do you want, slave?" His eyes bored into me; his cock felt so huge inside me.

"Hit me again!" I moaned.

He slapped my face again, rougher, and the blow was a match to gasoline. All at once my body was on fire, and I came with a scream. Maybe he came while I was screaming: I couldn't tell.

He took me in his arms and kissed my cheek. He pulled up the covers and lay back, and I snuggled under his arm. I managed a few tired thoughts about my night: being bound, exposed, powerless even with a paddle in my hand, a toy for the crowd. But I had wanted a thing, and Master had given it to me. I felt warm, safe, and small beside him.

"Shall I sleep on the floor, Master?"

"No, vixen. Tonight I want you here with me."

That was the last thing I heard him say before sleep overtook me.



Slave Girl Emily Ch. 07



Author's note: Here's Chapter Seven of "Slave Girl Emily." At the end of Chapter Six, we left Emily apparently contented with her Master, Frederick, even though she has just seen him flogging and fucking Pipit, another slave, at a play party. Meanwhile, Pipit's Master, a distinguished-looking middle-aged man named Christopher, seems to have taken a liking to our Emily, and the two Masters have taken a shine to each other. I'm afraid we're in for a bit of upheaval. Tags: BDSM, Pet play, Bondage, Toys, Straight sex.

Chapter 7. Rigged games

I can't stop looking at his shoes. They're so clean and glossy - I can almost taste the leather and feel the slick hardness of them on my tongue. I want to crawl to him and lick them, but he won't let me. What can I offer him, hanging from the ceiling?

He comes to me with a pail of wooden clothespins and begins to fasten them to me, taking his time. One on top of each ear. One on each of my labia. Two on each breast, near the nipple.

He turns on my probes. Now the torture of pleasure contains pricks of pain.

"Ooohh!" I sob. "I need to pee, Master!"

"You can pee anytime," he says.

"No, Master, I can't!"

I'm too tired for this arousal, and my bladder's full to bursting. An orgasm now would tear me apart.

I flail in my ropes. He turns off the electricity.

He takes off the clothespins: ears first, then labia, then breasts. The pain's off the scale. I'm sweating, writhing, crying, "Master, please."

"Say it," he says. "Say it and it all stops."

I can't.

* * *

Pipit knelt by Christopher, sitting back on her heels, head bowed, all creamy skin and perfect curves. He petted her absently and said, "The custom of the house is for Masters and Mistresses to sit at the table while slaves sit at their feet. How to feed a slave is up to a Master, of course, but what I do is feed Pipit tidbits from my plate. It's not usually messy, but spills are a hazard when you're not used to it."

I'd been worried about this dinner ever since Master had told me he'd accepted the invitation. I'd pictured Pipit flying at me with teeth and nails, or at the very least finding subtle ways to humiliate me. Master had been out most nights that week, but we'd played the night before the dinner, and I'd told him about my worries as we'd cuddled afterwards.

He'd said, "Do you hate her?"

"No, Master," I'd said, "I was angry at the party, but not anymore."

"She's a sweet and loving girl," he'd said. "If you became friends, you could learn from her."

"Aren't I sweet and loving, Master?" I'd asked kittenishly.

"You're very sweet, but sometimes I wonder if you'll ever love me, and if I'll ever really know you."

"I do love you, Master," I'd said, feeling less kittenish.

"Do you love me or Master? The flesh-and-blood man or the role I play? There's much more to you than a slave-girl, but the slave-girl is all you give me."

"I love you, Master, and everything I am belongs to you." I'd lain awake worrying about what he'd said, wondering how the Master was different from the man and the slave different from me.

I needn't have worried about Pipit. She'd been all smiling politeness, radiant in her nakedness, as she'd opened the door of the house on Grove Street, taken our coats, and shown us into the living room where Christopher was waiting to greet Master.

Now, as the men sat at the dinner table, Master said, "I think you'd better take your clothes off, Famula. We don't want to soil them."

Pipit jumped up and said, "I'll show Famula where to put her clothes."

I followed her up a flight of stairs to a pleasant but impersonal bedroom - a guestroom. She stood and watched as I unzipped a zipper and started to pull my dress off.

She said, "Master says I have to apologize for calling you a toilet-slave last week. I'm sorry."

The apology didn't sound sincere, but I decided to make the best of it. I said, "I'm sorry I called you a whore. I know you're not really."

She said, "Thanks. I know you're not a toilet-slave."

I said, "Thanks," and then fell silent. I had no idea what else to say to her.

"So!" she said brightly. "You're a student?"

As I undressed and put my clothes away, we had one of those awkward conversations in which two people trade information about themselves that neither wants to know. What was my major? Was she a student? No? Did she have a job? Where were we from? She seemed determined to prolong the conversation, maybe to show me there were no hard feelings. I was impatient to get back to Master and relieved when she finally gave it up. We went downstairs, where Master and Christopher were eating in silence.

We knelt by our Masters. It had felt good kneeling beside Master at his dinner party, and it felt good here. He had a large steak on his plate - an outsize portion, probably, because it was meant to serve two. Christopher cut a small piece from his steak, picked it up, and put it into Pipit's mouth, letting his fingers linger there so she could lick them. It was exciting to watch what they were doing. After a minute or so, Master did the same: he took a piece of steak between his thumb and forefinger and put it into my open mouth. I closed my lips around the meat and his fingers together.

I was in heaven. This was eating. I always loved having Master's attention, but now I was aroused by the way he was controlling me, deciding exactly what I ate and choosing the precise moment for every bite I took. I'd never felt more completely in his power. This was the way I wanted to eat every meal for the rest of my life.

Bit by bit Master fed me, and my pulse quickened. I was intensely aware of him - his fingernails, the tanned skin of his hands, his white cuffs, his steel watchband. I hardly knew what I was eating: mere flavors and textures seemed nothing compared to the sensation of him, the perfect curve of his strong fingers holding each morsel.

Pipit closed her eyes each time Christopher fed her. Did she share my joy, or did she close her eyes a little too tight, like a wince? I wasn't sure, and the thought fled when Master held his wineglass to my lips and allowed me an ambrosial sip.

It was a quiet dinner, and it was over all too soon. The woman who was doing the cooking and serving brought coffee and dessert. Master allowed me several sips of his coffee and two spoonfuls of crème brûlée. I paid little attention, but wondered about Christopher's dungeon and how we'd play there.

At last Christopher rose from the table, opened the drawer of a sideboard, and took out two collars and two leashes. He handed a collar and leash to Master and came to me.

He bent over me with a kindly smile. "It's a privilege for a puppy to be fed tidbits from the table," he said. "Did you enjoy that?"

I nodded, feeling puppyish.

"Very good," he said, fastening the collar around my neck. Master was talking quietly to Pipit and fastening her collar.

Christopher snapped the leash onto my collar and said, "In my dungeon I have nice treats for good puppies. I'll show them to you."

I started to get up, but he frowned at me and said, "Good puppies go on all fours. I'm sure you don't want to learn about my punishments for bad puppies."

A thrill ran through me, and I whimpered. He led me on hands and knees out of the dining room and along a hallway to a white panel door, which he opened. A stair led down into darkness.

Christopher turned on a light and said, "Puppies have to be careful on stairs. Sometimes they go down backwards, and sometimes they bump down on their bottoms."

Both methods sounded awkward, but I decided to bump on my bottom. Using hands and feet, I managed to do it without bruising my ass. Christopher walked down beside me, holding my leash. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw that Pipit was also bumping down on her bottom, Master beside her.

Christopher's dungeon was equipped like other playrooms, but as it was the basement of an old house, with rough stone walls and dim lighting, it was much more dungeon-like. I got the shivers looking around at the cross, the bondage table, the little cage, the ominous-looking hook in the ceiling, and the whipping horse.

Christopher himself was cheerful, even sunny. He strode to a cabinet and took out some newspapers and two blindfolds.

"With puppies," he said, "one's always working on housebreaking. If our puppies need to go, they should use this newspaper." He spread it out in a corner of the dungeon. "Of course, very young puppies may take some time to catch on. We'll instruct them gently if they haven't got it yet."

He said, "Now I've got a game for us. All good puppies know their Masters by smell, and we can put that to the test." He handed a blindfold to Master and blindfolded me. Master had never blindfolded me before, and I was instantly disoriented in this unfamiliar space.

"Now!" said Christopher. "I'm going to take something of Frederick's - a shoe? Thanks - and let Famula smell it. Have a good sniff."

I sniffed and caught a whiff of shoe leather.

"There's a good girl," Christopher said. "Now Frederick can put his shoe on, and we'll move around a bit so we aren't where you last saw us, and on the count of ten, dear Famula, you'll sniff around till you find your Master."

I silently counted to ten, then started to crawl, sniffing as I went and feeling very silly. I bumped into something solid - the cabinet? and later, I was sure, into a wall, but eventually I came to a trousered leg. I bent down to sniff the shoe: it smelled of leather, just like the one Christopher had held to my nose. Aware that both men's shoes would probably smell like leather, still I yipped and jumped up on the leg like a puppy.

"Well," said Christopher from just above me, "perhaps this isn't one of the keener-scented breeds. Let's see if Pipit can do better." I still couldn't see, but I suppose he must have given her his shoe to sniff. I had the impression that Pipit took less time about the task than I did: maybe she bumped into the furniture less, knowing the room better. Finally I heard her yip like a puppy.

Both men laughed and took off our blindfolds. Pipit was sitting next to Master, and I was next to Christopher. I thought the men had probably cheated: this game was too easy to rig. But I liked Christopher and saw no harm in going along.

Master said, smiling, "Perhaps these puppies have chosen their Masters for the evening."

My stomach got tight. I'd dodged a bullet, not having to have sex with either Daniel or Karen (I'd chosen Amanda for myself). Would I now have to have sex with Christopher, a near stranger? And if I objected, would I be the only party pooper? Pipit and Master had already had sex, and Christopher had let them - the three of them were obviously open to swapping partners.

But Christopher said, "Perhaps they have. We'd better check with them, though, if they can stop being puppies for just a moment. Pipit, would you like to trade Masters with Famula for the evening?"

"I'd like that," she said, and glanced at me.

"And Famula," Christopher said, "What about you?"

"I'd like to know what trading means," I said.

"If you're concerned about sex with someone other than your Master, I think we can say that's not required. Do you agree, Frederick?"

"That's fine," Master said.

"Do you have other concerns, Famula?"

"No," I said.

"Excellent!" said Christopher. "Then let's go on with our play. I'm looking forward to teaching Famula some puppy tricks."

He went to his cabinet and came back with a plastic cup containing a few M&Ms.

"We'll start with Roll Over," he said.

It's hard to tell about the hour or so that followed without feeling silly. Christopher taught me Roll Over, Beg, and Shake Hands, among other things. Strangely, I enjoyed the game. At first he rewarded me with M&Ms for getting these tricks right, but as we went on, he began to reward me instead with smiles, words of praise, and petting. At first I was a little embarrassed, not only by the tricks I was learning, but also by the rewards. Then I was embarrassed by how much the rewards pleased me. By the end of the hour, I was avid for Christopher's praise and glowed with pleasure every time he smiled or petted me.

But by then, Master and Pipit had gotten tired of puppy tricks and gone on to more conventional things - if you can talk about conventional BDSM activities - flogging on the whipping horse and play with ropes on the bondage table. It was getting hard to concentrate on my pet training.

Christopher said, "You've done so well with puppy games that I think we can move on to one or two basic commands. In obedience training, we always start with Sit."

I was on hands and knees in front of him. Master was tying Pipit to the bondage table.

"When your Master says Sit, the important part is keeping your bottom on the ground," he continued, acting as if Master and Pipit weren't in the room at all. "Some Masters don't approve of tail-wagging, but I think it's fine to wag your tail, as long as you keep your bottom on the ground till I give you permission to move, or another command."

He frowned at me. "But you don't have a tail," he said. "Perhaps you're one of those tailless breeds - a bulldog or Boston terrier. On the other hand, you could have a tail. Would you like one?"

I nodded. While Master tested a large vibrator against the palm of his hand, Christopher went to his cabinet and returned with a bottle of lubricant and an extravagantly curved tail ending in a wicked-looking butt plug.

He frowned again. "If you prefer," he said, "I can ask your Master to put this in."

I looked at Master, who at that moment was applying the vibrator to Pipit's pussy. Fuck them, I thought. I shook my head.

"Very well," he said. He walked around behind me, poured a little lubricant into my crack, and spread it around. His fingers were strong and confident as he pushed the lubricant into my ass. The butt plug was big, and he pushed it in slowly and firmly. I sensed no shyness or hesitation in him: for now, at least, he was completely in control of me. Master didn't notice: he was holding the vibrator to one of Pipit's nipples, and she was squirming and moaning.

Christopher returned to stand in front of me, wiping the lubricant off his fingers with a handkerchief. I smiled up at him and tried wiggling my bottom to wag the tail. It felt good.

"There's a good dog," he said. "Now Sit!" He reached over my back and pushed my butt down. I sat.

"That's very good," he said, and patted my head. I jumped up to lick his hand, wagging my tail and pretending to be joyful.

"No, no," he said pleasantly. "Sit!" He pushed my butt down again.

On the bondage table, Master was squatting above Pipit's head and driving deep into her while she made theatrical choking noises, like a porn star.

"We'll have to practice that," Christopher said. "But I think we can move on." He stood next to me, held his hand in front of my face, and said, "Stay!" I wagged my tail, got up, and licked his hand.

"No," he said. "Sit, Famula!" I sat again.

"Very good," he said. Again he held his hand in front of my face and said, "Stay." This time I stayed seated for a few seconds. He walked away and I followed him.

"No, no," he said, took my leash, and led me back to where we'd started.

"Stay," he said, and walked away from me. I stared at the bondage table, where Pipit was crouching, ass high, while Master rolled on a condom.

"Good girl!" said Christopher, coming back. He patted my head, and I wagged my tail.

"It's getting late," said Christopher. "We'll take a little walk, and then it'll be time to call it a night."

He took me up the stairs; as we reached the top Pipit cried out behind us. Christopher walked me to the back of the house.

He said, "A good dog doesn't try to take the lead or fall behind. A good dog keeps up, head about even with Master's legs."

I tried to crawl beside him in exactly the right spot.

"To do it properly," he continued, "takes effort, and even initiative. But your effort and initiative have the ultimate goal of enabling you to move in harmony with your owner's will. This requires careful observation of your owner, and an understanding of his desires and motivations."

What was Christopher trying to tell me? I was too angry and confused to puzzle it out. We made several trips between the front and back of the house, my mind racing all the while.

We returned to the dungeon. I tried going down backwards this time, but decided bumping was better. Master and Pipit were talking together quietly - Master dressed again, Pipit still naked. Christopher cleared his throat, and Master nodded at him.

Christopher said, "It's very late, and a long way to East End Avenue. Why don't you spend the night here? I have a spare bedroom, and you'll have your own bathroom with everything you need."

Master said, "That's kind of you. We'll be glad to stay."

Pipit and I stayed in character and toiled up two flights of stairs as the men held our leashes - Christopher mine, and Master Pipit's.

In the upstairs hallway, near the bedroom where I'd left my clothes, the men stopped, and Pipit and I sat like dogs. I realized with surprise that I was still wearing my butt plug tail. Master said, "I'm sorry to end the game." He hesitated. "I wonder if it would be agreeable to everyone to extend our trade until morning. What do you say, Pipit?"

Pipit spoke up quickly. "It's all right with me," she said, "if it's all right with Master."

Master said, "Christopher?"

He said, "It's all right with me."

"And Famula?"

Conflicting feelings were running riot in me. I was furious. I wanted to attack Pipit again. I wanted to attack them all. Here was another rigged game, and there was no way for me to win. I was aroused, too - but it was a confused arousal, and I couldn't tell what I desired. I was afraid. The ground was shifting under me, and things were sliding around inside me. I seemed to be surrounded by dangers.

I said, "It's not all right with me. I'm not going to be rented out for the night."

Master said, "Pipit, why don't you bring Famula her clothes?" She disappeared into the spare bedroom.

I said, "What are you doing, Master?" Somehow it felt wrong to call him Master.

"Trading," he said.

I opened my mouth to protest, but just then Pipit came back with my clothing, all neatly folded. She handed it to Master, who gave it to Christopher.

Then Master said, "This is the way it is, Famula. Come, Pipit." They went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Christopher cleared his throat and said, "There's a bedroom you can use upstairs. I'll show you the way." I got to my feet and followed him to the end of the hallway, around a bend, and up a narrow stair. At the top he ushered me into a small, clean room with a full size bed, a dresser, and an upholstered chair.

Christopher set my clothing on the bed. I took off my collar, leash still attached, and dropped it on the chair. I reached behind me, pulled out the tail, and let it fall to the floor.

I turned on him and said, "What's going on, Christopher? Why are you letting this happen?"

"I'm letting it happen," he said, "because I can't stop it."

"Yes, you can!" I shouted. "You're her Master. You don't have to agree to these trades."

"You know I don't have any real power over her," he said. "She can take back whatever power she's given me whenever it pleases her. They've been seeing each other every day since New Year's Eve."

"How do you know?"

"Frederick told me tonight."

"He told you 'I'm fucking your slave, and oh by the way can I just go on fucking her right under your nose?'"




Slave Girl Emily Ch. 07



He sat on the edge of the bed. "He proposed a permanent trade," he said. "He asked to exchange you for Pipit. There's a trading clause in your contract."

My legs felt weak. I dropped onto the chair. "I know," I said.

"You don't have to agree to the trade, of course, but your refusal won't save your relationship with Frederick. It will just set you free. I'm sorry to say that both you and I seem to have been dumped."

I asked, "Did you agree to this trade?"

"I told Frederick that I'd be more than happy to take you in trade for Pipit. I also told him that I didn't expect you to agree."

"Shit," I said.

"A slave," he said, "is a human being made into a commodity, which can be bought, sold and traded. It's a game, of course, but one that we play with great conviction in our community. You have to decide how far you're willing to go in playing the game."

I thought about that. "I let the trading clause stay because having it there made being a slave seem more real," I said. "So I know what you mean about playing with conviction. But I chose Frederick as much as he chose me. I interviewed him, vetted him, and accepted him as a Master."

"You can interview me," he said. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Okay," I said. "How old are you?"

"Forty-eight." Twenty-five years older than me.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm an English professor at NYU."

"I'll bet that doesn't pay enough to buy a house like this. How did you afford it?"

"I inherited some money. Enough to buy this house and have a nice supplement to my salary. I'm not what a rich person in New York would call rich."

I grilled him for about a half hour. I found out how many subs and slaves he'd had over the years and got the names of several of the more recent ones. We talked about his interests and mine: he liked pet play, flogging, exotic knots, wax, and a number of other things that I liked too, and he didn't favor any kind of edgeplay. He was mostly monogamous, but liked playing with others in private settings. He leaned strongly towards heterosexuality but had had several satisfying experiences with men. He seemed happy with my recent experiment with same-sex love and had no objection to my seeing Amanda from time to time. I found myself warming to him more as time went on.

"Take your clothes off," I said.

"What?"

"I think it's reasonable to ask you to strip when I'm sitting here naked. I want to see what I'd be getting. Make sure there are no important bits missing."

"Fair enough," he said, smiling. "You have all the power right now." He stood up and took his clothes off. I liked the way he did it, without flourishes or obvious embarrassment. Despite his age, his body was lean and trim, strong but not muscled, with no hint of a paunch. He goes to the gym, I thought.

I got up and approached him. I felt his chest, biceps, and thighs. I walked around behind him and ran my hand over his shoulder blades and down his spine. I squeezed his buttocks. Everything was firm; his skin was good. I was like a Master examining a slave on the block. I walked to the front of him again. His cock was starting to stiffen. I took it in my hand and let it grow hard. It was both long and thick, with a slight downward curve.

I stroked him gently and said, "Why do you want me? Tell me it's not just that you can't stand being without a slave."

"I'm not sure," he said. He spoke haltingly: I liked it that my hand on his cock was making it hard for him to concentrate. "Something about you makes me want to own you. I felt it strongly the night of the New Year's Eve party."

"Is that why you let Pipit and Master - Frederick - have sex at the party?" I squeezed his cock, and he gasped.

"No," he said. "Pipit likes to be lent out. I generally said yes when anyone asked to borrow her. Try not to think badly of her. We have to be tolerant of each other's kinks."

I let go of him, went to the chair, and picked up the collar. I took the leash off and started to fasten the collar around his neck.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm going to punish you," I said. "You've been telling me true facts, but you've been lying by omission. You've plotted this thing from the beginning."

He smiled and said, "I'm not that bright."

"Another lie," I said, and pushed him backwards onto the bed. "Tomorrow I'll decide whether to submit to you. But first you'll submit to me."

He didn't answer, but simply waited, lying on his back. His cock was still hard. I climbed onto the bed and stood over him. I prodded him with a foot and said, "Roll over." He rolled onto his front.

I doubled up the leash, leaned over, and gave his bottom a gentle whack.

"Are you my slave tonight?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, and closed his eyes.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, and hit him harder. He started.

"You've been fucking with my life," I said, and hit him. "Admit it."

"No, Mistress," he said. I hit him harder, wishing I had a real whip, or maybe a cane.

"I'm not blind," I said as I flogged him. "You made a beeline for Frederick the minute Daniel pointed him out to you. Tell me why."

"I wanted to meet you . . . Mistress," he gasped between blows.

His bottom was already red, but I wanted to raise welts. "Were you trying to dump Pipit?"

His face was tense - he was gritting his teeth. "No. Yes. Not at first, Mistress."

I hit him one more time, and I finally got a good twitch and an "Ow!" out of him.

"Turn over," I said, and he rolled onto his back again. I straddled his head, facing his feet, and sat on his face. I'd never done this before, and I instantly decided it was going to be one of my favorite things. I was already hot and wet from whipping him; now he sucked my clit, making me delirious with pleasure. I rocked and slid on his lips.

"Did you encourage them?" I asked, leaning forward to slap his cock.

"Gmmph," he said. I decided his answers could wait.

"Of course you did," I said, and bore down on him, leaning back to force his nose into my crack. Heat spread from my pussy to my nipples and up my neck. "You practically threw Pipit at him." I bounced on him a little before leaning forward into sixty-nine position, keeping my pussy planted firmly on his mouth. His thick cock felt warm and alive in me. I circled the head with my tongue and was rewarded with a salty drop of pre-cum. His tongue was sliding in my wet slit, alternately driving into my vagina and massaging my clit. I closed my mouth tight around him and sucked him deep. He stirred under me, and I could feel his breath in my crack.

It was delightful, but I thought I'd better stop before he came. I slid off him, sat beside him, and said, "Condom?"

"Pocket," he said, and gestured towards his pants, which were lying near us on the bed.

"Like a boy scout, always prepared," I said. I found the packet amid his coins and keys, opened it, and rolled the condom onto him. I climbed on top of him and guided his cock into me.

"Tonight," I said, "was all your doing. I'll bet they thought they were setting it up, but it was you, wasn't it?"

He shook his head. "No, Mistress."

"Yes it was," I said. "You brought them together and made me watch them play so I'd know how fucked I was."

I stopped moving. I said, "You thought when I knew that, I'd come running to you."

"No." He shook his head. "I invited Frederick to dinner because I wanted to see you. I didn't have a plan. I just wanted to see you."

I moved a little; his cock filled me up. I believed him. Belief rushed into me like a breath after near drowning. Some great weight seemed to be shifting inside me. I looked into his eyes and felt weak all over. I swayed a little. He watched me closely, concern on his face. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, willing myself not to faint. No, I thought, don't do this, but desire overwhelmed me. When I had strength enough, I leaned forward, took off his collar, and held it out to him. "Put it on me," I said. I bowed my head while he put it on. I said, "Do what you want with me." His eyes seemed made of ice.

With one arm, he raised himself slowly till he was sitting upright. I was in his lap, and he was still inside me. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me, and his lips commanded me as they touched mine. He started to move, and his movement inside me seemed to possess me. One hand slid up my back and held my head, and I surrendered to his hand.

With one hand behind me and one holding my head, he lowered me onto my back and lay on top of me. He thrust into me gently and slowly - I could feel the suppressed energy in him - and then suddenly fierce and hard, making me cry out with pain and pleasure. He held my head in his hands, held my body with his body - and when I came, I knew that my orgasm was a gift from him, given at the moment he'd chosen. He slowed, closed his eyes, and came inside me - quiet, drawn into himself. Then he opened his eyes and was there with me again.

I lay in his arms. He ran a fingertip along one of my rose vines. "Did you choose the design?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Frederick chose the artist."

"He did a beautiful job," he said. "But he had a beautiful canvas to paint on."

"The artist was a she," I said, blushing all over.

"If you were mine, I'd give you three rings. One for here," he said, touching my right nostril, "one for here," my left nipple, "and one for here," between my legs.

He was right: I wanted those piercings. But I knew I was under his spell, and my situation was perilous. I needed time to clear my head.

I got up and turned to him. "Get dressed," I said. "I need to be alone to think."

"I understand," he said. I watched him put on underwear, pants and shirt. He picked up his other things and held them. "There's a bathroom across the hall. You'll find everything you need there. Breakfast is anytime."

I waited a few seconds after he left and then went to the bathroom. Afterwards, I lay in bed, trying to think of the choice I had to make as a logical problem. I made no progress. The room was warm and it was late, and I soon fell asleep.

* * *

I woke up early the next morning, dressed, and went downstairs to find Christopher alone in the kitchen. He stood, turned towards me, and said, "They're already gone."

I said, "What about a contract?"

He said, "I'd suggest taking over Frederick's contract. We can figure out what to do as its term gets near."

"The trading clause," I said. "It's got to go."

"We'll cross it out," he said.

"And about lending," I said. "You'll talk to me first if you want to lend me to someone, and if I say no, there'll be no argument and no consequences."

"We'll write that in," he said.

"The way you fed Pipit last night," I said. "Do you do that at every meal?"

"Yes," he said, "but if you object, we can do it differently."

I said, "I don't object. Do you like anal sex?"

"Very much," he said, "but if you . . ."

"I accept," I said. "Effective immediately."

He stared at me for a few seconds, then smiled wickedly and took a step towards me.

I said, "I'm a bad puppy, Master."

"How so?" he said, taking another step.

"I'm not housebroken, you know," I said. "Frederick can tell you."

"Have you made a mess somewhere?"

"I'm sure I must have, but you can't expect a puppy to remember little details like when and where." I pulled my T shirt over my head and started to undo my pants. "I could make a mess right here, just to be sure," I said. "But wouldn't it be more fun to skip the mess and go straight to the discipline?"

He stepped very close to me and said, still smiling, "I can tell you're a frisky and rather naughty puppy. We'd better go downstairs and get started. We've got lots to do."



Slave Girl Emily Ch. 08



Author's note: Here's Chapter Eight of "Slave Girl Emily." Emily is a young woman (a senior in college) who loves being a slave. Her first Master was Andrew, another college student, and her second was Frederick, a lawyer. In Ch. 7 Frederick traded her to Christopher, a professor at NYU. This chapter is about her life with Christopher. Lots of delicious pain, humiliation, and sex here, and her first journey into subspace - but is she getting bratty? Tags: Slave, Bondage, Flogging, Caning, Pet play, Anal sex, Straight sex, Cage, Anal hook, Punishment.

*****

"I can't, Master."

He doesn't answer, but sits in the chair, crosses his legs, and watches, face unreadable. How does he feel about my pain? Curious, like a scientist observing a rat? Excited? Does he feel any sympathy for me?

The question bursts and fades. I can't hold a thought for more than a few seconds; my mind keeps going back to my arousal and pain, now so mixed up together that I can't tell them apart.

Master stands up and takes off his jacket. I raise my head to look - just briefly; I don't have to strength to hold it up for long. His shirt is perfectly white, without a wrinkle. He loosens his purple tie - he's moving so slowly!

He reaches for his belt buckle - will he finally fuck me?

* * *

"Puppies who make messes around the house have to spend time in the cage," Master said. "This helps them learn the right way to go, and of course it's impossible to make a mess on the floor while you're in the cage. You're not claustrophobic, are you?"

"Not as far as I know, Master," I said, looking at the metal cage with awe. It was about two feet wide, three feet long, and as high as a dining table, with a solid floor and bars about six inches apart. One whole end opened on hinges, with a feeding slot at the bottom. Master was tying my wrists together in front of me with elegant and comfortable knots.

As he worked, he said, "I like knots rather than cuffs, for the artistry. I've been learning Shibari, the Japanese art of knot-tying. It's like flower-arranging - a lifetime study. Done right, it's as much an aesthetic experience for the submissive as it is for the Dominant. Of course, binding your wrists merely gestures at bondage; it's a tiny taste of things to come."

I was eager to get into the cage and curious how it would feel, but Master was in no hurry. We went over my safeword and safe gesture several times so he could make sure he had them committed to memory. We reviewed my few limits, and he said, "You probably have more that you haven't discovered yet. We'll note them as we find them."

I was getting impatient by the time Master backed me into the cage, closed the door, and locked it with a padlock. He pulled up a wooden chair, sat, and watched me.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Emily, Master."

"A noble name," he said. "But you're not noble, are you, Emily?"

Something about the way he said my name made me feel more owned. "No, Master," I said.

"The name makes me think of love - amor - though there's no real connection. I will love you, Emily, but I love by taking everything and owning it. Will you give me everything?"

"Yes, everything, Master." I'd always aspired to have nothing.

He said, "Have you been caged before, Emily?"

"No, Master," I said.

"How does it feel?"

The cage was wide enough for my shoulders, but I had to scrunch to fit in front to back and top to bottom - there wasn't a lot of room to move around.

"It's small, Master."

"What else?"

I'd never been locked up before - most people haven't - and I'd never imagined how powerless it would make me feel. My new Master, the man with the key in his pocket, had become the center of my universe: not just my Master, but my god.

"It makes me want to worship you, Master," I said.

"That's good." He studied me for a few minutes, his silent gaze unsettling and arousing me. I'd have reached between my legs and masturbated, if I'd dared. Then he got up abruptly, went to his cabinet, and came back with a bottle of lubricant and a dog tail like the one I'd worn the night before. He stood behind me and, without saying a word, reached through the bars, lubricated me, and inserted the plug. He did it fast - pain flared and died away. Like a god, he could reach into my little world and do anything he wanted to my body. I had no power to resist. All I could do was try to placate him. I wagged my tail, which moved in my ass and slapped against the bars.

He sat in his chair again. "Now, what will you do to worship me?" he asked.

I was confused. I wasn't used to being asked to take this much initiative. I looked at his face, trying to read his desires, but he was unreadable, a distant, terrible god. You'd sacrifice to a god like that.

"I'll give you . . ."

"You have no possessions that aren't already mine," he said.

It was true. I'd just given him everything. Then I'd abase myself.

"Let me lick your shoe, Master," I said.

After a brief, thoughtful pause, he said, "I'll allow that." He didn't have to get up to put the toe of his shoe through the feeding slot.

It was a casual brown leather shoe, not new or old, polished or worn. I gathered some saliva on my tongue and licked it. It didn't taste like anything, but the flavor of submission was strong. My heart pounded. I licked everywhere I could reach, even the laces, trying to make it shiny everywhere. I was sorry I couldn't get at the heel.

"That's good, Emily," he said. He took that foot away and gave me the other. When I was done, my mouth felt dusty, but I was happy with the possibility that I'd pleased him. I wagged my tail hopefully.

"Your mouth must be dry now, Emily," he said. He stood, unzipped, and pulled himself out - who'd have thought shoe-licking could give a man such an erection? He bent his knees a little and put his cock through the bars. By lowering my bottom I was able to raise my head enough to take him in my mouth.

Most of the time, sucking a cock makes you feel both submissive and powerful - the act is a submission, but you control a man through his cock. Being fed Master's cock through the bars of my cage - that felt like pure submission. This wasn't a thing he was demanding, not a thing I was doing for him - it was a gift from my god. My saliva flowed freely. I let it overflow my lips and run down my chin.

I whined in protest when he took his cock away, but he fished in his pocket for the key to the padlock, opened the door, and lifted me out. He took me by the waist and laid me over the top of the cage, and with a stray piece of rope he lashed my bound hands to its edge. Again I heard the condom packet; he eased the butt plug out of me.

And my ass belonged to him. It felt like the completion of something. Maybe it was that he'd now taken the last of me for himself, and there was nothing more of me to possess. I lay quietly on the cage, felt the cool bars under me and my ass stretched painfully, the hot friction of him. I wished I had a hand free to touch myself. I imagined the feelings I'd have if I could touch my clit, and that aroused me more. "Oh!" I sobbed. I could sense that he understood my frustration, but my frustration was his, too - he took it for himself and added it to his enjoyment of my body. He seized my shoulders and hammered my ass harder till my "Oh!" of frustration turned into a screech of pain.

And my pain and my screech were his, too, an offering to him, and he took those. He bent over me, and his arm slid around my neck, and he could have squeezed the life out of me. I nearly panicked, knowing what he could do, and yet there was calm mixed with my panic, because I knew he wouldn't. I hyperventilated; my lungs burned with my terrified gasps - and the calm inside me savored the panic and burning, and the knowledge that he was taking those things, too, for himself.

Then he let go, pulled out of me, and came to my head, condom gone now, and while I was still gasping for breath he took my head in his hands and shoved into my throat. He fucked me, maybe ten hard strokes, till his warm, salty semen poured into me. I gulped it down - a slave must always swallow Master's cum - and collapsed on top of the cage, exhausted but still frustrated.

Master straightened up and zipped his pants.

"Master," I said, "please, can I come?"

He untied the rope that held me to the cage and said, "Get into the cage, Emily." I backed in and huddled there while he locked the door. He sat in his chair again and said, "You can masturbate now."

It wasn't easy to do. My wrists were still bound together, and to get at my pussy I'd have to reach under myself with both hands, face and shoulders resting on the floor of the cage. I did that, turning my head so I could see Master watching me, body relaxed, legs crossed, hands folded on his knee. My fingers slid in my sopping pussy and found my clit. Master towered above me, smiling, eyebrows arched, amused by my awkwardness. Agitated, embarrassed, and flushed, I rubbed myself, mouth open, drooling a little, in awe of his power, till at last I came, feeling insignificant, a tiny speck in his vast universe.

I let my hands fall. If there had been room to curl up on the floor of the cage, I would have done that. "I'm sorry, Master," I said, afraid I'd imposed on him somehow.

He leaned forward, reached through the bars, and petted my hair. "It's a good puppy," he said, "even if it's not quite housebroken yet. It needed a reward."

I glowed, happy with his hand on my head, happy naked, happy with my tininess, happy in my cage. At that moment I thought the trade that had brought me to this Master had been a very good one.

Master looked at his watch. "Here it is almost one," he said, "and we've had no lunch."

* * *

Master fed me a scrap of lettuce. He'd made me put on my clothes, which I'd left in a heap on the kitchen floor, and then he'd shown me how to make the kind of salad he liked for lunch. Now I was kneeling beside him. It felt strange being fully dressed in his presence.

"Most Masters keep their slaves naked," he said, "but I do not. It's January: how do I set the heat if you're naked and I'm clothed? How do I set the air conditioning in summer? It's pointlessly cruel to let you freeze. Besides, I've always liked undressing my slaves, and keeping them clothed most of the time gives me more opportunities to do that. Undressing you will be like opening a present every time. So you'll wear clothes around the house. When I want you naked, I'll either undress you or tell you to undress."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"When I enter the house," he said, "you will present yourself to me in the foyer and say, 'Master, your slave is here and eager to serve.' When you've been out, at school, shopping, or wherever, you'll check to see if I'm home, and if I am, you'll present yourself to me and say the same thing. I will give you instructions then, and you will run to comply. You will always run, not walk, to comply with my instructions."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You will always choose and lay out my clothing for me in the morning. I'll show you where everything is. You'll set the table following a diagram I'll give you showing exactly where everything goes. I have a cleaner who comes in once a week. You'll supervise her, and between her visits you'll make sure everything stays neat and in its proper place. I hate clutter, and I don't like to go looking for things."

Everything had to be done to Master's specifications, and with precision. He was exacting about so many things that it took me weeks to learn. Clothes had to be ordered just so in his closet. When I laid his jacket out on his bed, it wouldn't do for it to be more than an inch off center. Pants had to be folded properly when laid on top of the jacket, zipper facing right. When I placed his cufflinks on his bedside table, they had to be neatly aligned and facing the right way. I had to make sure he didn't run out of toiletries and that they were all in their proper places.

I needed only one more course for my BS, and I was happy to take the subway uptown on Tuesdays and Thursdays to attend class - Frederick's insistence on my being driven had been a little oppressive, though I'd understood he meant well. Even with my other duties, I had plenty of time for study while Master was at work, but the instant he walked in the door, I was his slave. I was with him most of the time while he was in the house. I'd kneel beside him while he read or worked at the computer, petting me with a free hand (I was allowed to read too, then). I'd take meals with him, and of course I'd play with him, and we had sex - lots of amazing sex. We both got tested quickly so we could lose the condoms.

Sometimes, if I was elsewhere in the house, maybe cooking or doing laundry, he'd call me to him, wherever he was, and undress me or order me to undress. He'd sit and look at me, occasionally telling me to turn. Then, often, he'd come to me and touch me - perhaps drawing a fingertip along one collarbone, touching one of my rings (after I'd gotten the piercings he wanted), tracing the path of my rose vine with a fingernail, or caressing my lower lip with the ball of a thumb. He touched my body with confidence, knowing that every inch of it was his.

When he'd spent some time examining me, he might tell me to dress and go back to work. But often he'd lead me to the dungeon for play or to his bedroom for sex. Sometimes, too, he'd take me wherever we happened to be - bent over the desk in his study, on the living room sofa or floor, and even, once, up against the wall in the hallway just outside his bedroom.

Sometimes I'd look up from whatever I was doing - a chore, perhaps, or schoolwork on my computer - and find him looking at me, body still and relaxed, eyes unwavering. He wouldn't say a word or move a muscle, but I'd sense his powerful will, and I'd peel my clothes off, crawl to him, and do what I knew he wanted - rub my body against his trouser leg, nuzzle his hand, or take out his cock and suck it. He'd pet me, then, if I'd read his mood right, and maybe he'd do more. Sometimes, though, he'd push me away roughly and tell me to get back to my chores - but whenever he'd done that he'd find me later, hold me, and even play or have sex with me.

All of my orgasms were at his pleasure. I wasn't even allowed to masturbate without permission. I had to be ready for him at all times. If I was passing through a room where he was sitting, he might crook a finger at me and point at his crotch, and soon I'd have a mouthful of his cum. Or he might interrupt my cooking to force me to my knees and fuck my throat, or come up behind me while I was folding laundry, push my face into the warm heap of clothes, and take me from behind, hand wound into my hair. Quite often he'd wake me in the middle of the night, bring me to his bed, and make love to me, roughly or tenderly depending on what he'd been dreaming, and then he'd let me spend the rest of the night curled up against him, hardly able to sleep for the sheer thrill of it.

Once I came in from school to find him seated on the sofa, swinging a leg impatiently and staring at me. "You look absurd," he said. "Everybody knows puppies don't wear clothes."

I stripped quickly, pulse racing as his eyes devoured my body.

"Now fetch, puppy," he said.

Fetch what? I thought, but knew better than to ask. I dropped to my hands and knees, becoming a puppy, and looked around the room, but saw nothing. I crawled here and there, peering under things and behind the furniture, until finally I found a rolled-up newspaper nearly hidden under the back of a chair. I pulled it out with my teeth, picked it up in my mouth, and brought it to Master. I got up on my knees in front of him and dropped it on his lap, then sat back and looked pleased with myself.

But Master said, "It took you too long. What am I to do with a puppy like you?"

I flattened myself on the floor, head between my paws, and gave him a mournful look. I whimpered and wiggled my bottom, wishing I were wearing my tail.

He rose from the sofa and loomed over me. "Bad puppy," he said, and swatted my bottom with the newspaper. I yelped, cringed, and backed away from him.

"Come back here!" he commanded, and I whined and slunk towards him. He swatted me again, and I yelped again. I waited till he'd swatted me five times and then rolled onto my back, held my paws up by my shoulders, begging, and spread my legs.

"No tummy-rub yet," he said. "You don't get off that easy." He swatted my pussy. Fireworks went off inside me, and I yelped louder, put my tongue out, and panted. Soon there were wet spots on the paper, I was suffused with sensation and happiness, and there was a huge bulge in his trousers.

He fucked me there on the living room floor, and when we'd both had orgasms he said, "Get me a drink. And get a glass of wine for yourself." I ran to the kitchen, holding a hand under my pussy till I could get a paper towel to catch the drips of cum. I cleaned up and got the drinks, and he let me snuggle next to him, naked, drinking my wine, till it was time to start dinner.

Within a month I was sure I loved Master better than I'd ever loved anybody in my whole life.

With so many details of my chores to memorize, it was inevitable that I'd mess up sometimes. He'd correct me patiently, drawing my attention to the detail I'd missed, and would have me repeat the process to help me learn it. He never got angry or raised his voice, even if he believed I was being willfully disobedient or insubordinate and had to be punished.

One day, about two weeks after I'd become his slave, I was ironing one of his shirts - not an easy task! - when he came into the laundry room, watched me for a couple of minutes, and said, "You should iron the sleeves before the collar."

It was late in the afternoon, I'd worked hard all day, and I had lots of ironing to finish up before I could start making dinner. I snapped, "Who the fuck cares?"

He said, quietly and calmly, "I care, Emily, and that's all you need to know. Now come with me."

My stomach tightened as I followed him down to the dungeon. I knew punishment was on the way, not a play punishment for pretending to make a mess in the house or not fetching a paper fast enough, but a real one. I had no idea what to expect, but his icy calm was not reassuring. I was seriously frightened.

"Take your clothes off," he said.

I did as he'd commanded.

"Lie on your back in the center of the room, under the hook," he said.

I lay down. The tiled floor was cold and hard on my back and bottom.

He looked me over impassively, and my nipples warmed and swelled.

"For punishment," he said, "we select an activity the submissive dislikes. I don't know yet what you dislike, and so we'll have to experiment."

He brought a coil of rope from his cabinet - he seemed to have an endless supply - and tied my ankles together and my wrists to my ankles. He turned me over so my weight was resting on my knees and shoulders, and my cheek was pressed against the tiles of the floor. My ass was high in the air.

He squatted beside me and showed me a large stainless steel hook shaped like a fishhook, but with a ball where the sharp end should be. A long rope was attached to the other end.

"This is an anal hook, Emily," he said. He lubricated my crack and anus - he'd done this many times by now, and I loved the feel of his hand there - and inserted the hook end into me. It was cold, it felt wrong in my ass somehow, and I didn't like it.

"I'm attaching your ass to the ceiling," he said. I knew without seeing much of it that he was looping the rope over the hook high above me and attaching the loose end to a fitting on the wall. He tightened till the rope was taut and my ass hurt a little. I could have relieved the pain if I'd been able to lift my knees off the floor, but that was impossible.




Slave Girl Emily Ch. 08



While I was preoccupied with the hook in my ass, Master spanked me - not hard, but I didn't expect it and twitched, and the hook pulled and hurt a bit more. Okay, the game would be to try to hold still as Master spanked. He hit a little harder, blows a few seconds apart, one cheek and then the other, till the spanking and the hook, the stinging and the pressure, were working in harmony, making a new kind of pain together. It was strangely exciting, this collaboration of hand and hook.

Then Master got a paddle from his cabinet and paddled me - a hotter, sharper sting - and I twitched more violently, and the hook in my ass was a stab of pain. I didn't want him to stop, but still cried, "No, Master!"

He didn't reply, and I felt him own my body and my pain as he paddled me slowly and rhythmically, intensity building, till the room was disappearing, and each slap of the paddle filled my mind with pleasure even as my body burned.

He stopped and came to me with a jar of cream, which he smoothed over my raw ass. I sighed for the gentleness of his hands. He sat in his chair and watched me awhile. I knew he was admiring what he'd made of me: my red bottom, my absurd posture, and the obscene hook in my ass. I felt warm and happy, sensing his pleasure at the sight of my tortured body.

"Are you ready for your punishment now, Emily?" he said.

I whimpered. I'd thought my punishment was done. But I said, "Yes, Master" and waited for his pleasure. He went to his cabinet again and came back with a cane. It was thin, tan, and flexible, an absurd parody of a walking stick. But I knew there was nothing absurd about it. I'd heard about it, though I'd never experienced it, and I was terrified.

"No, Master, please," I begged.

"'No' is not your safeword, Famula," he said, and gave my bottom a light tap. Even though it wasn't a hard blow, I could tell the cane was dangerous. The pain was sharper than with the hand or a paddle. He hit me again, a little harder, and I could have sworn the cane was on fire and leaving burn marks on my bottom. The caning went on and on, harder and sharper. With every slashing blow, I thought the next would push me past endurance, and I cried "Please, Master!" in terror. He ignored my pleas and struck harder, and somehow I endured.

My body was winding up, heart pounding, pussy flooding, and yet somehow the pain was getting farther away, time and space distorted, my head and ass in different countries, the nerves connecting them sluggish, meandering rivers, in no hurry to deliver their messages - and when the signals finally reached their destination, my brain said, Who cares? My mind was growing dark, my world was shrinking to what was right in front of me - a stretch of floor, a chair leg. I sighed, "Oh, Master," and closed my eyes in bliss. I wanted him to go on forever.

But he couldn't, of course. It would have been psychopathic to go on. He untied me and extracted the hook from my ass. He sat cross legged on the floor and folded me in his arms, petting my stomach, neck, and cheeks. I closed my eyes and rested in his lap. I couldn't remember ever feeling as euphoric as I did at that moment, as my mind slowly reconnected with my sore body and sore ass.

"Master," I said, "can I ask a favor?" My words seemed wispy, like the fading memory of a dream.

"You can ask, Famula." His voice was so deep and warm.

"Fuck me?"

He did fuck me, right there under the hook, amid the discarded ropes, and then he put more cream on me, held me again, and murmured words of love to me. I looked into his strong, handsome face and adored him.

Afterwards I ran to the bedroom and craned to look at my bottom in the full-length mirror. It was bright red all over and striped with thin red welts. I hugged myself and went to make dinner. A few days later, when I told Kevin about my experience, he sighed with envy and said he'd rarely gotten into subspace.

With Frederick, there hadn't been much difference between play and punishment - except for the one time he'd exiled me from his bedroom. With my new Master, there was a world of difference. Play usually involved role-playing - we both loved puppy-play, but we tried other things, too, policeman, doctor, professor (which Master, of course, did very well), and more. It was sometimes rough, like the time he spanked my pussy with the newspaper, but never really painful. Punishment, on the other hand, involved pain or humiliation: the cane, the cat, a tongue-lashing delivered in level, rational tones, or my having to confess my sins on my knees.

I loved the play - it was light-hearted and imaginative - but I craved the punishments. Both Andrew and Frederick had understood this about me, and they'd delivered spankings, whippings, and humiliations as part of our play. But I had a difficult time getting it across to this Master.

The day after my caning I worked up the nerve to suggest that he paddle or cane me while we were playing. He did, too, but it wasn't the same somehow: he couldn't make it hurt properly unless he had it firmly in mind that it was punishment.

One night, as an experiment, I turned his knife around the wrong way while setting the table, so the sharper edge was facing right instead of left. He pointed this out to me, and I said, "Yes, Master."

The next night I did the same thing, and when he pointed it out to me, I said, "Yes, Master" again.

On the third night, he said, "Are you deliberately ignoring my instructions, Emily?"

"No, Master," I said.

"Then why have you gotten the table setting wrong three nights in a row?"

"I don't know, Master."

"Do you think you can get it right tomorrow?"

"I don't know, Master."

He breathed out through his nose - a little gesture of exasperation - and said, "You'd better come with me, Famula."

I followed him to the dungeon, excited and hot with shame, and stood still while he stripped me, tied my arms together in front of me, and lashed them to me with ropes around my waist and ass. He laid me on the floor, tied my ankles and legs together, and then carefully, even gently, hoisted me till I was hanging upside down from the hook in the ceiling. He flogged my upper back with a cat, and then with the cane. Again I entered subspace and was still there when he came in my mouth, holding my head in his hands. I discovered that it was possible to swallow Master's cum while hanging head down.

He cradled me while I returned to myself. By then dinner was ruined and I had to start over. It was nearly bedtime when I finished the dishes. He sat on the living room sofa and read while I sat on the floor at his feet, knees up, arms around my legs. I was clothed, and my cotton T shirt irritated my sore back. I was frustrated and needy.

He set his book down abruptly and said, "Why, Emily?"

I said, "I like it when you punish me, Master." I wanted him to do it all again, right then.

"But is it punishment if you like it?"

"Yes, Master."

"How so?"

"I feel shame when you punish me."

"And you don't like shame?"

"I do like shame."

He picked up his book, stared at it blankly for a minute, and then set it down again. He said, "You shouldn't try to manipulate me. It's not a good way to treat anyone, let alone your Master."

"Yes, Master." A knot formed in my stomach, and my pussy leaked a little.

He picked up his book again.

"Master?" I said.

"Yes, Emily?"

"Would you kiss me?"

"Not now, Emily." He looked at his book and ignored me.

His disapproval was a cudgel battering my heart. I was tearing up, and my body was hot and jittery. A kiss - or a slap, or a whipping - seemed the most important thing in the world. I touched his knee and said, "Master, I really need you."

"Stop it, Emily."

I took my T shirt off - I wasn't wearing a bra. "Please, Master." I squirmed out of my pants and clung to his legs, weeping. "I'll do anything you want. No limits."

He stood up and shook me off. "It's time for bed, Emily. Go upstairs, do your bathroom things, and wait for me."

I gathered my clothing and went upstairs. In the bathroom I cleaned off my makeup, brushed my teeth, and peed. Then I waited on my pallet, still naked. After a few minutes he came in carrying a large, flat, black metal thing - a folding pet cage. He set it up and said, "Into the cage, Emily."

I backed into it as I had done with the other cage. This one was a little bigger; its floor was cold sheet metal. He closed the door and locked it with a padlock. He said, "You can masturbate in the cage, Emily."

"Will you watch, Master?"

"No," he said. He went to the bathroom and closed the door.

I had wanted the humiliation of his watching, but now the shame of his not wanting to watch was a hundred times more powerful. I could lie on my back in this cage if I drew my legs up. I did that and masturbated with one hand while I massaged my anus with my other. I felt miserable and abandoned, thinking how low I'd fallen, stimulating myself in a pet cage while my Master, who cared nothing for me, peed and flossed his teeth in the next room. I came hard, and then curled up tight on the floor of my cage and cried. I was still crying when Master draped a heavy wool blanket over my cage. After that, I had no sense of time, but I know I slept until Master pulled the blanket off and the morning light woke me.

He helped me out of the cage and embraced me while I was still sleepy and blinking. He kissed me, and I thought a fuzzy, alarmed thought and murmured "Brush teeth."

"No, Emily," he said, and led me to his bed, where he lay me on my back, spread my legs, and went down on me. It felt like a gift - as if he were doing it entirely for me, and his own pleasure was incidental. How could he be so generous, when I'd been so selfish and vile? His tongue felt good in me; I sighed and moved my hips, and when something moved inside me, he felt it too and came up to me and gave me the orgasm I'd craved - the best kind, the gift from Master. When I'd come he fucked me hard till he came inside me, then rolled away from me and said, "You've almost made our breakfast late. Run and fix it: you don't want to be punished for lateness."

I found fresh clothing and pulled it on, then ran down to the kitchen, humming a bright tune. But when I got there, a fog rolled into my head and I couldn't concentrate. I looked for eggs in the cabinets, opened six drawers to find utensils whose locations I knew perfectly well, and stood dreaming at the stove while the bacon curled into ashes. It was a good hour before breakfast was ready.

After breakfast, Master lashed me to the cross and hung a large wand vibrator from a rope belt he'd fashioned: it buzzed against my clit, torturing me with pleasure. He let me writhe for what seemed a long time, then spoke to me earnestly.

"We have to find a solution to this problem," he said, tugging at his forelock. "You're out of control, Emily, deliberately fucking up every day."

"Yes, Master," I said. I really wanted to do better and please Master. I wriggled, trying to get away from the vibrator, but couldn't do it. My brain was turning into oatmeal. Then a beautiful idea burst through the mush. "Master," I said, "may I sleep in the cage again tonight?"



Slave Girl Emily Ch. 09



Author's note: Here's Chapter Nine of "Slave Girl Emily." Most of this chapter (all but the first part) is a rewrite of the story in which Emily first appeared, "Uprising on Grove Street" (now withdrawn from Literotica to avoid duplication). If you've already read that and you're in it mostly for the action, you may as well skip this and come back for Ch. 10. But the rewrite is significant: the heroine here is younger and less jaded than the Emily of "Uprising," she feels differently about what's happening to her, and the meaning she takes away from the action is very different. In short, the episode has been rewritten to fit the plot and themes of the present series.

For those tuning in late, Emily (scene name Famula) is an enthusiastic slave girl who's now on her third Master, a forty-eight-year-old NYU professor named Christopher who loves beauty and gentle role play, though he knows how to deliver a good caning when he thinks discipline is called for. Emily, who prefers impact play, has begun to deliberately misbehave as a way of provoking punishments. Meanwhile, she misses her friend Amanda (Mouche), the slave of an immensely wealthy couple. Tags: Voyeurism, Bondage, Flogging, Pussy whipping, Wax play, Straight sex, Lesbian sex, Anal sex, Oral sex.

*****

Chapter 9. Mr. Watanabe and Ai

He hitches up his trousers, and his hand falls to his side.

"Please, Master!" I say. "Let me suck your cock!"

"You can have anything you want," he says. "I'll untie you; you can take a piss; you can suck my cock; I'll fuck you. Anything at all."

"No," I sob.

I can't. I need his power to be absolute and mine to be nothing. I need to feel I've given him everything - all my power and agency, all of me. But why can't he be kind to me? Why can't he be gentle without my forcing him? What have I left undone?

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a bullet vibrator, tiny and dangerous. He turns it on and it starts to buzz. He walks around behind me.

"No, Master - "

* * *

Even a toilet slave gets to have a cell phone, so I was able to stay in touch with Amanda, exchanging emails, texts, and selfies of our faces, piercings, whipped bottoms, and spanked pussies. Sometimes we were able to get our owners' permission to have phone sex, and it was nice to get off that way now and then. Before long I thought of her as my best friend.

But Amanda rarely left the apartment on Park Avenue, and I never saw her in the flesh. By March I missed her terribly and begged Master to allow her to visit me. He got in touch with Daniel and Karen and arranged a twenty-four-hour visit, from a Saturday to a Sunday morning. During the day on Saturday she and I would serve Master as his slaves. In the evening the two of us would play with Master, and she and I could sleep together afterwards. I warned her that we wouldn't be able to supply one hundred percent of her dietary requirements, and she replied that she'd get by for a day.

At ten on the morning of May 12, a taxi delivered Amanda to the house on Grove Street. I let her in, and we hugged and kissed in the foyer. She started to take her clothes off, but I stopped her, explained the house's clothing rule, and took her up to Master's study, where I announced, "Master, your slaves are here and eager to serve." He acknowledged us gruffly and told us to run along and find something useful to do. I kept Amanda with me all day while I worked. She wasn't very useful, but that wasn't the point of the visit. It was wonderful to be able to talk to her, see her, and touch her. We ate our dinner from dog food bowls while Master ate at the table, and then he announced that it was time to go to the dungeon.

Our play session was a strange one. It wasn't that we did anything strange - it was just the usual spanking, paddling, and kinky sex. Rather, it was the way Master managed and watched the action - and did almost nothing else. He directed every move we made, posed us, chose our toys, and even organized our aftercare, telling me how to sit and Amanda how to lie in my lap. He had us perform sex acts with each other, leaning in close to watch as Amanda licked my pussy and pulling my ass cheeks apart to get a better view when she rimmed me. He had me sit on her face and bent down low so he could see her tongue in my slit. He brought a strap-on from his cabinet and made me fuck her with it. He did all this with an air of great excitement, and yet the only time he participated was at the very end of our session, when he face-fucked me and came in my mouth. I found it a bit unsettling.

When he'd come, he said, "Run along to bed, girls," and left the room.

We went upstairs, got into bed together, made love sweetly, got just a little sleep, fed Master in the morning, and had our breakfast in our dog bowls (but he let us use coffee cups). Then, all too soon, it was time for Amanda to go home.

That night, Master wanted to play policeman. He arrested me for prostitution and berated me for my immorality before sentencing me to a beating with the cane, which he delivered to my back while I was bound to the cross. It was the first time a play session with this Master had ever been as humiliating and painful as a punishment.

Afterwards I asked, "Master, were you angry with me for making love to Amanda?"

He said, "No, I wanted you to do it. I liked watching."

So now I'd found out something new about Master.

The next night we returned to puppy play, and it was fun and sweet, as usual. But I continued to fuck up, provoking punishments. I laid his clothes out wrong, left dust on the mantelpiece, and cooked his vegetables till they were soggy. When he started to ignore minor infractions, I escalated my attacks, leaving heaps of dirty clothes on his bed, ruining favorite shirts in the laundry, or peeing on the bathroom floor and leaving the puddles for him to find.

* * *

I graduated the weekend after Amanda's visit. My parents came for the ceremony, and they were bewildered by Master, the way I looked, and the way I seemed to be living. It was all very awkward, hiding what our relationship was really like, and it was a relief when they went back home. The night they left, Master surprised me with a new sleeping cage with a lovely cushioned bottom.

Three weeks later, on a Thursday, Master said, "Tomorrow night a friend of mine will be coming to dinner - he'll have his slave with him. I've engaged a personal chef, so you won't need to do anything but set the table for four and make sure the house is neat and clean."

"Set the table for four, Master?"

"Yes. The two slaves will sit at the table with their Masters."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"We'll all play together after dinner," he continued. "I'd like to be able to lend you. Just for the evening. I'll be there - you'll have nothing to worry about."

"Lend for sex, Master, or just play?"

"Certainly play - sex if that's what people want."

During Amanda's visit I'd gotten a glimpse of what this meant to him. He'd told me that Pipit liked to be lent out, but it was obvious that he also loved watching his slaves have sex. It wasn't as if I'd managed to be completely monogamous, but I wasn't Pipit. I didn't like the idea of sex with people I didn't know and hadn't chosen for myself. Still, Master's wanting me to do it weighed heavily with me.

"Protected, Master?"

"Of course."

"You're not going to ask me to do this too often?"

"No. I promise."

"Okay, Master. I'll try."

But somehow it was sitting at the table that preyed on my mind. I hardly slept that night, thinking about it. I hadn't sat at a dinner table, except at restaurants, since I'd been with Frederick, and the idea appalled me. I couldn't quite put my finger on why that was, but I lay awake half the night in my cage, worrying about it, and by morning was half mad with anxiety.

I made his breakfast - two eggs over easy, two links of sausage, and two slices of buttered toast. I brought him his plate and knelt beside him, but when he offered me a bite, I shook my head.

"What's the matter, Emily?" he said.

"I don't know, Master," I said, unwilling to admit my anxiety.

"I think I know," he said. "Something about tonight's upsetting you. Is it my lending you to my guest?"

"No, Master."

"Then it's my plan for you to sit at the table and dine with us."

I collapsed into a heap at his feet. "Please don't make me, Master. I'm so afraid."

"Your sitting at the table is a gesture of respect," he said, "for both you and my guest."

Weeping, I seized his foot and kissed his shoe. "Please, Master."

He breathed out through his nose. "All right. I won't make you sit at the table - but I won't let you kneel on the floor either. Not tonight. You may serve our dinner tonight. That way the chef can concentrate on her cooking and won't have to worry about serving."

"Yes, Master." I felt better already.

"You must eat beforehand. You won't have a chance to eat again till the end of the evening."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

"I'll be back around five-thirty."

I said, "Master . . ."

"What is it?"

"May I masturbate today?"

"No, you may not. Now get on with your work." He left the room. A minute later I heard the front door close.

There was a great deal to do. Each of the three place settings had to be laid with geometrical precision. I used a ruler to make sure everything was correct. Upstairs, I laid out his dinner jacket and other things for him. Downstairs in the dungeon I laid out mats and checked to make sure all the toys were in their proper places. I made sure the ropes were neatly coiled, not tangled or knotted. I wondered what kind of kinks our guest and his slave would favor. I checked for dust in all the corners and nooks of the dining room and dungeon. I went through every room of the house, checking things and straightening. When all this was done I went back to the dining room and studied the dining table again. I carefully rearranged Master's place setting at the head so that everything was precisely reversed - the mirror image of a place setting.

When all this was done, I went to the kitchen, made myself a salad, and ate. I cleaned my dishes, showered, and dressed in red shorts and a black T. Master didn't ask me always to wear a collar, but I put one on anyway. Then I had some time to myself. I went to the third-floor bedroom and sat cross-legged on the bed. The room was warm, and the silence was sensuous. This was when I would have masturbated, if it had been allowed. I was mildly frustrated but contented. I napped briefly and spent some time thinking about the coming evening. I was both frightened and excited. I had no idea what our guests would be like, but I trusted Master not to allow any harm to come to me.

At about five the doorbell rang, and I ran down the stairs to let in the chef, a tall, lovely woman named Astrid, in her mid-forties, with fine, sturdy features and blond hair pulled back into a little pony tail. She was carrying two grocery bags. She glanced at my collar, then looked away.

I led her to the kitchen and showed her where everything was. As we moved around the kitchen, she took a few things she knew she'd need from their hooks and cabinets and shelves. I showed her the dining room. She frowned at the table and said, "I was told I'd be making dinner for four."

I said, "I was going to be the fourth, but I'll be serving instead."

"I'll be glad to have the help," she said.

I said, "Master was told you were discreet and wouldn't take offense at anything that might happen."

"Master?" she said.

"I'm a slave," I said. "A consensual slave. There's nothing illegal about it, but some of the things you see tonight may seem strange to you."

"If I'm offended I won't show it," she said. "And I don't talk about my clients."

I thought we'd get along fine. "Let me know if I can help," I said.

"You're not my slave?" she said, smiling.

"No, I serve only one Master. I'm just happy to help out."

"Relax," she said, "and I'll let you know if I need anything."

It was a little after five. I sat on the living room floor and waited.

At about five thirty I heard the front door open. I scrambled to my feet and ran to present myself to Master.

"Come to me," he said. I went to him, and he took me in his arms and kissed me. He felt strong and warm.

"Is the chef here?" he asked.

"She is, Master. I showed her around the kitchen, like you told me."

"Good," he said. "Bring me a drink. I'll be in the living room."

I went to the kitchen where Astrid was bustling about, mixed him a scotch and water, and took it to him in the living room.

"You may lie on the sofa," he said, "with your head in my lap."

Buzzing with happiness, I followed his instructions. He combed my hair with his fingers and asked me how I'd spent my day.

"I did as you told me, Master. I set the dining room table and made sure everything was right in the dungeon. Then I made sure everything in the house was clean and in place."

"That's good," he said. "Did you have some free time afterwards?"

"I did, Master," I said. "I showered and then stayed in my room until the chef arrived."

"But you didn't masturbate?"

"No, Master."

"That's a good girl," he said. "Are you prepared for tonight?"

"I know what to do, Master, but I don't know what to wear."

"You will wear your collar," he said. "I want them to be able to admire your tattoos and piercings."

"Yes, Master." This made me happy. It felt right to be naked for guests in the lifestyle, and I loved my tattoos and rings, just as Master did.

He asked, "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then go get ready," he said. "Meet me back here in a half hour exactly."

I ran upstairs to my room and took my clothes off. I went to the bathroom, peed, checked my eyeliner and lip gloss, and brushed my hair, making sure the purple streak was right. I checked my mound: I'd had it waxed just the week before, and it was still smooth. I sat on my bed and watched the clock until it was time, then ran downstairs. Master was already sitting on the sofa, looking marvelous in his dinner jacket, and I was thrilled when he gestured me to lie with my head in his lap again.

He petted my head the way he'd done before, but his hand soon moved from there to my shoulder, breasts, stomach, and thighs. He stroked me in all these places, the feel of his hand on my body so delicious, and finally he caressed my mound.

"May I open my legs, Master?" I asked.

He said, "You may," and I was filled with joy as I spread my legs and his gentle fingers found my clitoris. I closed my eyes and immersed myself in sensation, this great gift he was giving me. I grew warmer and more aroused - it was like rivers rushing all through my body - until finally I said, "May I have an orgasm, Master?"

He said, "No, not yet," but went on stroking my pussy. I twisted and turned under his hand until I was sure I'd come whether I wanted to or not. I gasped, "Master! I'm going to come!"

He took his hand away - such frustration! - and the doorbell rang. He said, "Run get the door now."

I was breathless as I ran to the door and opened it wide.

The man standing in the doorway was Asian, about fifty, lean and distinguished looking, with short salt-and-pepper hair. He looked in fact like an Asian version of Master. He inclined his head briefly, smiled, and said, "Konbanwa." So he was Japanese, and I had to bow much lower and stay bowed longer. I was sure I wasn't doing it right, but surely the effort counted for something.

A woman was standing behind him, and she bowed deeply. I bowed just as deeply, and then I couldn't help staring at her. She was Japanese too, and looked a few years older than me. Her skin was radiant, almost perfectly white, and flawless, her features delicate, eyes warm. I'd have given anything to look like her. She was wearing a white dress with a floral pattern: I didn't know what to call it, but it looked Japanese, and it was exquisite on her. It had a high neck, but that didn't conceal the silver collar with the silver lock hanging from it. She smiled at me, and her smile was like a ray of sunshine breaking through dark clouds.

I said, "Please come in" and stepped back just as Master appeared in the hallway behind me, saying "Kaito! It's so good to see you!" I backed out of the way, they exchanged bows, and the Japanese man said, his English careful but fluent and his smile warm and genuine, "It's fine to see you as well, Christopher." They both stepped in, and I closed the door behind them.

Master said, "Emily, you may address my guest as Mr. Watanabe."

Mr. Watanabe gestured towards his slave and said, "This is Ai."

I was entranced by the simple and beautiful name. I gazed at her lovingly.

"Unfortunately," Mr. Watanabe said, "Ai knows no English. Still, she may be useful to us tonight."

We went to the living room. Master gestured Mr. Watanabe into a chair, and Ai knelt at his feet, head bowed. Master sent me to the kitchen to get a scotch and water for Mr. Watanabe.

I found Astrid working hard in the kitchen. She paused to stare at me and said, "This day is getting more interesting by the minute."

I laughed, said, "Welcome to the wonderful world of BDSM," and went to the drinks cabinet.

Astrid said, "The guests have arrived?"

I said, "There's only one guest, but he brought a slave. She'll be eating at the table."

"Curiouser and curiouser," she said.

Back in the living room, I gave Mr. Watanabe his drink and went to kneel at Master's feet. I didn't really listen to the conversation, but stayed inside myself, sometimes stealing glances at Ai, until Astrid appeared in the doorway and said, "Emily, I'm ready for you." I looked at Master, and he nodded. I got up, went with her, and, under her instruction, began to prepare the table.

Though this wasn't the world's most elaborate dinner, there was plenty to do, once everyone was seated at the table - pouring wine, bringing dishes, clearing things away. Ai watched as I poured the white wine, and again as I cleared away the hors d'oeuvres plates.

As I began to bring in the soup she leaned forward and spoke to Mr. Watanabe, so quietly I couldn't hear. Not that I'd have understood anyway.

Mr. Watanabe frowned and answered her, and she spoke again, louder now so I could hear, her tone earnest and pleading. Mr. Watanabe said to Master, "Ai begs the favor of being permitted to assist with the service. Is this agreeable to you, Christopher?"

Master smiled and said, "Certainly."

Ai stood and stepped back from the table. She reached behind her neck and undid a fastener. She pulled her dress over her head and stepped out of her panties. Her breasts were small, her nipples tiny, her body slender and graceful, her white skin without blemish from head to toe. Mr. Watanabe gave a command, and she turned in place slowly. I stared, awestruck, at the colorful dragon that wound its way up her back and over her shoulder. I'd never seen anything so beautiful. I smiled at her, and she took that as a cue to follow me to the kitchen.

Astrid turned towards us as we came into the kitchen. She said, "This night is getting better and better. Are the men . . ."

I said, "I expect they'll keep their clothes on, at least till after dinner. Ai would like to help serve. She doesn't speak English, but that doesn't matter, does it?"

"Of course not," Astrid said.

Ai took up a plate with a soup bowl on it and carried it to the dining room. I watched as she set it in front of Master, leaning close enough to him that her breasts almost brushed his shoulder. He didn't look around at her.

Serving a dinner involves a lot of standing around doing nothing. Ai and I stood together on the kitchen side of the door to the dining room, just out of the men's sight, and waited until we were needed. It was awkward not being able to speak. After a minute I felt bold enough to touch the dragon tattoo where it wound sinuously over her shoulder. I smiled at her to let her know I was complimenting it.




Slave Girl Emily Ch. 09



She replied by smiling and touching the rose vine where it climbed between my breasts. Her fingertip lingered a few seconds. Her touch was light and warm, and the warmth seemed to spread out from where she touched me. I was happy being with her, as if this beautiful woman could somehow make me beautiful just by looking at me.

Astrid told us when it was time to serve the main course. We took away the white wineglasses and poured the red, then brought in plates with duck breast, green beans, and potatoes. We retreated to the kitchen and stood together silently while Astrid worked on the salad in the background.

Ai smiled shyly, reached out, and touched my nipple ring. She didn't have any piercings, so perhaps she didn't know what effect a touch like this could have. The pleasure radiated from my breast, up to my neck, down through my thighs. I couldn't help myself: I closed my eyes and shivered a little. She pulled the ring gently and touched my other nipple with her other hand. My nipples stiffened and grew under her hands, and I gasped at their sensitivity.

I heard Master and Mr. Watanabe talking in the next room, their voices far away. When I opened my eyes I saw Ai still looking at me, smiling, interested. She leaned forward, rested a hand just where the rose vine twined around my side, and kissed my lips. Her fragrance was faint and floral, her lips soft, neither moist nor dry. The thought of her perfect lips touching mine was intoxicating.

Astrid, deeper in the kitchen, was trying to pay no attention to us, though she'd finished with the salad. She was making herself busy with the dishes from earlier courses.

Master called for me and I hurried into the dining room. "Our water glasses need refilling," he said, and I went to the kitchen for the pitcher of ice water, which Astrid had set on the bar near the door. When I'd filled the glasses I returned to Ai, stood close to her, took one of her nipples between my fingers, and gave it a little twist. She closed her eyes and sighed, and I leaned in for a kiss while her eyes were closed. She didn't pull away; she moved a little closer so her breasts brushed mine. I put my hands on her shoulders and pulled her towards me - lightly, gently, she could have refused this gesture with almost no effort, giving no offense - but she pressed her body against mine, one hand behind my neck, one between my shoulder blades; my hands, as if on their own, slid down her back.

My tongue probed her mouth and my hands explored her back and ass. Her hands moved to the small of my back, so warm and soft, her mouth open, her tongue teasing mine. Her kiss was full of caring - I was forgetting where I was, forgetting the men in the next room, forgetting Astrid.

"Ai!" Mr. Watanabe called from the next room, and she broke away and hurried into the dining room. He barked an order - orders sound so impressive in Japanese - and she came into the kitchen, looked around, spotted a little pile of napkins on a counter, took one, and ran out again.

She returned and stood a little apart from me, the way she'd done before. I smiled at her, shy again, and she smiled back. A minute passed, and then she reached down to touch my clit ring. She said something softly in Japanese. I couldn't understand her words, but still they rang like divine poetry, her soft voice like otherworldly music. I was wet now, and her finger slipped over my clit, between my labia - her touch was different from Master's or Amanda's, but just as - 

Astrid cleared her throat and said, "I hate to interrupt, but I believe the remaining diners are finished with their main courses. Perhaps you could collect their plates and give them their salads? And Ai, it might be a good idea to wash your hands first."

I mimed hand-washing for Ai, and she washed in the sink - then we went out together and collected the dinner plates. I noticed that Ai paused in the doorway and bowed, and bowed when she'd picked up or put down a plate. Her gracefulness when she did this was breathtaking. I wondered if I could learn to bow that way. We took the dinner plates to the kitchen and returned with the salad. Then we retreated into the kitchen again. I was feeling a little abashed, and Ai looked like she felt the same way. But I couldn't help sneaking a peek at her soft, long pubic hair. Having seen it, I had to touch it, and having touched, I had to massage her clit. How I loved her silky wetness!

I was moved by her unearthly beauty, by her enslavement - it was my enslavement - by the forbiddenness of what we were doing, giving each other pleasure without the Masters' leave. I fell to my knees in front of her, and she leaned back against the wall and bent and spread her knees, giving me access to her pussy. I licked her clit softly at first, then more urgently. I heard her breathing, not quite a sigh - she was controlling herself, wanting to make no noise - till she was humping my mouth, her wetness running down my chin.

She took my head in her hands and lifted me to her. She kissed me for a few seconds and then with her small hands guided me to the floor and laid me on my side. She parted my legs, lay down, resting her head on my inner thigh, and parted her own legs for me. I pulled her pussy to me, enthralled by her straight pubic hair, her smooth little labia, her swelling clit, the mysterious, lightly downed crack hiding her anus. I was lost in the flavor and smell of her, in the overwhelming sensation of her mouth on my pussy, her tongue exploring my slit and penetrating my vagina. Somewhere in the distance someone might have been calling "Emily!" or perhaps "Ai!" but that wasn't important, only her perfect body against mine, her tongue inside me, my lips sunk into the slickness of her - 

"Emily, stop that now!" I heard Master's voice clearly. It was above me, strident and compelling, but I couldn't stop. I stabbed my tongue into Ai's vagina, humped her mouth, and heard her cry out, a high, whining cry - it was her orgasm, and the beauty of it tore at my soul. Mr. Watanabe was shouting orders in Japanese, and Ai rolled away. "No!" I sobbed, and reached for my pussy; I was seconds from coming, but Master's strong hand grasped my wrist and restrained me.

I thought, We are so in for it. Our infractions were numerous: we'd neglected our duties, given each other unauthorized sexual pleasure, failed to come when called, and refused to stop when ordered. Ai had had an orgasm, and I'd tried to masturbate without permission.

Ai sat calmly on the floor, waiting for whatever was coming. I, on the other hand, was anything but calm. My shame was cutting me up inside like knives. I groveled in front of Master, clutched his foot, and howled that I'd been bad, and I was so ashamed and afraid, and I knew I'd have to be punished.

Master crouched beside me, lifted me by the armpits, made me kneel, and said "Be quiet!" - a sharp order. I obeyed as well as I could, hiccuping and scrubbing my nose with a palm.

Mr. Watanabe said, "I can see that what you told me is true. You have quite a problem on your hands."

"Yes," said Master, "it's gone beyond being imperfect as a slave, beyond mere disobedience . . ."

"She's rebellious," said Mr. Watanabe. "She will require stern correction."

"But there's an additional difficulty here," said Astrid. I glanced up at her in surprise. She'd taken off her pants and was unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a black leather corset beneath. "You've told us that she misbehaves deliberately to make you punish her."

"So when you punish her," said Ai, her English scarcely accented, "You're rewarding bad behavior and incentivizing further rebellious acts. The effect is the opposite of what you intend."

I sat up and stared at her. Holding her collar in her hand now, she stared back at me with clinical detachment. I sniffled a little. Suddenly I felt very alone.

Astrid said, "You've got to nip this in the bud, or before you know it you'll have a complete brat on your hands."

"I thank you for your opinions," said Master. "You're confirming what I've suspected myself. But the greater problem is what to do about it. That's where I'm most in need of your advice."

"Punish her misbehavior with kindness?" asked Astrid. "Reward her with punishments?"

"I don't think that will work," said Master. "She seems to like kindness and punishment equally well."

"So our goal," said Mr. Watanabe, "must be to find a punishment for her that's actually a punishment."

"Separation often works," said Ai. "Send her to her room. Deny her your company."

Yes, that would be a punishment. I could hardly bear the thought. I whimpered and collapsed into a little heap on the floor.

"Thank you, I may try that," said Master. "But for tonight . . ."

"It wouldn't be much fun," said Astrid. "We need something we can do in your dungeon. What are her hard limits?"

"Cutting, asphyxiation, shit," said Master. "You know, edgeplay."

"And soft limits?" said Mr. Watanabe. "Whipping? Wax? Electric shocks? Insects? Interrogation? Public humiliation?"

"She doesn't have any soft limits," said Master, "or at least there are none in our contract."

"Then let's tie her up," said Astrid, "and explore a little."

They led me to the dungeon and made me stand in the center of the matted area, just below a hook in the ceiling.

Master said, "Kaito and Ai are my Shibari instructors. They are great artists."

He didn't explain anything more, but just let them work. They tied my arms and legs with intricate knots, and more knots to support my middle, until finally I was hanging in the air about two feet above the mat, my body flat, spreadeagled, face up. The thin, soft ropes were like a net encasing every part of me, supporting me everywhere, so I felt light, as if I were lying on a bed of clouds.

Ai crouched by my head and said, "Look at me, Emily."

I raised my head. Her beauty still filled me with wonder. My desire for her was undiminished - but now I wanted her to punish me.

"We're going to stuff you now," she said, and showed me a facial harness with a double dildo - a small dildo to fill my mouth and a larger one for the outside. It was an awe-inspiring thing.

"You won't be able to speak," Ai said, "but hold these keys." She pressed a set of keys into my right hand. "If you drop them, it will be like a safeword. Now open your mouth." I did as she'd said, and she inserted the dildo - it was skinlike and good. While she was buckling it behind my head, someone I couldn't see was lubricating my ass. It felt so good, I squirmed in my ropes and moaned way down in my throat; then I twitched as someone shoved a butt plug into me.

There was something at the entrance to my vagina. I could lift my head now and look - it was Mr. Watanabe, naked, shoving a big dildo into me - I wanted to shrink away from his hand, but the ropes held me and my body responded in spite of myself.

I let my head fall back in time to see Astrid approach. She'd taken her panties off and was wearing only her corset, and even though she looked upside down, she was magnificent and statuesque, a Nordic warrior goddess. She was rubbing herself, fingers deep in her slit, and the gesture made her unshaven pussy seem obscene and repugnant. I tried to turn away, but she seized the dildo, straddled me, and lowered herself onto it - I caught a glimpse of it sliding between her puffy pink folds. Then she reached down, supported me with one hand behind my head, and humped my face.

The dildo in my mouth moved in me as Astrid rode, sighing "Oh fuck!" My nose was in her crack, I couldn't get away, but the big dildo in my pussy was banging my clit and pounding my vagina, and I was awash in humiliation, sensation, and arousal. I clutched my keys hard. My body was winding up; I was about to come.

"Stop!" said Master.

Astrid stood up and stepped back. Mr. Watanabe pulled the dildo out of me. All sensation stopped. I made protesting noises down in my throat and thrashed in my ropes, jangling my keys, but there was nothing I could do to make them go on. I was completely helpless; I wanted to touch myself, but couldn't move my arms.

Master came to me, naked, cock erect. He stroked my hair, kissed my forehead, and said, "Rebellious slaves don't get orgasms, Emily. We'll take a little break and then go on with the punishment."

My four Doms stood off to the side and talked among themselves, low so I couldn't hear, casting occasional glances my way. I don't know how many minutes passed: they weren't in a hurry. But finally they came back, and Mr. Watanabe and Ai adjusted the ropes so my hips were higher than my head. Mr. Watanabe got between my legs, rolled on a condom, and rammed into me - I tried to forget him and concentrate on Ai, who was riding my face this time, her soft pubic hair tickling my chin, her ass so beautiful. Astrid stood beside me and tweaked my nipples; lightning bolts leapt between my pussy and her fingers. Master stood nearby, looking on - my need was unbearable, and I was about to come again.

But they stopped and took another break, stood aside, chatted for a while, and ignored my thrashing and whining.

They did it again and again in all kinds of combinations, the women fucking my face, or my pussy and ass with dildos, the men fucking my pussy and ass, or jerking off my facial dildo to stimulate my mouth. Again and again they brought me near orgasm, again and again they stopped, and I couldn't cry out or do anything but writhe and twitch in my ropes - the keys hurt my palm, I was clutching them so tight. By the time they stopped, my exhausted body was humming with frustrated energy. It was humiliating to be so needy in front of strangers.

Master unfastened the dildo harness - it seemed I'd been wearing it for hours - and I let the keys fall and said, "Please, Master, I need to come, let me come, Master, please."

Ai said, "She's still willful, thinking of her own pleasure instead of her Master's." She and Mr. Watanabe adjusted the ropes so my legs were drawn up, knees bent, pussy and ass exposed.

Astrid came to stand between my legs, holding a little leather cat. Her face shone with excitement. Brushing my pussy lightly with the cat, she said, "You want to be a better slave, don't you, Famula?"

"Yes," I sobbed, "I want to be good."

She raised the cat and brought it down between my legs. It was a light blow, but it stung, and I twitched in my ropes. She hit me again harder, and I cried out and tried to close my knees, but I could hardly move, I was caught in their web. She hit me harder - I heard the slap. It had stung before but now it burned, and I cried, "Stop! Please!" but that wasn't my safeword. She hit me harder and I cried "No!" a drawn-out wail, but that wasn't my safeword either. As she found the rhythm and intensity she wanted, the slaps resounding in the dungeon, I was forgetting the rest of my body and all the world, and my whole being was fiery pussy. I had to be screaming but I couldn't hear myself, and in a second I was going to come - at least there was that.

But she stopped. I cried, "No! No! No!" I flailed violently, trying to escape the ropes, but they held fast.

Now Ai was standing between my legs holding a lighted candle. She said, "You're still thinking only of your own sensations. You must forget yourself. Here's your Master: give him pleasure and ignore the pain."

Master came to me, his cock enormous, engorged, and lustful. He picked up the keys and put them in my hand again. He stood above my head, ran his fingers through my hair, looked into my eyes, smiled his kindly smile, and said, "Open your lovely mouth, Famula."

I opened my mouth wide as he straddled my face and put one hand behind my head. With his other hand he guided his cock into my mouth, just a couple of inches. He paused a few seconds - I could feel the pulse in him - then thrust in hard, cutting off my air, bruising my throat. My eyes teared up as he thrust into me, holding my head in both hands, grunting with the strain of it, balls slapping my nose. It hurt, the pressure, the battering, and I knew he was owning my pain together with my face, mouth, and throat.

And then my pussy burned as Ai dripped wax onto my mound, onto my clit and into my slit. I was already raw from the whipping, I wanted to scream, but I had no voice because Master's cock was stopping me up. I held my keys and remembered to think of him and his pleasure, even as I gasped around his cock. With each drip the pain burst like a rocket, flared and slowly faded into warm pleasure. My body convulsed as Master thrust cruelly, his excitement building as he watched Ai torture my pussy.

I couldn't ignore the searing pain blazing through my body. But I could sense their happiness, Master's as he panted and groaned, cock plunging, Ai's as she exclaimed "Aa!" at my spasms and moans, and Astrid's and Mr. Watanabe's as they stroked themselves nearby. The last thing that flashed into my mind, as I dropped into subspace, was that this scene, all the things they were doing to my body, my pain and humiliation, these things weren't about correcting me or even about punishing me, but all about their pleasure.

And it was like sunlight flooding into this dark dungeon. Their delight in my torment, in my twisting and choking and gagging, my welts and red skin, my frustration and bottomless unmet need, filled me with a joy so great, it was like this place was heaven and I'd become an angel.

They were all coming, Master deep in my throat, the others grinning and masturbating as they looked on, and I still hadn't come, but I didn't care now - I loved my Master and I loved them all.

They untied me and let me drop to the mat. I couldn't even stand, but just lay curled up and listened to their talk.

Mr. Watanabe said, "You must never allow an infraction to go unpunished. That only encourages more serious infractions."

Ai said, "She's a fine slave, but a slave of this kind requires frequent correction to keep her unruly tendencies in check."

"I agree," said Astrid. "If you find you're not punishing two or three times a week, that probably means your rules are too lax."

"And the best punishment for this slave is surely corporal," added Mr. Watanabe.

"It appears that we're all in agreement here," said Ai. "Strictest possible enforcement of rules and liberal use of corporal punishment is likely to produce the best results with this slave."

So it was Master they'd corrected and not me. A rivulet of my wetness trickled over a thigh as Master said, "Thank you all for your friendship and thoughtful recommendations. I'll certainly do as you suggest."

By the time they were done talking, I was strong enough to wobble along behind them, up to the foyer, where they hugged, kissed, and said goodnight. Ai glanced at me briefly and smiled, and I melted inside. Her smile told me so much: that I existed for her and for them all, and their play tonight had been full of love for me. They'd organized their whole night around me, and the pleasure they'd taken in playing with my head and my body was the greatest gift they could have given me.

Master closed the door behind them and said, "Go to the kitchen and eat something. Then come to my bedroom."

I found leftovers from Astrid's dinner in the refrigerator and ate a few bites cold, washing it down with water. I remembered the look of her pussy and shuddered. I thought of Master to drive the image out of my head. Done eating, I went upstairs to Master's bedroom. He was naked in bed, reading.

"Do you want a shower?" Master asked.

"I want to do what Master tells me," I said.

"Then come and lie with me on the bed," he said, throwing off the sheet.

I lay beside him, happiness surging inside me.

"I want to do something for you," he said. "What would you like me to do?"




Slave Girl Emily Ch. 09



"I want Master to do what gives him pleasure," I said. I couldn't look at him, afraid I'd cry for joy.

"Open your legs," he said. "Your pussy gives me pleasure."

I did as instructed. He sat up, bent over me, and carefully removed the solidified wax from my mound, my labia, my clit, and all inside. He did it tenderly, knowing that his every motion was stimulation. Then he lay between my legs and licked my sensitive pussy, his tongue soft, his lips gentle. When he sensed I was going to come soon, he climbed my body, entered me, and fucked me slowly and gently, considerate of my raw flesh, till I came, sighing "Master!" my body finding blessed relief after a long day of frustrated arousal. His cock throbbed and spurted, I could feel it, and I was completely his slave.

He held me then and said, "Do you understand that I love you, Emily?"

I thought he must love me, to bring so many people together to punish me. I said, "Yes, Master, and I love you more than all the world."

He said, "I still haven't punished you for what you did with my place setting. It's a good thing tomorrow's Saturday. It may take a good part of the morning."

I was too full of happiness to speak.

"I want you to sleep in my bed with me tonight, Emily," he said.

"Master, I - "

"It's a command," he said. "Don't argue."

I sighed and lay still. I listened to his breathing till it became regular, and then I let myself go and fell into a deep sleep.



Slave Girl Emily Ch. 10



Author's note: Here's Chapter Ten of "Slave Girl Emily." I hope there's enough naughtiness here to satisfy, but the main business of this chapter is to deliver what the classicist Master Andrew would call the "catastasis" - the part of a story that heaps up complications to be resolved in the "catastrophe" (the story's climax and resolution). In other words, we're going to shake things up a bit before we end in Ch. 11.

Emily (scene name Famula) is a consensual slave who's now on her third Master - Christopher, an NYU professor. She likes impact play, while he prefers gentler pursuits, such as pet play. The resulting conflict came to a head in Ch. 9, when Christopher invited several friends over to advise him on his Emily problem and play an elaborate mind game with her. Emily enjoyed the evening, though she was disturbed by certain aspects of it. Tags: Voyeurism, Wax play, Oral sex, Lesbian sex, Slave.

* * *


Probes and nipple clamps on again, dialed up to high. He's going to kill me, holding that vibrator to my clit.

"Fuck," I moan.

How long have I been here? An hour? A week? I was a good girl, made my parents proud. He said, "How do I pay what I owe?" They never even frowned, even if they didn't like Bobby much. Small-town valedictorian, so smart. I remember that place. Playgrounds, parks, they let me run. I used to daydream about being arrested and handcuffed. I smiled a little smile and said, "Tie me up."

"Pee," I say.

"What?" he says.

"Got to pee."

All that passive aggressive shit, better he hit me with a baseball bat. Great student, lab work always perfect, even if I looked silly with that purple streak. ". . . and make me safeword," I said. They thought I'd be happy if I was free. They didn't know shit about me. He grinned and said, "You think I can't." Give me the third degree, slam me up against a wall. Running like crazy, I'm only just getting acquainted with myself.

The vibrator buzzes louder, and he presses it hard against my clit. "You can piss whenever you want," he says.

"No - "

". . . but I can," he said. I know who he is. I chose him. I didn't think he could.

I don't recognize this place.

* * *

That same night, I dreamed that five men were gang raping me. A few days before, I'd watched an online video with a porn star pretending to struggle while five men slapped and spanked her, filled all her holes at once, called her whore and slut, and degraded her in awful ways. I'd been horrified and fascinated, and I'd wondered what it would feel like to be that girl. In my dream, I was that girl, but I really was trying to get away, not pretending. They held me and tore into me - mouth, pussy, and ass - with grotesque cocks like huge tree branches. I couldn't fight or escape, and when they came they just kept coming and coming on my body, and their cum rose all around me, a viscous tide, till I was drowning in it. I woke up gasping for breath, saw Master sleeping peacefully beside me, and was comforted.

After breakfast next morning, Master took me to the dungeon and paddled me soundly for setting his place wrong the night before. As I lay in his arms afterwards, he said, "Why don't you go out and do something fun? Go to some stores and spend a lot of money. Stop thinking about Master for a little while."

"I never stop thinking about Master," I said. "But I'd like to go shopping."

I didn't want anything, but it was nice to visit the stores and see what the big-name designers thought I should be wearing. I wandered through Saks, admiring the displays and being ignored by the sales staff, till I stopped short near one of the counters in the vast perfume department. Was that Andrew behind the counter, holding a little bottle and talking earnestly to an elegant middle-aged lady? I hung back and watched. There was no mistake. That was definitely Andrew, holding the lady spellbound. I moved a little farther away and browsed a few of the nearby displays, praying that a salesperson wouldn't approach me before he was free.

Fortune smiled on me. The lady paid for something and moved off, and I approached the counter while Andrew was putting the sample away. As he straightened up, I said, "I'm looking for something kind of narcissistic and self-destructive. Got anything like that?"

He stared for a few seconds, and it occurred to me that I'd been a mousy brown-haired college girl last time he'd seen me. I was fooling myself if I thought a little makeup, hair dye, and ink could make me beautiful.

"Emily," he said. "How are you?"

"Good," I said. "And you?"

"Good." He didn't look good. He seemed to be turning green.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I must be like the memory of a nightmare."

"No, no," he said, recovering a little. "It's great to see you."

"Do you have a coffee break coming up?" I asked. "It'd be nice to catch up."

He brightened a little more. "Actually, I get off in a half hour. Meet me here?"

He led me the short distance to the Starbucks at Rockefeller Center, where he ordered a latte for me and black coffee for himself. We found a table, and I took a good look at him. I found I remembered him accurately - especially those penetrating gray eyes. He seemed as dangerous as he'd ever been.

He told me he'd taken a year off to work and plan his life, and now he was rooming with friends on Morningside Heights and getting ready to begin graduate study in Classics at Columbia.

"You've graduated, of course," he said. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'm still pretty devoted to my kinks. I'm living with a man - a Master - down in the Village. My parents are totally in despair about me. I've become this disreputable tattooed girl with an expensive education and no ambition - whatever happened to their sweet, clever daughter?"

"She's gotten more beautiful," Andrew said, and turned red.

I blushed too, and said, "Thanks. But you had a point about me, you know? I'm going to have to get on with my life soon. I'm really happy, but eventually I've got to start a career, or at least get a job."

"You had a point, too," he said. "You've got to get on with your life, like everyone else, but there's no law that says it has to be a vanilla life."

We were quiet. We'd come too close to forbidden territory.

"So what about you?" I asked. "Have you met the love of your life yet?"

"Not yet," he said. "I've been out with a few women, but I haven't clicked with any of them. For a few weeks last winter I actually thought I had a relationship, but she dumped me."

"Too bossy?" I asked, smiling.

"She didn't say," he said, "but I have a suspicion. It's an aspect of my personality I need to work on."

"Or not," I said. A little ripple of pleasure rolled through me.

He was still in touch with friends I'd lost track of, and he filled me in on the gossip. Then we fell into an awkward silence. I wondered if we inhabited different universes now, or if we'd just run out of topics that weren't minefields.

He said, "Do you think we could stay in touch? I mean, if I wrote you an email now and then, would you answer?"

"I think so," I said. "I can't keep any secrets from Master, so it'd have to be all right with him."

"I'll write to you," he said, "and you can just tell me if I shouldn't do it again."

Walking along 50th Street to catch the subway back to Grove Street, I skipped every few steps. He was still so Andrew - ordering me a latte without bothering to ask what I wanted. I hoped he'd follow through on his promise to email, and I hoped Master would let me write back.

I was so preoccupied with thoughts of Andrew that I was halfway up the front steps before I noticed the figure huddled in Master's doorway.

"Amanda!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

She tried to speak, but burst into tears. I took her inside, led her to the kitchen, sat her at the bar, and made tea. Finally she collected herself enough to say, "They're not renewing my contract," and then broke down again.

I set her tea down and sat next to her. "Why?" I said. "Did they say?"

Again she could hardly speak. "They took over Pipit," she said. "She's their new toilet slave. This was like five days ago. I couldn't stand her. She was so mean to me. I told Mistress, and I thought she'd make her go. But today she told me I'd have to move out instead. I was so ashamed, I couldn't wait for the contract to end at the end of the month. I just left."

"Do you have any place to go?"

"She said they'd find me a place, but I don't think I can live by myself."

"Poor baby," I said, and hugged her. "But how did Pipit end up with them?"

"I don't know," she said. "Master and Mistress invited her and Master Frederick over to dinner, and they played with her in the playroom, and Mistress took her to the bathroom - "

She buried her face in her hands and couldn't speak for a minute. I rubbed her back.

"And then a couple days later she was just there." She put her head down in her arms, and her shoulders shook.

"Oh, Emily," she said, "What am I going to do?"

"I don't know, sweetie," I said. "We'll figure something out."

The front door opened, and I ran to present myself to Master. He embraced and kissed me, but he must have sensed the tension in me, because he said, "What's the matter?"

"Amanda's here," I said. "They threw her out."

He frowned. "I didn't give you permission to bring her here," he said.

"She just showed up. I found her on the front stoop. I couldn't send her away - she's got no place to go."

"What'll we do with her?"

"Can't we put her up for a few days, Master? I'll take care of her. She won't be any trouble."

"I suppose we'll have to. Make it clear to her that she's not a slave or sub here. Feed her in the kitchen and give her the third-floor bedroom. Taking care of her will be in addition to your other responsibilities. Do not have sex with her without my permission. And keep her out of my way."

"Yes, Master."

"Now bring me a drink."

"Yes, Master."

I told Amanda what Master had said while I made his drink. "Stay in the kitchen for now. I'll show you your room later, and then you'd better just stay there except when I tell you it's all right to come out."

"Thank you, Emily," she said meekly.

"Everything's going to be all right, honey," I said, and gave her a pat. It occurred to me that I was trying out pet names for her. Without a contract or any acknowledgment of it, she was becoming my sub and my responsibility, and there wasn't a thing either Master or I could do about it.

I took Master his drink, and he retreated to his study while I made dinner. I set a plate for Amanda at the kitchen bar and went to get Master. When I returned to the kitchen, she was sitting on the floor with her plate. I was glad to see she was using a knife and fork.

As Master ate and fed me, he told me he'd called Frederick. "He went with Pipit to dinner at Daniel and Karen's place, and a couple days later she just disappeared," he said. "The next day Daniel visited him in his office, told him that Karen wanted to take on Pipit as a slave, and gave him a check for fifty thousand dollars. He sounded pretty devastated."

"Amanda said Pipit was Karen's toilet slave," I said.

"I don't have to tell you that Daniel and Karen are immensely wealthy," Master said. "You've seen their place. Frankly, it doesn't surprise me if Pipit was drawn to that kind of wealth, or if it induced her to do things she'd normally find repugnant. But I wouldn't have thought her the kind to break a contract."

After dinner I took Amanda to the third-floor room, gave her some of my clothes, and told her to stay there till I came to get her in the morning. Master and I played in the dungeon, and I spent the night in my cage.

The next morning, as I was with Master at breakfast, I said, "Master?"

"Yes, Emily?"

"Would you think about allowing Amanda to stay with us? I don't think she has any other friends."

"Surely Daniel and Karen will provide for her somehow. They'll give her a place to stay. It's the only decent thing to do."

"She can't live alone, Master. She can't take care of herself. She'd get into a frenzy and do all kinds of risky things. She's done it before. She could get sick and die. She'll eat anything."

He studied me. "It would be complicated. She obviously looks at you as her Dominant. How can you have a sub if you're a slave yourself?"

"I don't know, Master. I haven't thought it all through. But you like her, don't you, Master? Maybe we could try it on a trial basis. Just a few days at a time. I think you'd like playing with her."

"She's a sweet girl," he said thoughtfully, "despite her kinks, which are rather off-putting. You're probably right that she can't take care of herself. I'll think about it."

I jumped up and gave him a hug. "Thank you, Master."

After he'd left for work, I went to get Amanda and fed her breakfast. That morning, a courier brought a box for her. It contained her clothing (she had little, and it was all black), a bottle of the mouthwash she used, a vial of pills with a label showing the name of the kink-friendly physician who'd prescribed them, and a few other things.

We weren't allowed to have sex together, but Amanda was able to help with my chores - she was more useful this time - and we got them done quickly. Then we lounged and chatted for much of the afternoon.

When we heard the front door open, Amanda retreated to the kitchen and I went to greet Master. He said, "Bring Mouche to the living room."

I brought her to him. She looked frightened.

He said, "Mouche, Emily has asked me if you can stay here for a while. Would you like that?"

"Yes, sir," she said.

"You would have to be a slave here. Are you willing to be my slave?"

"I'd like to be your slave, sir," she said, glancing at me.

He drew a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "Look this over. It's a one-week slave contract. If it's agreeable to you, we can sign, and you'll enter my service immediately. We can renew for a longer term if it's agreeable to both of us."

I looked over it with her. She'd be Master's slave, but I'd be her overseer. Master would have all the rights that Masters usually have over slaves. The contract gave Master the right to lend her for play and sex with others and gave her no power to object. There were no limits written into the contract, but there were spaces to add them at the end, and she requested a few. She asked for a pen and signed, and master signed too.

At dinner, Master made Amanda take her clothes off and eat from a dog bowl while I wore clothes, knelt beside him, and was fed tidbits from his plate. I guessed that he was signaling that her status in the household was lower than mine. It made me uncomfortable, though I knew it was true.

That night, after dinner, Master again made Amanda and me play and have sex while he watched. After Amanda had been sent upstairs to bed, he made love to me in his bed before sending me to my cage for the night. I lay awake a long time and worried about whether our reconfigured family could be made to work, and what would happen to Amanda if it couldn't.

After Master left for work the next morning, I checked my email and found three interesting messages. This was the first:

Dear Emily,

On second thought, I think it would be a mistake for us to try to stay in touch. Seeing you yesterday confirmed what I figured out a long time ago: that you were right about everything, and I fucked up badly when I let you go. I don't want to be the melancholy ex who never got over it but keeps hanging around - a sad stereotype from a bad sitcom.

Don't write back. I just wanted you to know so you wouldn't think I was being rude.

Andrew

I was tempted to write back anyway, but decided on second thought that it would be kinder not to. This was the second email:

Dear Emily,

If you're feeling Schadenfreude now, I can't blame you. I believed I was justified in what I did because I thought I understood love and knew you and Pipit. But it turns out I didn't know anything at all. If I were in your place, I don't think I could forgive, so I won't ask for forgiveness. But I thought I'd apologize anyway.

Yours ever,
Frederick

His distress didn't make me happy, but I wasn't ready to forgive him yet either. I couldn't think of anything to say to him, so I didn't write back. This was the third email:

Famula,

Are you free for lunch today? If so, please come to my apartment at noon. I have already secured permission from your Master. Mouche is also welcome.

Ai

Her address, not far away in the Village, was in the signature line. I wrote back to say I'd be delighted to come to lunch and Amanda would come with me.

The man who answered Ai's door wore a collar. He was young, well built, and - strangely, despite being naked and completely hairless - dignified. He smiled warmly and showed us into the simple and elegantly furnished apartment. Ai rose gracefully from a sofa as we entered. She was wearing a lovely black dress with a floral pattern. Her presence was as powerful as it had been two nights ago: I glanced at Amanda, who was staring at her with a glazed look.

Ai showed us to a table with three place mats. The slave brought us soup and stood by as we began to eat. I couldn't help stealing glances at his trim, strong body. "Your slave is very impressive," I said.

Ai said, "Thank you. He's quite accomplished. In the Beauty novels, the male slaves are required to maintain erections at all times, but of course that's a fantasy. It can't be done. But I require my male slaves to become erect on demand. Inkei?"

The slave stepped close to the table and stared at Ai. Amanda and I watched, fascinated, as his cock slowly grew and lifted till it was standing straight out.

"It's really big," Amanda whispered.

Ai said, "Yes, this is the biggest one I own. Thank you, Inkei. I'll reward you later."

He smiled and left the room.

"Do you have many slaves, Mistress?" I asked.

"Five at present," she said. "Four men and one woman. But Inkei is the only one living in right now."

I tried to imagine having five lovers at my beck and call, but couldn't. "Why so many?" I asked, and then quickly added, "I hope it's not rude to ask."

"Not at all," she said. "Part of it is simply that so many submissives are available. You may not know this, because you've been fortunate, but true Dominants are quite rare. Most of the men claiming to be Dominants are frauds, and most of the women are prostitutes. Submissives, both men and women, are much more numerous, so it's easy for a true Dominant to acquire a number of them - and a service to the community as well."

Inkei brought out bowls of rice for us. His erection had mostly subsided.

"And then," Ai continued, "different slaves have different attributes and abilities. Inkei has an exceptionally large member, as Mouche noticed: it feels delicious in me. I have a cunnilingus expert: he's highly skilled and content to do it for hours on end - with short breaks. I've trained one as a masseur; another has an insatiable appetite for my excreta. I like men best, but I always have to have at least one woman on hand, because the female body delights me so."

"Do they stay long?" I asked. Inkei brought plates with small portions of fish and a tasty-looking vegetable that I couldn't identify.

"All of my contracts run for one year," Ai said. She reached out, took Inkei's cock in her hand, and stroked it gently. He stood still and closed his eyes. "Normally I don't renew. I help my slaves find Dominants or owners, and mostly I'm able to leave them well matched. However, I'm so very fond of Inkei that I'm thinking of renewing him for another year."




Slave Girl Emily Ch. 10



He'd become fully erect again.

I said, "Don't you ever wish for more permanent relationships?"

"One must distinguish among the important things in life," she said. "Sex is one thing, play is another, and warm and deep relationships are a third. It's perfectly all right to find these things in different places. Of course, they're not mutually exclusive. I have many friends, and I play and have sex with several of them. I maintain warm friendships with a number of former slaves." She looked directly at me and said, "I take my friendships very seriously." My heart beat a little faster.

Mistress Ai let go of Inkei's cock, and he collected our dishes.

When the table was bare, Ai said to me, "How do you feel about our play the other night, Famula?"

"It was intense, Mistress. I liked it."

"Your Master shared you with three people. How did you feel about that?"

"I had mixed feelings, Mistress. I liked you, but I felt as if I'd chosen you - even though I understand now that I didn't really."

"You did, really, and I chose you. But you didn't like having sex with the others?"

"Master hadn't let me have an orgasm all day, Mistress, and I was too aroused to object, but I kept feeling stabs of shame. And I had a terrible nightmare that night, about being gang raped. I don't want to be in that position again."

"Yes, I can see that. There's a world of difference between taking lovers" (she smiled at Amanda) "and being given to strangers."

"Master promised he wouldn't ask me to do it very often. And our contract gives me the right to refuse to be lent."

"I'm sure he meant that when he said it," Ai said, "but he's a voyeur, as all his friends know. Why don't you know this? Did you vet him?"

"He gave me some names and phone numbers," I said, feeling a little ashamed, "but I didn't follow up."

"You were careless," she said, "and took an unnecessary risk. I don't think you're in danger of physical harm with Christopher, but you're still in danger. He managed to keep himself in check for a long time, but now that you've allowed him to share you once, he'll exert a good bit of pressure to make you do it again. You can't suppress your kinks for long."

"He's making Amanda and me play and make love while he watches," I said, putting one hand on Amanda's. "It makes me a little uncomfortable."

"What are you going to do about it?" Ai asked.

"I don't know, Mistress," I said.

"It's disturbing," Ai said. "Everyone is mismatched now. Pipit was an excellent slave for Christopher. She's enthusiastically poly, and that agreed with him very well. But she's not a toilet slave, which is what Karen needs. You were good for Frederick, and the two of you shared a love of impact play. Mouche was right for Karen and Daniel, and they could deliver the kind of care she needs. It would be best all around if everyone just went back to where they were in December, though I don't suppose that's likely."

"I love Master," I said. "I'd really like to make things work with him."

"Christopher is a dear, sweet man," she said, "and a caring Master, but he needs a promiscuous woman. I don't say that critically; it's just the way he is. But he's going to try to make you into something you don't want to be. Again I'll ask, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Mistress."

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Please, Mistress."

"Simply tell him that you will no longer agree to be lent or shared. Tell him also that you'll no longer have sex with Mouche at his direction because you consider that to be lending."

Amanda whined a little.

"Don't worry," said Ai. "It will all come out right."

"But what if he objects?" I said.

"If he objects," she said, "then either you'll negotiate a more satisfactory agreement or terminate your contract. If he doesn't object, your problem is largely solved. Then you have only to negotiate a clause allowing you to have Mouche as a lover. If the worst happens, I'm confident we can find an excellent match for you."

"It's scary," I said.

She said, "The alternative is to become the woman he wants to make you into. I don't believe you want to be that woman."

"You're right," I said. "But can I ask you one more question?"

"Certainly," she said.

"I believe your advice is sincere, but I don't know why you're bothering to give it to me. You hardly know me. Why are you taking such an interest in me?"

"I'd like to be your friend," she said. "I want the best for you - and Christopher as well. Now, would you like to play? I thought we might have some fun with wax."

"Ooh!" Amanda said, and clapped her hands.

Ai's playroom contained several hooks in the ceiling, a low padded table, a chair, a cabinet, and Inkei, who stood against a wall awaiting instructions.

"Let's all get naked," said Ai. We undressed, and Inkei collected our clothing, carried it away, and returned a few seconds later. Amanda stared at Ai's dragon tattoo.

"Let's see," said Ai. "Mouche, you lie on the table. Inkei will oil your body. He's not my massage slave, but he's very good."

Amanda lay on her stomach, and Inkei smoothed oil all over her - neck, back, buttocks, legs. Then she turned over, and he did the same for her front, not sparing her breasts and mound. She sighed, and his cock was fully erect by the time he was done.

"Inkei likes you, Mouche," said Ai. "There's plenty of him to go around, if you'd like him to service you later."

Amanda made her mewing noise.

Ai dimmed the overhead lighting and lit three large candles - red, yellow, and blue. She said, "Famula, Inkei has prepared your canvas. Try making some art."

"What do I need to know?" I asked.

"Just start by holding the candle a couple of feet above the skin, and avoid the face," Ai said.

I picked up the red candle, tapped a spot between Amanda's breasts, and said, "I'm going to aim for right here." I held up the candle as Ai had instructed, tilted it, and a drop fell near where I was aiming. "Oh," she sighed.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"A little," she said. "It's nice."

"It's pretty when it makes streaks on the breasts," said Ai helpfully.

I tried dripping the wax on Amanda's breasts. With a little practice I could make the wax run down in lovely rivulets. I covered both breasts entirely with wax, alternating colors for an attractive effect. I moved from breasts to stomach ("Avoid the navel," Ai advised, "it's hard to clean out"). I worked up one thigh and then the other.

"Is your pussy ready, baby?" I said.

"Yes, Emily," she whispered.

She twitched as I dripped wax onto her mound, and then she pulled her labia apart so I could drip the wax into her slit. She squirmed and mewed, but didn't flinch.

"Nice?" I asked.

"Yeah," she sighed.

I dripped different colors into her pussy and all around, covering outer and inner labia and mound.

"It makes your pussy even prettier," I said.

Ai said, "It feels good when you peel it off of oiled skin. Start with the breasts."

Amanda sighed as I carefully peeled the wax off everywhere I'd dripped it, drawing out the process to prolong the pleasure. Then Ai said, "Your turn, Famula." Amanda got up, and I lay on my front. Inkei's hands were warm, confident, and sensuous as he smoothed the oil over my back, buttocks, and legs, then everywhere in front. He didn't linger over my breasts and mound - he was a well trained slave.

His cock was hard again as he retreated to the wall, where Amanda crouched beside him, staring. Ai said, "You may, Mouche." Amanda moved around to the front of him and, without any preliminaries, took his cock in her mouth. He closed his eyes and looked happy.

Ai dripped some wax onto my thigh and said, "I started with your pussy the other night, so you didn't get a sense of how subtle the pain of the wax could be. And the melting point of these candles is quite low compared to some."

Every now and then I glanced at Amanda, who was expertly deep throating Inkei. I wondered if I could do it with a cock that big.

Ai dripped some more wax: it made a little spot of intense heat, followed by a streak of sensual warmth. She worked her way up my thigh, not quite to my crotch, and then moved to one of my breasts - the one without the ring. She raised the candle high and held it, waiting. It was scary, my body was revving up, adrenalin coursing into my bloodstream; and when she finally tipped the candle and the wax dripped, almost but not quite, onto my nipple, the heat radiated all through me. "Oh, that's good," I said.

The next drop hit my nipple - there was a flash of pain, and then it was a warm finger tracing a line towards my armpit. More and more, she switched candles, pleasing herself with the different colors, and held them closer to my skin, making the sensation more intense, flame arcing through my body.

I looked over at Amanda, still sucking Inkei's cock: he looked as if he was struggling to keep himself under control. Ai looked around too and said, "It's all right, Inkei." Within seconds his breathing grew deep and labored, his chest heaved, and Amanda coughed and spluttered.

"Inkei produces prodigious amounts of semen," Ai said. "I've been encouraging him to bequeath his prostate to medical science, but as he has no other possessions, he's reluctant to have a will drawn up for that sole purpose."

Inkei's cock was shrinking now as Amanda licked it lovingly. Ai moved to my pussy and dripped wax onto my mound, again starting with the candle high and slowly moving it closer. My labia were still a little chafed and sensitive, and the wax burned and stimulated as it dripped down in and around my slit, making me groan and writhe. It was an effort not to reach for my clit.

Finally Ai said, "Mouche, do you want to clean Famula? Come, Inkei." She lay on the floor and spread her legs, and Inkei obediently went down on her. Already his cock was getting hard again.

Amanda's eyes shone as she approached me. The wax peeled off my oiled skin easily, but she went slowly and massaged me gently where the wax had sensitized my thigh and breast. When she'd cleaned the wax off my nipple, she sucked and licked it, and it was the best feeling I'd ever had there. She did the same for my pussy, too, when she'd peeled off the wax, and brought me to a soft and delicious climax.

We cuddled and watched Inkei service Ai: he lay on his back now, and she was riding him. After several minutes she had a quiet and dignified orgasm, and then she stood and said, "That's enough, Inkei. You'll have a generous reward tonight." He got up and returned to his station along the wall.

Mistress Ai turned and looked at me. "I hope we can play again," she said, "as friends, the way we did today."

"I'd like that, Mistress," I said, knowing that being Ai's friend could never mean being her equal. She would always be the Dominant, whether we were drinking tea or playing, whether I was the bottom or the top. I liked this new friendship.

"Why don't you two run along and have a nice shower," she said. "You'll find towels under the sink." When we got to the bathroom I realized I needed to pee. A sub like Amanda comes with responsibilities, which I'd been neglecting since her arrival. I took care of her now, and we showered together and had fun soaping each other up and picking off the last of the wax. Then we got dressed and returned to Ai.

It was time to go. Ai saw us to the door and said, "Now tell me once more what you're going to say to Christopher."

* * *

"I won't agree to be lent out anymore," I said.

We were in his study. He was sitting in a big leather armchair, and I sat cross legged on the floor in front of him.

"It's in your contract that I can lend you," he said.

"And that I can refuse to be lent. I'm telling you now that I will always refuse, so you may as well not ask."

"Why is this, Emily?"

"Because I felt horrible after our party the other night."

"You seemed all right. You were happy at the end of the evening."

"It gave me a nightmare, and I realized that I don't want to be the kind of girl who has sex for somebody else's pleasure."

"You have sex with me to please me."

"You're my Master, and it's my pleasure to please you. And sex with you also pleases me, in case you haven't noticed."

"You have sex with Mouche to please me."

"I won't do that anymore, Master. It doesn't feel right."

He sat back in his chair and studied me, thinking behind steepled fingers. At last he said, "I won't give you permission to have sex with her merely for your own pleasure."

"Master has that right."

"I don't have any other use for her. Frankly, I find the idea of having sex with her myself repellent. There's no point in my renewing her contract at the end of the week. She'll have to go."

I thought Mistress Ai had probably envisioned this conversation as a chess game, but if so she'd been mistaken: the game was chicken. I studied Master's face: it was set and determined. He looked the way I felt.

"You're saying that to pressure me," I said, "because you know I'm responsible for her and won't let her be on her own and die. But it won't work. If she goes, I go."

His face went rigid. For the first time since January, he was really angry. "Very well, then," he said. "You go." He rose abruptly and left the room, leaving me stunned on the floor.

I breathed deeply. This was no time to be losing my head. I went upstairs and collected Amanda. I said, "We're not welcome here anymore. We're leaving tonight."

"Where'll we go?" she said.

"We'll try Mistress Ai," I said, and tried to call her, but I could only leave a message.

"We can go to a hotel," said Amanda.

"The only credit card I have is his," I said.

"I have one," she said.

I looked at her in surprise. "Wonder girl," I said. The Washington Square Hotel was the closest I could think of. I called up and got us a room. We threw changes of clothing for her and me into an overnight bag and left the house.

In our hotel room, Amanda fell asleep quickly, but I lay beside her for much of the night thinking of angry things I wished I'd said to Christopher. When I couldn't think of any more I worked on angry things to say to Frederick. It was after three when I fell asleep.

* * *

Mistress Ai called in the morning and ordered us over to her place. My phone rang as we were walking there. It was Christopher, and I didn't answer. Seeing his name on the screen just pissed me off.

Another naked male slave, also hairless, let us into the apartment. Ai greeted us in her living room and said, "Thank you, Kuso." He silently disappeared.

"Christopher just called," she said. "Of course he's beside himself and full of self-recriminations and apologies. He realizes how foolish he's been. He'll make any concession to get you back."

I said, "He can go fuck himself."

"He really loves you, and I believe his contrition is genuine. It might be possible for you to find happiness with him, if he could find another way to satisfy his voyeuristic urges. But you have a choice."

"Are you talking about Frederick?"

"He's desperate to have you back. He's been in despair, thinking there's no chance of it. He figured out that he'd made a mistake long before Pipit ran away."

"And there's Andrew," I murmured.

"Andrew?"

I told her about Andrew.

"If you know him well, he's a real possibility," she said. "But he sounds naive. That makes him risky."

"They're all risky, aren't they?" I said. "At least Andrew and I were together and happy for more than a year. But they've all hurt me. I don't know if I can trust any of them."

Ai said, "People are imperfect, and when you're talking about someone as powerful as a Dom, there's the potential for ordinary human frailties to become magnified and do great harm. I know it's easy for me to say, being a Dominant myself, but it's worth considering the possibility that exposing yourself to the risk of that kind of harm is actually one of your greatest sources of pleasure."

What she was saying made sense. "Danger does excite me," I said, getting a little excited.

"It's true," she continued, "that these men all hurt you. But the two I know are eager to learn from their mistakes and have you back on your own terms. They have their flaws, but they're good Masters, and with a good submissive, one who truly understands the power dynamics of the relationship, they can learn to be better. They're well off, too. Not Christian Greys," she said with a smile, "but comfortable. Does your Andrew have money?"

"I don't think so," I said. "He's been working in the perfume department at Saks."

"You don't have to worry about money," said Amanda. "I have lots."

I stared at her.

"I lived with Daniel and Karen for four years," she said. "They're rich, you know. They put something in an account for me every month. Daniel said it grew. There's a lot there now."

"But that's yours, Amanda," I said.

She shrugged. "I don't really want it," she said. "I want to belong to you, Emily."

"I don't want it either," I sighed. "I want to own nothing at all and belong to a Master."

"There are three good men who want to own you," Ai said. "Just pick one - or if none of them will do, we'll work on finding a fourth."

I thought about the three of them: my stumbling, fun start in BDSM with Andrew, Frederick's strength, Christopher's elegance. Ai was right: they had all been good Masters, even if they'd made mistakes. It wouldn't be easy to forgive them, but I thought I could do it.

"I'll have to think about this," I said. "Maybe sleep on it."

"You'll stay with me till you've decided," said Ai.

We stayed and played with wax again. This time I dripped the wax on Amanda's bottom and back and removed it by flogging it off her, and Ai did the same for me. Amanda hit it off with Kuso, another genuine toilet slave, and while they were discussing their shared interests, Ai gave me important pointers about the care and feeding of that particular kind of slave.

I lay awake much of the night, trying to decide among the three Masters who wanted me. In the morning, over breakfast, Ai said, "Well, you've slept on it. Have you made a decision?"

"I'm afraid not, Mistress," I said. "Each of them has lots of good qualities and at least one important drawback. I don't know what to do."

"I thought you might have trouble deciding," said Ai, "and I'm ready with another suggestion. Do you want to hear it?"



Slave Girl Emily Ch. 11: End



Author's note: Here's the final chapter of "Slave Girl Emily." Acknowledgments are at the end. It's way too late to provide a summary of the story so far; rather, I'll just say that the end of Ch. 10 left Emily unable to choose among the three Masters who want to own her. Tags: Slave, Bondage, Exhibitionism, Orgasm denial, Teasing, Punishment, Collaring, Straight sex, Lesbian sex.

***** 

This isn't subspace. Where is it ... hell? I can't see ... can't hear. Pain ... stimulation - they're the same. Mouth open ... dry ... tongue thick. Need to speak ... can't make words.

Except one.

"Satis!" I cry. It's my safeword, the one Andrew gave me so long ago - Latin for "Enough!" I've told it to each of my Masters, but I've never used it or understood its true power. In an instant, it changes everything.

It only takes Master a minute, here in Ai's playroom, to lower me to the floor and extract me, weak and trembling, from the ropes, take out the probes, and detach the nipple clamps. He gathers me up in his arms - my head rests on his shoulder - and carries me to the bathroom, where he sets me on the toilet and runs the bath while I pee. He shakes in some bath salts and pulls up his sleeve to test the temperature with his wrist.

I wipe myself and try to get up, but my legs won't hold me. I fall back onto the toilet seat. Master picks me up again - how strong he is! - and lifts me into the bath. He sits by the tub, watches, and waits, saying nothing. I close my eyes, soak, and feel the bathwater work on my sore skin and muscles.

Strength returns to me slowly. Maybe I've slept a little. I open my eyes and he's still there. I know he's been with me the whole time.

Why did I resist using my safeword for so long? It's hard even to remember: half an hour ago was another life. Maybe I believed saying it was a failure of submission, or maybe I thought I was too tough to need it. But the instant I said it, I understood that I had given Master a great gift. In using the power of my word, I had shaped and defined the power I was giving him, and I had given him permission to use all of that power to dominate me. When I asserted the power of the word, I submitted to him utterly.

"I'm okay now,' I say, and sit up. He reaches for a white towel as I stand and step out onto the mat. I'm wobbly, but I stay upright. He pats me dry, not hurrying, and wraps the towel around me. He picks me up again, carries me to the bedroom Mistress Ai assigned us, and lays me on the bed. There's a bottle of sweet almond oil on the nightstand, and he massages me everywhere - back first, then front. It cools and soothes me, but it leaves me aroused and needy again. I'd beg him to make love to me, but I know I have to be patient.

Finished with the massage, he bends down, cups my chin in his hand, and kisses me - all too briefly. He stands, and I raise myself and sit on the edge of the bed.

He says, "They're waiting."

* * *

Mistress Ai chose the date and insisted on hosting the event. She made her slave Shita (who had a fine calligraphic hand in addition to surpassing skill at cunnilingus) make up three cards that read:





Slave Girl Emily Ch. 11: End



She paused for a moment and said, "excuse us, Famula." I heard the shoes again, and the door closed. We waited. In the dark, hanging from the ceiling, I had no way to judge the passage of time. I wished I could talk to Amanda. I hummed a tune, and Amanda hummed along with me. This little bit of communication was a comfort.

I heard the door open, and a few seconds later Ai's feather-soft voice said, "All three are still here, though some were disappointed that they couldn't offer money or goods. Are you ready, Emily?" I nodded. "One minute," she said. A short time later the door closed, and she said, "Number One."

I heard nothing. Was it my imagination, or some subtle combination of odor, sound, and gravitational field, operating below the level of consciousness, that made me believe I felt the presence of Number One near me? My pussy tingled; I wondered if I'd drip on poor Amanda, there below me.

My heart skipped a beat when a hand rested on my left hip - I was so exposed and vulnerable! - then my blood raced as, a second later, a finger touched my right side. The finger traced a pattern on my skin, curling under my right breast, around and up: it was the path of the rose vine. I shivered with the sensuousness of the touch and the easy confidence of the hand on my hip. What was the feeling? It was admiration, love, possessiveness - not only of my sex, but also of my body as art, or at least a medium in which art could be created. The finger touched the ring in my nipple, and the hand shaped itself around the curve of my breast and ran down my side, around behind me, cupping my ass. The other hand moved from my hip up to my waist - then the hand on my ass was gone. Something touched my clit ring - surely I was dripping now! - then pulled it gently. The hands left me, and a few seconds later touched my toes and fingers and followed the rose vine from my ass up over my back. Oh, Number One believed I was beautiful, and the thought was divine. After a short time, the hands moved to my waist, and he now held me with both hands, exerting light pressure, a little like an embrace.

"Time," said Mistress Ai. The hands left me, and I was alone again in the darkness and the silence, without sensation. I counted silently this time and got to forty before Mistress Ai said, "Number Two."

Something - a finger - slid into my slit. How bold this one was! I sensed ownership in his hand, and now I had no doubt that I was wet, responding strongly, excitement racing through my body, lighting me up. His hand covered me as the finger slid into me, deep inside, and fucked me gently and slowly. His other hand touched a breast, the one with the ring, just covered it warmly with a palm, fingers closing around the swell of it. I tongued my ball gag and my mouth watered. Then Number Two took my nipple ring with his fingers and pulled. That nipple seemed wired to my pussy - sensation arced between them. The first finger slipped out of my pussy and back to my anus while the other hand went to my clit. I could move my hips a little, tied and suspended as I was, and I pushed forward, wanting more stimulation - he responded by rubbing harder. I wanted to save myself for Number Three, but couldn't resist the raw sexuality of these hands; I knew I'd come soon if he went on ...

"Time," said Mistress Ai. Those hands, too, were gone, and I waited, impatient and feverish now. Amanda made a soft, tuneless sound down below me, like a purr. I answered her quietly, and calmed a little.

"Number Three," said Mistress Ai, and we both fell silent. It was many seconds before the finger touched my lips, tracing their outline around the ball gag and probing into me below the ball. My mouth watered and overflowed, and my pussy was hot: by now both my saliva and my pussy had to be dripping on Amanda. The finger traced a wet line from my lip to my chin, the path of my drool - then it was gone. Again it was many seconds before I felt another touch. This time the hand spanked my right breast - just hard enough to sting and no more: Number Three knew exactly how hard to strike to produce the sensation he wanted. Oh, that hand was good, it was controlled. I wanted another spank, but it didn't come, not on my breast. 

Time passed, as before, and then the spank came on my bottom. I twitched in my ropes; once again it stung just enough to suggest control and knowledge of me and my responses. Now a finger traced a path from my ass down to my thigh, around my leg, and up to my pussy. It toyed lightly with my clit, teasing. I was already wet. This wasn't enough sensation - I twisted and made a little noise in my throat, like Amanda's mewing, pleading for more. Then the hand spanked me again, on my pussy this time, just hard enough to promise much more pain and pleasure. I jumped in my ropes and tongued my ball again - I must have looked obscene, a strand of saliva escaping from my mouth, hanging from my lower lip, dropping to my mound. I could come just thinking about the indignity and sensuality of it ...

"Time," said Mistress Ai. "Now the bidders will have ten minutes to consider their promises and write them down. I'll go to the living room with them, and Kevin and Shita will be here to make sure you stay safe."

I heard the retreating feet, and then someone removed my ball gag. "Amanda?" I whispered. "Kevin?"

Kevin said, "I'm here," and Amanda said "Yes, Emily?"

"How do we look, Kevin?"

"Fucking incredible," Kevin said. "I'm turned on and totally envious. I'd give anything to be tied up like that with my wife spanking my cock."

"Thanks, Kevin. Mistress Ai is an artist."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Emily?"

"Thanks for your concern, Kevin. I'm not sure, but I think it'll be all right. How are you doing, Amanda? Did I drip on you?"

"A little, Emily."

"I'm sorry, baby."

"I liked it, Emily. If you need to piss ..."

"No, baby, I don't need to."

"Were the touches good, Emily?"

"They were all good. Number One touched my tattoos and rings: he craved beauty."

"I love your tattoos too, Emily."

"And I love yours, Amanda. Number Two finger fucked me: he was bold and sexy."

"I think I know who that was, Emily."

"I think I do too. Number three spanked a breast, my ass, and my pussy. Just one spank each. They were good spanks, exactly right for the moment."

"Those sound like good touches, Emily."

"I wish I could have them all." Thinking about the hands on my body, I felt moisture trickle down the inside of my thigh.

We stayed quiet then, and after what seemed a long time Mistress Ai's voice said, "They're finished with their promises. Are you ready for them?"

"Yes, Mistress, I think so."

Her gentle hands slipped the ball gag back into my mouth and adjusted the strap.

I heard the feet again, then the rustle of paper. Mistress Ai said, "Promise Number One. I will treasure you always, and govern you with love and respect." That seemed clear enough: the keywords were treasure, love, and respect.

"Promise Number Two," said Mistress Ai. "I will rule you with humility so that we can learn to love together." The humility sounded like the hint of an apology - I believed it was sincere.

"Promise Number Three," said Mistress Ai. "Following you, I will lead you." This one was fond of paradox.

"Do you need to have those repeated?" asked Mistress Ai. I shook my head. I thought I could remember them all.

"Now Emily will make her choice," said Mistress Ai. Her hand closed over mine, and I let go of the marble. We had arranged that she'd move off to the side and far enough back that she could see my right hand.

I grew hot, feeling their anticipation and their stares. I wished I could see them: I wanted to see their eyes and mouths so I could guess what they were thinking. I wanted to know what they were wearing. I wished I could talk to them and ask them questions: why had they touched me that way? why had they worded their promises that way? But I'd made these rules myself, with the help of Ai and Amanda, and I wouldn't break them.

Besides, I knew everything I needed to know. A touch and a promise. I had known, somehow, that they'd be enough.

Number One saw me as a beautiful treasure - an object to be possessed. I knew the modern woman in me should cry out against being objectified this way, and anywhere else but in my love life, I would. But I yearned to be possessed by a man who'd look at me as he did a valuable painting or an exquisite jewel. Still, such treasures, though beautiful, couldn't change or grow: perhaps Number One expected me to be unchanging, scarcely human at all, for his aesthetic enjoyment.

Number Two also objectified me: I'd be his fuck-toy, a cunt for him to ram his cock into - and yes, I'd love to submit to such a Master and be his personal slut. He promised that we would work together to learn to love. That aspect of our relationship would be a collaboration - but would it be enough? Shouldn't all of a couple's life together be a collaboration, even if they were Master and slave?

Number Three was the hardest to read. He'd touched my mouth and pussy and spanked me. It was a promise of pain, but what else? Communication and sex, I thought. Both his touch and his promise were about control, but control of himself as much as me. The promise was about reciprocity, too. He'd use the power I gave him, but he'd recognize the power I gained in ceding power to him. It came to me then: I'd thought of submission as resignation and passivity, when actually it required strength and stamina - a strenuous self-abnegation. Number Three, alone among these Masters, invited me to assert myself in a dynamic exchange - at every moment, we'd be choosing a path together, and he'd hold the lead as we traveled it.

I was full of doubt, afraid I was reading too much into Number Three's enigmatic touch and promise. But as I thought of his spanks, the force of them so precisely calibrated, and his teasing words, I felt myself get warm - desire moved inside me, and my mind cleared. There was risk here, but the risk was exciting. I embraced my doubt, the risk, and the danger of him.

Behind my back, I curled the little finger and thumb of my right hand together over my palm and held my other fingers straight out.

Mistress Ai said, "Sold, to Number Three."

* * *

There's a simple linen shift hanging on the closet door; Master brings it to me and slips it over my head. I stand and smooth it down. He buttons his shirt, tightens the knot of his tie, and puts on his suit coat. He takes my hand and leads me from the room.

They're waiting for us in the playroom. Kevin is here, and his wife has joined him - a wiry, severe woman dressed in black, with disquieting tattoos on both arms. Amanda stands against a wall with Ai's four slaves, naked except for black collars, and Ai herself is here, stunning in a colorful kimono, moving to meet us in the middle of the room.

She says, "The slave girl Emily has been living under my care and protection since her former contract was broken. I testify that she is without encumbrance and free to choose a new Master. Has he paid the purchase price, Emily?"

I hesitate for a moment. He didn't promise a thing that could be done in an instant, but rather made a commitment that could never be paid in full. But he loves me, I know he does. He loved me when he asked me to marry him, even though he couldn't see me whole then, any more than I could see myself whole. He still loves me - I knew it when Mistress Ai took off my blindfold and I saw victory flash in his eyes. He's learned to love and accept all of me - I saw that in his eyes, too, as he was lowering me into the bathtub, that he'd love me as a modern woman, as he'd long ago told me he did, but would never again refuse to own and rule me. He'd follow me in that, as he followed when I led him to conquer me with pleasure and pain, here in Ai's playroom.

Something rushes up inside me, from my heart to my head and all through my body. My throat tightens and I'm lightheaded. I gaze at him, and it's like I've never seen him before. He overwhelms my senses, as if in all the world there's no other possible Master. Oh, how I long for him to enslave me!

It's hard to speak, but I manage to say, "Yes."

"Good," Ai says. She nods towards the naked slaves and steps back to stand with Kevin and his wife.

Amanda comes to stand next to me, holding a leash, and Inkei comes to Master with a collar.

I hold out my hand, and Amanda puts the leash into it. I turn to Master and say, "Will you take this leash, Andrew, and use it to guide me? I love you, and I want to belong to you and go where you lead me."

I hold out the leash and he takes it from my hand, saying, "I accept this leash and the responsibility that comes with it. I will guide you, protect you, and love you."

Master takes the collar from Inkei. He says, "Will you kneel, Emily, and accept this collar as a sign of my ownership?"

"I will," I say, and kneel, head upright and eyes downcast.

It's a plain black leather collar with a silver buckle, a gift from Ai. He puts it on me and says, "You belong to me now, Emily."

I say, "I belong to you, Master." Emotion washes through me as I say the words, but the feeling is affirmation, not transformation. I knew I was his when I chose him, and every molecule of me understood what that meant when he forced my safeword out of me.

The ceremony is done, and the celebration begins. The slaves - all but me - have been given a night of freedom. I look around the room. Kevin's eyes are moist. His wife is squeezing his crotch - it looks painful. Mistress Ai has taken a smiling Shita by the hand and is leading him towards the center of the room. Kuso is already kneeling in front of Asoko, face in her pussy, and Amanda and Inkei are eying each other.

I look up into Master's face and see love and understanding there. He knows my desire as well as I do, that everyone here should witness my submission. He reaches down, as I raise my arms, and pulls off my shift. He attaches the leash to my collar and briefly caresses my cheek before straightening up. I reach out, undo his belt and pants, and free him. He's already swelling and rising - everyone can see how he desires and owns me.

There's so much to do. We have to find a place to live. We have to work out our contract. I've got to start a career, or at least find a job. I've got to figure out how to make our strange family work. I need to make peace with my parents.

But worrying and planning can wait. Tonight there's no room in me for anything but happiness and sensuality. I take him in my hand - he's so beautiful, and it's been so long! I lick the whole length of him, slowly, and tease under the head with the tip of my tongue. I squeeze a slippery drop out of him and kiss it away, then draw him into my mouth - he's warm and hard. I massage him with my tongue, sensing the life in him and taking my time. He lets a proprietary hand rest there where my shoulder curves into my neck; his fingers are light and strong. I know I'm pleasing him, and joy rushes into me.

Around us, the party is coming to life. Ai, naked now, is sitting on Shita's face, lips parted, eyes closed, rocking rhythmically. Kevin smiles beatifically as his wife cuffs him to the table, riding crop clenched in her teeth. Asoko leads Kuso off towards the bathroom. Amanda squats in front of Inkei and plays with herself as she sucks his enormous cock, keeping a careful eye on me all the while.

I know how I want Master to take my body for his pleasure tonight. Soon he'll give me a rough fuck - it will be delicious - but I can make him force from me many things I long to give him. Before the night is old I'll be tied up with my ass stuffed full of him, bottom pink, begging for mercy though I want him merciless. He'll fill my mouth with cum, and I'll look into his eyes and see the ownership there as he takes me by the throat and watches me choke it down - and I'll know I'm his.

In the coming weeks and months, I'll show him how to use me when I've been good and punish me when I've been bad. He'll become the Master I need - strong, confident, protective, awe-inspiring - and I'll be the perfect slave for him, serving, fearing, and loving him with all my heart.

Happiness soaring inside me, I close my mouth tight around him, gaze into his eyes, and surrender my will to him. He grins, seizes my neck and a fistful of hair, and drives deep into me.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to the slave Sue for a scene idea in Chapter 6 featuring public display and humiliation. Sue also sent me accounts of slave auctions and auction-like games which supplied crucial details for Chapter 11. Thanks to an anonymous commenter on Chapter 9 for suggesting a bath as aftercare (why didn't I think of that myself?) - I've cheerfully stolen the idea for Chapter 11. Thanks to all the other commenters who've left constructive and supportive notes along the way: some planted the seeds of ideas that sprouted later. Thanks to Literotica for giving me a place to make a spectacle of myself. And thanks to you, dear reader, for sticking it out to the end of my little romance.