"That makes sense,” Kevin hastened. “Yes, it does."
"Good. So it's settled."
"Yes ... yes, it is."
"You beat her yet?"
"The cane, yes, sir."
"Good man. I'll give you a full report when I'm done."
"Thank you, Mr. Caine, I mean Roger."
"Think nothing of it. And while you're at it, call my secretary. There are a few more things I'd like you to handle for me. Assuming you're up for a bigger piece of the pie."
"Oh, absolutely,” he brightened, panting for his treat. “And thank you, truly, you won't be disappointed."
Roger smiled slyly. As always it was greed made the world go round. You could buy anything for a price, including a man's wife. “Are you referring to the quality of your work or your wife's prowess in bed?"
More silence ensued.
"I'm only teasing,” he laughed. “We're colleagues, fellow men of the world. Slave owners, true?"
"True, sir, yes."
Caine said his goodbyes now, his mind happily consumed with his next conquest. A re-conquest, really, of the daring, eminently fuckable Mrs. Wyatt. Sophia would be nothing but a memory again, he vowed, and this time, she would stay that way.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I am a slave ... my husband owns me.
A million times Erin Wyatt said these words as she followed to the letter her new list of chores. At present she was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor, shortly after noontime. It had been a bittersweet morning, beginning with a wakeup kiss from Kevin at the unseemly hour of half past five.
"It's time to make my breakfast, angel."
She'd rolled over, mumbling something incoherent.
Since when did she make him breakfast?
Kevin's mild smack to her ass was like a firestorm. The pain of her caning came back all over again, renewed and refreshed.
"My breakfast,” he repeated more firmly. “Now."
Erin had stumbled to the kitchen, naked, half awake. She put coffee on but as she moved to pour herself a cup, Kevin came up from behind, remonstrating. “You eat or drink with my permission only."
And how long do you plan on springing new rules on me without warning?” she snipped.
One look at his face told her she'd overstepped her bounds.
Erin begged forgiveness, but he punished her anyway, making her cook his bacon and eggs with painful clamps on her nipples. Still naked, she squatted at his feet while he ate. Her own breakfast consisted of bits of toast and bacon thrown to the floor.
She ate these on all fours, like a dog. Watching her humiliate herself made him hard, which led to a thorough mouth fucking. Erin drank his semen, thankful for his attention, but still lamenting the lack of caffeine she was so used to.
Kissing his foot, she begged for a little coffee. He put some on the floor for her in a bowl. Before leaving, he had her masturbate herself just shy of orgasm, insuring she was properly aroused and frustrated.
"No, touching,” he reminded.
His goodbye kiss was delicious and sweet and left her burning for intercourse. She moaned as he put his hands on her nude body, whispering to her of how he intended to have her tattooed, with his name and other marks, too.
"Oh, master,” she breathed, rubbing her crotch shamelessly. “Tonight ... will you..."
"Earn it,” he said, just as he had last night.
Of her own accord, she fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I will do my best, master. I promise."
The rest of the morning had been an electrifying blur. So many things to get used to. It would take time to work everything out, she realized. For example, he hadn't left her with lunch plans, which meant she had to call to find out what to eat. It took an hour for him to get back to her.
And to think he'd warned of many more restrictions to come. A collar and chains to wear in the house. A requirement to pee squatting over the toilet, without touching it. And a thorough going over of her wardrobe to make it slave appropriate.
At present, for her cleaning duties, she remained naked. It was highly erotic to be scrubbing on all fours without any clothes on. She could feel her husband's will, his domination over her almost palpably, though he was miles away at the moment. She felt it in the way her thighs rubbed together as she moved. She felt it in the way her nipples tightened and swelled with every breath she took. She felt it from the sweat on her skin and from the dirty water from the bucket as it splashed onto her breasts and stained her knees.
Erin imagined him coming up from behind, taking her beaten, twitching ass, making her beg for his cock to slam in and out of her pussy. On the wet floor, pushing down her belly and breasts onto the linoleum. Forcing her to come and come and come, pride shattered, just a naked female, taken by her man.
God, she needed to masturbate. This was hell. How would she ever make it till he came home? Was every day going to be like this? She thought of calling and begging to be allowed a quick orgasm, a tiny one with her pocket rocket.
But he might be angry. He wouldn't want to be disturbed with her trivial, slave's problems, as busy as he was. She would end up with another beating to her name.
Erin bore down with the scrub brush, trying to take her mind off her sexual arousal. Kevin had never required her to clean this house. When they'd bought it she'd convinced him to get a maid service. Erin hated cleaning. Now she would keep the place spotless. She would dust, clean toilets, do the wash, each and every day.
No dirty clothes for him to find, no spots, no blemishes.
Erin startled at the sound of the phone. She had it beside her on the floor. She was required to answer by the second ring, in case it was him.
"Hello, my slave."
Her heart thumped. “Hello, master."
The sound of his voice made her ache between her thighs. Unbidden, her fingers began to trail down her belly. The temptation was unbearable.
"Are you doing the floor?” he wanted to know.
"Yes, master."
"I hope it's good enough to eat off of, Erin, because you will be."
She swooned. “Yes ... master."
"Are you hungry, slave?"
Erin was starving. “I am master."
"You may have a piece of cheese, when we are done talking."
She felt a lump in her throat as she realized just how great his power was. He might just as well have told her to eat dirt from the back yard or nothing at all. “Thank you, Master."
"You are going to have a visitor this afternoon, Erin."
Erin grew wary. “Master?"
"A man is coming. You will please him. You will obey him. As if it were me."
Erin tried to imagine a foreign cock. In her mouth. Between her legs. In the hole where she so desperately needed her husband. She must have taken too long to reply because he was asking her if there was a problem.
"No, master,” she said quickly. “Only ... I was wondering ... may I ask anything about him?"
"It's Roger Caine,” he said curtly. “That's all you need to know."
Erin dropped the phone.
"Hello?” Her husband called out. “Are you there?"
"Yes ... yes, master.” Should she tell him? How could she? How could she not?
"This is bound to be a little difficult,” he lectured. “For both of us."
A little difficult? Well there was the understatement of the century.
"That's why I've picked someone like Caine for your first time. He's had a lot of experience. We both know him. He's a natural for this."
"Kevin ... master ... I..."
"What is it, Erin?"
She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell him. Better to suffer through it. Hope the man got his fill of her and went away. “It's nothing, master. I'm sorry."
She heard him breathing. “You know I love you,” he said at last. “I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it was best for both of us."
Or if Caine told you to, she thought dryly. “I love you, too, maste
r. I want to please you."
"I'm not sure when he'll be there, but it will be before I get home."
"Could ... could you be here at the same time."
"No, that wouldn't be a good idea. You need to learn to submit without my being there. Roger thinks that would be best."
So Caine was manipulating him, just as he'd promised he would. And what a private joke he was enjoying at Kevin's expense. Actually convincing the man he was doing him a favor by fucking his wife. After she'd tried to break the affair off, too.
But what could she do now? She felt helpless to challenge either man. The best she could hope to do was play her part. Be the good slave for both of them.
"I will do as you say, master."
"Good girl, now eat your piece of cheese and keep going with that floor."
The cheese, she'd nearly forgotten. She hadn't much appetite now, but she would probably need her energy to deal with Caine. “Yes, master."
"I love you, Erin."
She fought back the tears. “I love you, too, my master. More than you will ever know.
* * * *
Kevin had to leave the office after talking to Erin. The conversation had gotten him so hard he'd ended up stroking his cock through his trousers. Controlling his wife like this was the biggest sexual rush he'd ever had in his life. Just the thought of her all morning, working naked, doing what she was told around the house, humbled to the point of scrubbing on hands and knees, having to ask permission to eat was enough to make him pop his cork.
And now she would have to spread for another man. Surrender her pussy, her mouth, her ass to someone else, because it was his will. Her reluctance only made it sweeter. Of course she wouldn't like it. That was the idea of slavery.
All right, so it was a little tough knowing that Caine would be using her when he so badly wanted her himself right now, but the man was right, discipline was important. For him and her both. He couldn't buckle just because she was going to cry. And he had to trust Caine. The man was a fellow slave owner. She was his property, pure and simple. No cause for jealousy there.
So why did he feel this nagging sense of ... something?
He could call Roger and get a little pep talk. Or he could just take matters into his own hands. Why not go to the club? He was welcome there anytime now. Maybe another slave would give him a fresh perspective. One of those hot little dancers or one of those sexy waitresses. That redhead, for instance. Or one of the more exotic ones. Yes, that was it. He'd find a woman as unlike Erin as he could, then screw her brains out.
With any luck that would take him mind off the fact that another man was doing the same to his.
The cell phone rang just as he was easing his car into traffic. It was Caine, wanting him to relay to Erin that he wanted her wearing something sexy to meet him at the door.
"Of course,” he heard himself say. “No problem."
Caine made some kind of joke, which he didn't really hear, though he laughed at the punch line.
Yes, he concluded when the call was done. He definitely needed a woman to clear his head. And a stiff drink. He needed that, too.
* * * *
Caine looked her up and down hungrily as she stood in the open doorway. Erin Wyatt was dressed in tiny, see through panties trimmed in white fur and a matching half bra, also invisible, also edged in snow colored pelt.
"What's the matter?” He noted her lack of expression. “Aren't you happy to see me?"
She stepped aside so he could enter the house. “My hus—my master has instructed me to let you in. My feelings don't matter."
"Is that all he instructed you to do?” Caine undid her hair, which she'd piled high on her head. She stiffened slightly as he undid the clasps, but made no attempt to resist as he rearranged it about her shoulders.
"I am to offer myself,” she replied. “In any way you want."
"Such a dutiful slave,” he noted skeptically. “And trained so quickly, too."
"I love my husband,” she replied, allowing him to apply feather light touches to her rosy red nipples, more than a little visible through the skimpy material.
"Bullshit,” said Caine with uncharacteristic vehemence. “A woman loves nothing. She isn't capable of it. She knows lust and that's it."
"So you admit that love is a real thing, though?"
He smiled slantedly. The girl was good. Like Sophia. It was a similarity for which this delicate little blonde would pay dearly. “You're clever,” he conceded. “But not clever enough."
"Get up,” he told her, having knocked her to the floor with a single slap.
Erin got up, holding her cheek, the shock more than a little evident in her eyes. Evidently this kind of brute force was an aspect of slavery her husband had not yet introduced her to.
"You are smart,” he acknowledged. “No doubt your husband will discover that special joy that comes from breaking down a proud, intelligent female."
Erin said nothing, still nursing her wounded pride.
"What are you?” he asked abruptly.
She flinched at his raised hand. “Don't hit me anymore,” she pleaded.
Caine knocked her down a second time.
Erin was slower in getting back up this time. Had she learned anything, though?
"What are you?” Again the hand was in place to strike her.
"A slave,” said Erin quickly, making no move to defend herself.
Roger rewarded her by caressing both breasts. The girl's eyes slid shut. Despite her efforts to hate him, she was moaning in short order.
"A female is an animal,” he lectured. “Her responses are completely controllable."
Erin groaned.
"Did you really think you'd beat me?” He slipped his hand down her panties and found her soaking wet. “You were mine all along, Erin. Since the moment I laid eyes on you. And I've no intention of letting you go. You can live here all cozy with Kevin, but in your heart you and I know the truth. The brand that belongs on your ass is C for Caine."
"Please,” she cried. “Can't you just leave us alone? You have everything in the world already."
Caine nibbled at her neck, the way he would a lover's. His words, however, were of a very different ilk. “I want you to orgasm on my hand, right now, or I will whip every inch of your body. Do it, Erin, come like a little fucking whore."
Caine knew exactly what he was doing. As a natural submissive, Erin got off on this kind of talk. What, to another, would be an insult or cause to fight back was in this kind of female a dark invitation to plummet down into her own sexual depths.
"Oh, god...” Erin humped his hand shamelessly. “So ... fucking good..."
He made her lick off his fingers afterward. Then he sat down on the couch and made her dance for him. She had no clue how a stripper moved, but he assured her that kind of surrender it was all instinct.
"Just think about what a little fucking slut you are,” he said. “Think about how you tried to screw Roger Caine and lost. Think about all those long nights and days to come in chains. Think about a dog cage with your name on it. Think about how you lost the right to decide what or who goes in your pussy. Think about how sorry you are you didn't keep the nice arrangement going you already had with me. And if all that doesn't do it, think about how if I don't like what I see in the next few minutes, I'm gonna take you out in the street, just as you are and let you do this for your neighbors. How would that go over do you suppose?"
Erin danced all right. It was all a matter of incentive. Caine took out his cock and started stroking, his eyes glued to the leggy, svelte blonde, her sex tantalizingly half revealed, her morsel-like breasts just begging to be pinched and slapped as she writhed, slow and sensuously.
She was a natural; there was no doubt about it. Her gyrations seemed to move to an internal rhythm of pure lust, her hot, sliding flesh, tightly bound in invisible chains. With a little training she might be capable of anything.
Ideas started forming in his head. Knowing her potential, i
t might not be enough for him to fuck her on the side and leave her with the relatively unimaginative Kevin. He might, just out of his own personal moral principles, need to see her working at the club. Or maybe traded somewhere in the East where he could get some real training.
Then he could visit in a year or so and watch her slither to and fro for some caliph or sheikh, as wife number twenty-five in his harem.
Now wouldn't that be a worthy challenge? Convincing Kevin Wyatt to sell his own wife to Arab slave traders. Money was indeed the root of all evil and this would be a wonderful chance to prove it. But what would be the price of the young man? Money? Power? A combination of both?
"So tell me,” he asked the lightly sweating, X-rated dancer as she rubbed her own breasts and lazily swayed her hips. “What have you been exposed to in your slavery so far?"
He listened as Erin shared the things Kevin had done to her, his hand sliding up and down his cock appreciatively the whole time. The most intriguing part was watching the light in her eyes as she recounted the events. She was ashamed to share such intimate things, but she was aroused, too.
He had her turn so he could see her beaten ass in detail. Kevin had done splendidly well for a beginner. He, too, was a natural. Caine would see to it he got himself a new slave, younger and prettier than Erin.
"Your husband is at my club right now,” Roger told her.
Caine expected and got a reaction. Though she tried her best to hide it.
"Master does as he likes,” she said breathless.
Caine shared with her a little bit about how things worked at the club. “He'll fuck a woman whose full name he'll never know. She could be anyone. It doesn't matter. He's there just to show you how little you matter. Than his hard cock can be taken care of anywhere."
"My master loves me."
"But he'll sell you.” Caine couldn't resist revealing his plans. “I'll make him. You'll go to the club. You'll never be loved by another man in your life. Your life will be defined by the number of times you can turn a trick in an hour, by the number of cocks you can stiffen. Or maybe I'll have him put you up for auction, to the Arabs."
Erin's eyes flashed like a hunted deer's. “Kevin wouldn't do that."
Roger laughed. “Don't tell me you're still that naive? After all you've seen lately? You think Kevin would hesitate to give you up to advance his career?"
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