Again M shuddered, fear rippling through her body, coupled with longing for the food now hidden from sight. Her eyes were again drawn to the needles, and her nipples tingled as if she could already feel the stinging bite of a sharp needle piercing her flesh.
“Slave M,” Sir said in an imperious tone. “Will you submit to the piercing without struggle? Or will you take a beating and go to your cage?”
M felt faint as she stared at the sharp needles beside the pretty gold hoops. If Sir wanted her pierced, she knew she would be pierced, if not now, then later, and at a much greater cost. She blew out a long, cleansing breath and steeled her courage. “I will submit, Sir.”
Sir reached for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball, which he soaked with the alcohol and wiped over both her nipples. They rose to attention at the stimulation. “Hold the nipple taut,” Sir instructed.
He picked up one of the hoops and unscrewed the little ball that held it closed. With the hoop in hand, he selected one of the hollow needles, dunked it in the open bottle of rubbing alcohol and brought it close to M’s breast.
“Remember,” he admonished. “Stay perfectly still. If you jerk, you might tear the nipple. If you damage my property, I’ll beat you until you bleed. Are we very, very clear on this, M?”
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured faintly, her heart pulsing high in her throat.
M took hold of her left nipple. As the shiny point of the needle touched her flesh, she closed her eyes, willing herself to fly to the secret place she sometimes visited when the pain was too much to bear. She floated on clouds against a pure blue sky, barely feeling the prick as the needle passed through her flesh.
“There,” Sir said. “It’s done.”
M opened her eyes, glancing down to see the ring of gold dangling from her nipple. A bead of bright red blood had formed at the entrance site and M again closed her eyes, willing herself back to the clouds as Sir blotted the blood away.
The second piercing hurt more than the first, but the sting was quick, and a moment later she felt the pressure as he pushed the second hoop into place. This time she kept her eyes closed until he was done blotting away the blood. She felt almost drunk, dizzy from the endorphins and filled with pride at what she had endured.
She looked up at Sir, who was regarding her with his dark, soulful eyes, his cruel, sensuous mouth curled into a half smile. “I am pleased. Tonight I will take you to my bed.”
“Thank you, Sir,” M said, something very close to happiness filling her. Sir had long promised that one day, when she was worthy, he would claim her not only as his slave, but as his lover. On that day, he had said, she would lie in his bed and he would honor her with his cock in her cunt, something he had so far never done.
The import of Sir’s words had left her mind in a whirl, but this was forgotten, along with the dull throbbing pain in her nipples when Sir lifted the lid from the food. M sank to her knees by the low table, locked her hands behind her back and opened her mouth like a supplicant waiting for her Master’s benediction.
~*~
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Questionnaire
Dear Prince Kamau,
Attached please find the completed questionnaires you requested. I have cleared my schedule in anticipation of my visit to your island. We have encountered something of a roadblock, I’m afraid, in that M confided in me that she has a mortal fear of flying. She begs you understand that while she would enjoy meeting you and your harem of submissives, she is much happier at home, waiting for me to return with a sister slave. I am sure you appreciate the situation, and would not want to place undue stress on my submissive. She is content to let me represent us both. To compensate for any potential issue this raises for you, I would be happy to double the offering price for Zahara.
Best, Master E
That night Ellis took M into his bed. He would consummate their relationship as Master and slave, a relationship that now went beyond forced submission, thanks to Ellis’ skill and dedication to the task. With the same relentless attention he brought to everything he undertook, Ellis had taught M to respond sexually to both pleasure and pain without distinction. During training and discipline, he had always combined intense sexual stimulation with erotic suffering, and his hard work had paid off. He could do anything to her—anything at all—and she would never disobey him. For M, he believed, had finally achieved a state of submissive grace that made her worthy of Master Ellis Langston Hughes.
The tremendous power of this realization was a potent aphrodisiac, and, as Ellis loomed naked over the trembling girl who lay beneath him, his cock hardened in anticipation. “Spread your legs,” he said softly. “You have earned my cock at last.”
M’s big blue eyes widened. No doubt, she was filled with joy at this proclamation. She shifted beneath him, parting her slender thighs. He licked two fingers and reached between her legs to touch the smooth mound of her sex. He let his fingers glide over her labia. He stroked her lightly, touching her as a lover would, his stroke gentle and teasing. He took his time, circling and tapping the little button of her clit and moving down to the entrance, which was already wet, as it should be.
He pushed in one finger and then two, stroking her from inside out until she was slick with desire. Removing his hand, he positioned himself so the head of his cock nestled in her cleft. He pushed forward, loving that moment of initial resistance, and then the yielding of her flesh as he entered the tight heat of her cunt. His cunt. M was his cunt.
He had planned to go slowly, to tease her along until she was writhing and begging for more. But his own need overcame him. It had been a long time since he’d engaged in such innocent vanilla sex, and the result was ironically powerful, as intense as any S&M-driven play.
M cried out when he rammed into her, forcing her to take his entire length and girth, and the sound of her cries excited him. He thrust hard, lifting and lowering himself as he pumped inside her hot, tight cunt, his breath catching in his throat, his skin heating as if licked by fire. Ellis’ orgasm burst through him like a fiery comet, and as he stared down at M he felt something almost like love.
~*~
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Questionnaire
Dear Master E,
Compensation is not the issue. I take my responsibility very seriously in making the correct placement for my submissives. Unfortunately, I have a strict policy of meeting all parties involved in the transaction. While it is true I do entertain Dominants who do not have a current partner, because you have made me aware of the existence of M, I must insist on meeting you both. If this is a “roadblock” as you suggest, I understand, but I will not compromise my standards. I wish you every success.
In peace,
Kamau
Ellis pushed back from the computer monitor, furious. Who the fuck was this high and mighty Prince Kamau? He probably wasn’t even a real prince. What the hell did they know about BDSM in fucking Africa anyway! Who needed him? Ellis could find another slave website. Or better yet, he could just advertise on a local BDSM site.
He clicked open Kamau’s site again, lingering on the image of the lovely Zahara. She had skin the color of liquid bronze and large black eyes fringed with thick lashes. Her long, dark hair fell in dozens of narrow ropes of tiny braids interwoven with what looked like sparkling diamonds. She and M would look so hot together, pale skin and dark, bound together in rope, their cunts and assholes stuffed with vibrating toys, or worshipping his body in tandem, or licking each other’s cunts while he whipped them to a frenzy. The scenarios were endless.
Not to mention, once he got his hands on her, Zahara would be in a foreign country, with no one to look for or miss her. He would train her as he had M, bending her mind until he broke it, and rebuilding her into a compliant masochist who lived to serve her Master. The setup was perfect, damn it!
But did he d
are bring M along to acquire the girl? He didn’t think she would try to escape. He’d already conducted a series of experiments over the past few months, telling her he was leaving the house for a while, and then watching her on the surveillance program. She’d never tried to open a door or do anything except precisely what she’d been told. She’d gone about her chores and then retired to her room to lie on her bed and masturbate, as he’d instructed her to always do when she was done with her work. She’d even asked him aloud for permission to come, waiting a fraction of a beat as if hearing his voiced permission in her head. She was a good slave, a highly trained and submissive masochist who understood her very life depended on staying in his good graces.
Which was all very well within the cloistered confines in which he kept her, constantly disciplined to reinforce her subjugation. But what would happen when she was exposed to other people, even people heavily into the scene? Would the memories and will he’d managed to subvert reawaken? Did he dare to find out?
Ellis scrolled through the website once again, his cock hardening as his mind slid again into fantasies involving M and Z, as he would call her once he had the girl in his clutches. He was used to dealing with wrenches thrown into a deal. He could handle this potential setback. He just needed to properly prepare M.
He would conduct another experiment. He would introduce M to a third party and see how she handled the situation. He reached for the keyboard and typed in the address of one of his favorite BDSM chat sites. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a local guy into the scene who wouldn’t say no to a little free pussy and BDSM play, someone who would keep their mouth shut about what he saw, especially when Ellis gave him cold, hard cash to make sure of it.
If M passed that test, maybe he would take the chance with Prince Kamau. If not, he supposed he could find another girl on his own. After all, he’d gotten away with it once, why not again?
~*~
M pulled the leather coat tighter around her naked body as she stood behind Sir at the door of a motel room. She took a deep breath of the cold, fresh air and lifted her face to feel the snowflakes on her cheeks as he swiped the keycard in the lock and pushed the door open.
“This is an important test,” he had informed her earlier that day. “You will pass the test by doing exactly what I tell you, and nothing more or less. I am trusting you on your first trip outside. Don’t let me down, M. We will be meeting another man. His name is Master J, and I want to show him how submissive and obedient you are. I am going to take you out in my car to meet him. If you please me in this, you’ll be rewarded. If you displease me, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
M, of course, had said nothing to this, though her mind reeled with the implications. Another man! And leaving the house! The idea had filled her both with excitement and dread. She was safe in Sir’s house. It was where she belonged. And what if she failed Sir and displeased him? No, she had told herself firmly. She would not let that happen. She would please Sir, not only because of the fear of punishment if she did not, but because he was the Master of her body and soul. He allowed her to serve him. She lived for him. Without him, she would die.
Now she followed him into the suite, which was nice enough, she supposed, though nowhere near as nice as Sir’s home. There were two rooms, one a bedroom with a king sized bed and a bureau, the other a sitting room with sofas, chairs and a desk. There was a kitchenette off to the side of the sitting room, separated from the main area by a high counter with bar stools in front of it.
Sir set the duffel bag he was carrying on the counter and turned to M. “Take off your coat and hat and hang them in the closet.” He pointed to a small closet by the door. “Then kneel at attention in the center of the room, hands behind your head, eyes down. Master J will be here soon. You will not move or react when he enters the room. You will obey everything I tell you. Are we very clear on this, M?”
“Yes, Sir.”
M’s heart was beating over-fast at the thought of seeing another man. Though she had become used to her bald head and marked body, and understood it pleased Sir to keep her like this, what would Master J make of it?
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. You belong to Sir.
There was a knock on the door. “Remember,” Sir warned. “This is a test. Fail it, and you will pay a heavy price.”
M kept her eyes on the carpet as Sir opened the door and greeted the other man. He had a high, nasal voice, nothing like Sir’s deep, sexy one. They introduced themselves, with Sir referring to himself as Master E and the man replying that he was Master J. She saw the man’s boots come into view as he halted in front of her.
“Whoa. The bald head thing is awesome. And those nipple rings are intense.” The stranger paused, and M could feel the man’s eyes on her, raking her body. “She’s a serious pain slut, huh? Look at all those welts and bruises. Jesus, if I didn’t know you guys were into the scene, I’d say she looks like a battered wife or something.” His voice, which had started out enthusiastically, seemed to grow small and hard as he finished the sentence.
“M,” Sir said sharply. “Look up at Master J and tell him who you belong to.”
M swallowed and lifted her head, staring into the face of a beefy, heavyset man who appeared to be in his mid twenties. He had large, fleshy lips and a bulbous nose, his cheeks ruddy, his appearance incongruous with the tenor voice.
Sir had moved to stand behind M, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. M took a breath and said fervently, “I belong to Sir. He is the Master of my body and soul. He allows me to serve him. I live for him. Without him, I would die.”
“Holy shit!” the guy breathed, staring down at her and then looking toward Sir. “Is she fucking for real?” His voice rose even higher. “You serious, man?” The man laughed, the sound not unlike a braying donkey. “I guess I hit the jackpot in the chat room! Man on the fucking moon! No offense, but I’ve met with plenty of couples before, and more often than not, the girl ends up being about ten years older and fifty pounds heavier than advertised, and not really into BDSM, once you scratch just a little below the surface. ”
“She’s for real,” Sir said, his hand still on her shoulder, which he squeezed. “Eyes down, M,” he ordered, and she promptly obeyed, glad not to have to stare into the stranger’s face any longer. “M is a highly trained sexual submissive, and she’ll do anything I tell her to do.”
“Wow, that’s so awesome.” M could see the man’s scuffed black boots in her peripheral vision as he collapsed onto one of the sofas.
“Care for something to drink?” Sir asked.
“Sure. What do ya’ got?”
“Johnny Walker Blue suit you?”
“Shit, yeah.”
M heard Sir moving toward the kitchen counter, where he unzipped the duffel. She heard the sound of ice falling into glasses, and a moment later she saw Sir’s elegant Italian loafers appear next to the scuffed boots as he sat beside Master J.
“To swinging,” the man said.
“To complete sexual submission,” Sir replied, and M heard the clink of their glasses.
“I’ll drink to that!” Master J enthused. “Show me what this slave girl of yours can do.”
“M, crawl on your hands and knees to Master J. Then turn around and show him your ass and cunt. Don’t move from that position until I say so.”
M could feel a steady pulse in her throat, and her mouth was dry. Though she’d become completely used to exposing herself in any way Sir saw fit, and keeping her position for as long as it pleased him, the thought of doing this for another man sent a hot flush of embarrassment through her body. Still, she didn’t dare disobey, and so she lowered her arms to the ground and crawled the short distance to the sofa. Stopping in front of the boots, she pivoted on her knees and lowered her head to the scratchy carpet, stretching her arms out along either side of her head.
“Sweeeeet,” Master J breathed.
“Would you like to whip that ass?” Sir inquired. “She
can take quite a lot.”
“You have a whip?”
“Of course.” M heard Sir moving toward the counter and knew he was going to retrieve a whip from his duffel bag. She felt the stranger’s fingers brush along the crack of her ass and she stiffened but remained in position.
“I call this one the stinger, for obvious reasons,” Sir said as he returned to the sofa.
M was well acquainted with the stinger, a purple rubber whip with knotted ends that left painful welts and tiny bruises from the knots in its wake. “M, you know the protocol,” Sir said. “You are not to move a muscle or make a sound while Master J whips you.”
M felt a surge of something hot and fierce well inside her and realized with a small shock that it was anger. She was angry at Sir for making her submit to this stranger.
No. No, no, no. You may not be angry with Sir. Sir knows what you need, even if you don’t. He is the Master of your body and soul. He allows you to serve him. You live for him. Without him, you would die.
The frightening emotion eased away, and M took a deep, cleansing breath and closed her eyes. The first stroke wasn’t too hard—it hurt, but nothing she couldn’t easily tolerate. After several similar strokes, she heard Sir say, “Do it harder. She can take it.”
M gasped in pain as the first real cut of the stinger moved over her ass in a line of fire. Several more stinging strokes landed on her ass, and tears filled her eyes. “Jesus,” she heard Master J whisper. “This is fucking awesome. Look at those welts. And she really gets off on this?”
“She lives for it,” M heard Sir reply.
The stranger continued to whip her with flicking, brutal strokes until her ass felt as if all the skin had been flayed from it. She had to bite hard on her lower lip to keep from whimpering.
Finally, Sir said, “That’s enough. Turn around and thank him, M.”
Her face wet with tears, M forced herself to turn around. “Thank you, Master J,” she managed.
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