"My master is waiting in the car, and I don't think he means to come out, but thank you. I'm sure he means no offense ... he just wants to get home."
"And so do you," Erin winked.
Miranda flushed red.
Erin went to get the suitcase. Kneeling on the polished marble, she unzipped the bag. Miranda settled in beside her, her own bare knees pressed to the floor.
It was an awe inspiring collection. The handcuffs gleamed in the light, as did a long silver chain which Erin lovingly touched to her cheek. A pair of silver bracelets was attached to one end, and a set of anklets to the other. A collar was attached in the middle to a short chain.
"This was our first set," she explained to Miranda. "I had never felt steel on my body up to then. They're adjustable, so a slave can be kept in lots of positions. Mark kept me in them a week once. What a cunning and brutal master," she sighed. "He used them to arouse and frustrate me, day and night. He trained me with them. To this day, if he so much as holds them in his hand and jingles the metal ... I fall helpless to my belly, overcome by unstoppable orgasms."
Miranda tried to imagine it, unsuccessfully. "How can you give them up?" She asked.
"They aren't mine to keep. They're my husband's. He could loan me out, too, if he liked."
"Rob says he did ... offer you that is." Miranda regretted her bluntness instantly. "I'm sorry, Erin, I know you didn't have a say in that."
"No, I didn't. And yes, my husband offered me up for sexual services to yours. He refused, you should know that. But you should also know that I would have pleasured him to the fullest extent, serving him as the slut that I am."
"You? A slut?"
"All slaves are sluts, Miranda ... in time."
Miranda fell silent, allowing Erin to lay out and historically account for each of the remaining items. The small braided, leather horse whip, with which Mark had mercilessly beaten Erin's ass one time for burning his toast. The wounds still fresh; she had squatted under the table sucking his cock, tears streaming down her face as he ate the replacement toast.
The plastic ball gag had bite marks, an abuse by Erin of her control equipment that had cost her a night chained in the back yard, with nothing but a blanket for comfort. The fact she had bitten it because of the discomfort caused by the dry and drunken anal penetration of one of Mark's friends, was considered no excuse.
She said nothing about the origins of the black leather dog collar with the attached metal leash, except to warn her that once a woman puts such a thing on, a man can never again looks at her as anything other than chattel, dumb animal flesh to be exploited and manipulated.
The last thing was the silk rope, dyed red. "Mark hogtied me once with this," she held up the coils. "He cut off the circulation in my breasts and ran it between my legs, so it went right against my cunt lips. He made me masturbate like that. I was screaming in pain, but I couldn't stop coming."
Miranda was a wreck by the time Erin put everything back. "I don't feel very well. I think I need to lie down."
"You can't do that," Erin reminded. "You have a master, waiting in the car."
"Yeah," she said, lost in a fog. "I do."
"Oh, dear," Erin exclaimed. "Would you look at the rain. Do you think your husband will pull up for you?"
"Don't hold your breath."
"I hate to see you get so wet," Erin fretted. "Wait, I have just the thing." She opened the hall closet and took out a golf umbrella. "This will keep you nice and dry."
Miranda honed in and kissed Erin's cheek as she accepted it. "Thank you ... for everything."
"No need for that. I'm a slave. I just do what I'm told." Erin treated her to a second wink.
Miranda smiled in reply, feeling a little stronger, and more ready to face her husband. With Erin's help, she managed to get outside, the open umbrella in one hand, and the suitcase in the other.
"Goodbye Erin, and thanks again."
"Bye, Miranda. Good luck."
"Thanks, I'm going to need it."
With that, she heard the engine start up. Rob had seen her and was backing down the driveway, back down to the accursed gutter.
Didn't that just figure.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rob saw Miranda coming back out with Erin. They had been in there a long time, but he didn't mind waiting, because he knew this was important bonding for his wife. Part of her training. He was sure this was what Mark had intended by having them come here to pick up standard items which he could surely have procured for his protégé at any number of clubs or adult stores.
Somehow in relating to a fellow slave, a woman she already knew, Miranda was going to be more ready for him.
Had Erin helped her any so far?
No better time than the present for a little test.
"Here comes payback," he muttered, watching her move her sexy, wet body down the asphalt. "For slamming Master's door."
Miranda stopped at the curb, hopeful, no doubt, that he would spare her from having to step in the gutter again, which was even fuller this time.
Rob motioned her over to the passenger side window. She had no choice but to step down, right into the water.
"Nice umbrella," he observed, lowering the power window an inch or so.
"Erin let me borrow it, Master."
"Erin can't loan things. She's not a person."
"It belongs to her husband, I know, Master," she corrected. "I was just using a figure of speech."
"Do you suppose she had permission to loan her master's umbrella?" Rob wondered.
"I don't know, Master."
"I don't know that either. What I do know is that you certainly didn't have permission to borrow any umbrella, did you?"
Miranda showed signs of fear. Good, she was learning. "Master, I didn't think..."
"No explanations, Miranda. I want you to put the suitcase in the trunk, close the umbrella and bring it back to me."
"Am I getting back in the car after that, Master?" She asked anxiously.
"No, Miranda," he popped the trunk from the dashboard. "You are going to come back and get on your hands and knees in the gutter like the disobedient little slut you are while I call Mark to see about his umbrella."
Her shoulders slumped. It was a cruel sentence, indeed. "Yes, Master."
"Oh, and Miranda, one more thing."
"Yes, Master."
"When you close the trunk, be sure not to slam it, hmm?"
She was already soaked, head to toe by the time she came back around the front of the car. The umbrella was in her hand, already closed and useless to her.
"Put it in the back seat," he unlocked the door.
She put it inside, no doubt catching the symbolism here of how dry it was staying in comparison to her. He watched her hungrily as she crossed in front of the car, his barefoot, captive bride. His lifetime possession, and his one and only love. The things he wanted to do to her. Brutally elegant things, domineering, humiliating things.
Damn, but she looked incredible like this, the rain pasting her white blouse to her skin, revealing the outline of her pink aureole underneath the white silk bra. And her hair, plastered to her head. He should make her wear it wet all the time. Better still let her be soaked and naked for him around the clock, ready for his pleasure.
Rob treasured her modesty as she got herself ready to follow the second part of her orders. Looking around a couple of times to see if anyone might be watching out the windows of one of the fancy houses, Miranda stepped tentatively back into the gutter water.
It was a narrow squeeze between the car and the curb, but it was just wide enough for a woman's body. She took a deep breath, scrunched up her face and went down on her knees. Rob leaned across the seat for a better view, just in time to see as she lowered herself onto her palms, head down.
Satisfied by Miranda's subjugation, he gave Mark a call.
* * * *
Miranda shivered in the water. Her tears were dropping into the overflowing gutter. Rob didn't lo
ve her. How could he do something like this to her if he did?
Easy, girl, don't panic, said a voice somewhere deep inside. He hasn't left you here, and he promised he never would. This is just some kind of test, training maybe.
Focus on the details – that's what she needed to do.
The way the street felt on her palms and knees. The way the water licked at her forearms and lower thighs. The way her toes felt, curling up to protect the vulnerable soles of her feet, and the rain, plinking endlessly on her head and her ass and her back.
So much rain. Would it ever end?
She was in trouble, and probably Erin was, too. Miranda should never have taken that umbrella. Then again, Erin was a slave with years of experience. How could she make such a mistake?
She wanted Rob so bad. She wanted him to come and scoop her up and hold her in his arms. She wanted him to take her home and make sweet love to her on their clean, white sheets, after a long, leisurely shower.
Maybe she was there now. Maybe this was a bad dream and she would wake up any second. Back in her old life, with all her old hopes and dreams and even her problems.
"Miranda."
"Rob!" she cried, forgetting entirely the proper protocol.
"How soon we forget," he chided.
Miranda looked over to the curb. Rob was standing there, holding the umbrella.
"Master, please..."
He showed no sympathy. "Kneel up," he commanded, delivering her punishment in shorthand. "Left nipple. Ten count."
Miranda opened her blouse with her filthy wet hands. The mud poured over her belly. Surely there was someone around to see this and call the police? Or did Mark have his neighbors that well trained to accept his BDSM oddities?
Miranda wished she could face Rob and see his face. She had nothing to look at but the lonely street, with its handful of parked cars and silent, picture window houses, all in a row.
Picture windows with picture perfect people, and not a soul to come out and help her. Where they in there watching, masturbating? What?
Taking out her breast, she pinched, harder than she ever had before. She kept on going, making each number more painful than the last, until finally she nearly screamed out ten.
If she hoped for some praise, she got none.
"Get up," he said, ordering her to face him.
She rose; her legs shaky.
"As it turns out," said her perfectly dry husband. "Erin does have permission to loan out this umbrella to guests. You, however, had none to accept it, as I already said."
"Yes, Master," she sputtered.
He inclined his head to the car. "Get in."
Miranda stood and opened the passenger door. Incredibly, she felt afraid to get the car dirty.
"It's all right," he sensed her hesitation. "You'll clean it later."
"Yes, Master."
He said nothing the whole way home. She could feel it building, the sexual tension. Sure enough, as soon as they pulled into the garage, he ordered her onto the concrete floor, on her knees.
"Take it," he pushed his exposed cock between her lips.
Miranda moaned, accepting her husband's cock – her master's cock.
"This mouth is mine." He took hold of her hair in his fists. "I fucking own it."
She deep throated him, doing her best not to gag. God, it felt good. Right and natural.
"You will never open for another cock," he told her as he began to pump, in and out. "Unless I tell you to. Is that clear?"
She could only answer with pliant eyes and submissive mewls.
"And you will swallow, too. And you'll say thank you."
She attempted a nod. She would be thankful ... always.
Rob sighed, enjoying her. He fucked her mouth leisurely, while she knelt, miserable, dirty and wet. "From here on," he let her know, "everything is a privilege to you. Clothes, activities, even what you eat. Don't even take for granted being in the house, Miranda. We'll put a cage out here, and I will use it for you as I see fit."
Rob's cock was so big and hard. It had never been like this. He must have been waiting so long to unleash his manhood. Since they met, and before, probably. If only they had recognized this back then.
She was never meant to be his equal. She was born to be Rob's slave.
"You will keep the house spotless," he continued. "I'll make my expectations very clear. Your work will be subject to inspections. The penalties will be manifold. You'll have to accustom yourself – to welts on your ass. Callouses on your hands. You'll see things quite differently, I assure you, on your hands and knees."
Rob removed his cock. She made a little sound of disappointment. She had wanted to go on, to find her fulfillment in his simple, bestial pleasure. But Rob had something else in mind.
"Lick my shoes," he ordered. "Show me who is master."
Miranda scrambled back and put her palms to the floor. Extending her tongue, trembling, she pressed it to the leather.
There was mud.
"Clean them," he ordered.
Miranda lapped at the surface, quickly learning as she did that sexual slavery was not simply about sex, but about arousing her master through any acts of humiliation he could think up.
She could hear him breathing, thick and hard. He was masturbating, she was sure of it. Doubling her effort, she cleaned his shoes, until they were shiny with her spit.
At once his heel went down on her neck. "Cheek to the floor," he commanded.
Miranda submitted, the weight of his foot pressing hard.
"I own you," he said.
"Yes," she croaked. "My master."
"I will always own you."
"Yes, Master."
"And I will always love you, too."
Tears fell on the concrete. "I love you, Master."
The foot went away. He told her to stand, facing him.
She did so, never more cognizant of how much bigger he was, how much taller, and smarter, too.
"Take off your blouse, Miranda. Slowly."
Miranda unbuttoned the soiled top.
"You put that on your body yourself, this morning," he recounted. "Never again will you choose an outfit without permission."
"Yes, Master." The blouse fluttered to the floor, leaving her in her skimpy bra. The white cups were transparent from the rain, making her pinched, red nipples more than a little obvious.
"Open the bra."
Miranda bared herself. For a few moments, he watched her breathing. "We will pierce these," he reached out to brush her left nipple, ever so lightly.
Miranda shuddered. She hadn't realized she was that close to orgasm.
"Over the hood," Rob commanded. "Face down."
Miranda had to press her palms to the warm, wet metal, and her breasts, too. The heat pervaded her body. She was afraid to take another breath, lest she come without permission.
Rob didn't bother opening her skirt. Using a pair of garden shears from a rack on the wall, he cut it, straight down her back side. Then he shredded her sopping panties in his hand.
Miranda moaned as the air hit her exposed backside and cunt lips.
"This is mine, too," he growled, hooking his hand inside her pussy.
"Yes, Master," she cried. "Oh, Master, fuck me please ... fuck your slave girl. She begs to be dominated ... with cock."
He grabbed her hair, bowing her neck. "You get fucked when I say – and only when I say. That means masturbation, too, little girl. You play with this pussy behind my back and I'll punish you hard."
Miranda whimpered, drooling on the car hood. She was spasming, undone, defeated, fucked already, whether or not his cock was between her legs.
"You're a slut," he told her. "Say it."
"I'm a ... slut, Master."
"But you're my slut and I love you. Do you understand?" Rob smacked her ass with his hand for emphasis.
"Yes," she yelped. "Master."
"You need cock, you need sex, you need to squirm and show your body for men. You need to be pleas
ing. You're a submissive, a little sex animal. I should never have let you run free. Your kind must be under lock and key."
"Yes, Master ... control me."
He spanked her again, harder. "Sluts do foolish things when left alone, don't they?"
"Yes, Master."
"They take their clothes off for perverts. They let their boss' put their dicks into their mouths."
"Yes, Master," she groaned. The fire was all over now, spreading up and down her body.
Thwack came the sound of a fresh blow, then another.
"Had enough of my hand, Miranda?"
"Yes, oh, yes, Master."
"Good, then it's time for the whip."
"Master, no..."
His fingers invaded her pussy, probing, pressing. "What did you say, slut?"
"N-nothing, Master."
"I thought not." He wiped his fingers in her wet hair. "I'll be back. Don't you dare move."
Miranda was forced to remain in this position, utterly vulnerable and naked while Rob went in the house. Her calves were stiff. Her ass was already sore. She hated this, hated being alone. Slavery wasn't good anymore, not at all.
He came back. She was never so happy to hear the door. "Master!"
Rob said nothing. She listened for him. This was the worst part of her new bondage – the feelings of dependency, the way she needed him so desperately. It was like being a frigging dog, terrified of abandonment.
She jolted as he opened the trunk.
He was getting out the suitcase.
She shifted her bare feet on the concrete.
Rob was opening the zipper. The sound cut straight through her, nipple to knee. He was after the whip, just as he'd said.
Miranda held her breath. She hadn't heard his shoes so far. Was he barefoot, too?
A hand grabbed her waist. Rob, smelling clean and fresh. "Miss me, sweetheart?"
"Oh, Master," she balled her fists. "Oh..."
He ran his hand over her back, soothing. "Hush ... you were a good girl, waiting out here for Master. Now it's time to take your whipping. Can you do that like a good girl, too?"
She swallowed. "I'll try, Master."
He tapped her ass, still stinging from the spanking. "You need to do more than try, slave. I need you to accept this. Fully."
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