Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set

by Serafina Conti

  He said, “Put your clothes in the bag and take the bag to one of the bedrooms, where you see the other guests’ things. Then come back here right away.”

  I silently put my clothes in the bag and looked around. A hallway led out of the party room, and I guessed the bedrooms would be back there. I picked up the bag and moved towards the hallway. The butt plug moved inside me, and the stimulation made it hard to walk normally. This would take practice—meanwhile, I could enjoy the sensation. The tail brushed my legs as it swished behind me.

  I found the bedroom with the guests’ things—bags containing the street clothes they’d changed out of. I left Master’s bag there and headed back towards the party room. On my left was a large and ornate bathroom, and seeing it, I realized I needed to pee. I stopped in there, but soon found that peeing in the usual way was going to be more than a little awkward—I didn’t want to wet or crush my tail. I put my hands on the toilet seat and held myself a few inches above it, making sure the tail was out of the way, but the pee wouldn’t come. I tried climbing up on the seat and squatting, carefully holding the tail off to one side, but it was no good: I still couldn’t pee. After straining for a few minutes, I decided the problem must be the butt plug. I took it out, sat on the toilet seat in the usual way, and started to pee. Curious, I stopped, squatted above the toilet again, and was able to pee. I pushed the plug in as I was peeing—it felt really good to do it—and the flow stopped. I pulled it out and was able to pee again. I emptied my bladder, pushed the butt plug in, washed up, and went back to the party room.

  I’d guess at least fifteen minutes had passed by the time I got back to my Master.

  He frowned at me and said, “You took too long.”

  I didn’t try to defend myself, since he hadn’t told me I could speak.

  “It seems,” he said, “that it’s already necessary to discipline my slave. Come, Famula.” He took my leash in his hand.

  I was instantly aroused. It was mid August, I hadn’t been whipped or spanked since early May, and the big wooden frame he was leading me to was scary and exciting. As we passed through the crowd I saw that things were starting to happen. A male sub on his hands and knees was performing cunnilingus on his standing Domme; a Dom was whipping his cowering sub (he didn’t seem to be hitting hard); a naked man in a collar was sucking his Master’s cock; over against the wall Daniel was attaching a naked and impressively fleshy woman to the Saint Andrew’s cross. A number of people fell in behind Master and me as we moved towards the frame.

  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.

  * * *

  I pressed myself against him and felt safe. Of all the world’s dangers, he was the only one I feared—but not tonight. “Was the party all right for you?” he asked. “I wasn’t too—”

  “Master did what he had a right to do,” I said. But then I softened and said, “I’m very happy.” It was true: I was happier than I’d been all summer.

  “I’d like to talk to you about becoming my slave,” he said.

  “I’d like that,” I said, suddenly feeling a hundred times happier.

  “We’ll discuss it tomorrow,” he said.

  I knew we had a lot of hard work ahead of us. We’d have to draw up a contract (my friends were appalled that Andrew and I hadn’t had one), in which the terms of my enslavement—rules, limits, schedules, protocols—would be laid out in excruciating detail. We’d labor at it for days, perhaps weeks, negotiating and consulting with experts and friends until we’d gotten everything right.

  But in my heart he already owned me.

  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 safew
ords, 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.