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.
<
br /> 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?’”
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.”
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