I asked, “Did you agree to this trade?”
“I told Frederick that I’d be more than happy to take you in trade for Pipit. I also told him that I didn’t expect you to agree.”
“Shit,” I said.
“A slave,” he said, “is a human being made into a commodity, which can be bought, sold and traded. It’s a game, of course, but one that we play with great conviction in our community. You have to decide how far you’re willing to go in playing the game.”
I thought about that. “I let the trading clause stay because having it there made being a slave seem more real,” I said. “So I know what you mean about playing with conviction. But I chose Frederick as much as he chose me. I interviewed him, vetted him, and accepted him as a Master.”
“You can interview me,” he said. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Okay,” I said. “How old are you?”
“Forty-eight.” Twenty-five years older than me.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an English professor at NYU.”
“I’ll bet that doesn’t pay enough to buy a house like this. How did you afford it?”
“I inherited some money. Enough to buy this house and have a nice supplement to my salary. I’m not what a rich person in New York would call rich.”
I grilled him for about a half hour. I found out how many subs and slaves he’d had over the years and got the names of several of the more recent ones. We talked about his interests and mine: he liked pet play, flogging, exotic knots, wax, and a number of other things that I liked too, and he didn’t favor any kind of edgeplay. He was mostly monogamous, but liked playing with others in private settings. He leaned strongly towards heterosexuality but had had several satisfying experiences with men. He seemed happy with my recent experiment with same-sex love and had no objection to my seeing Amanda from time to time. I found myself warming to him more as time went on.
“Take your clothes off,” I said.
“What?”
“I think it’s reasonable to ask you to strip when I’m sitting here naked. I want to see what I’d be getting. Make sure there are no important bits missing.”
“Fair enough,” he said, smiling. “You have all the power right now.” He stood up and took his clothes off. I liked the way he did it, without flourishes or obvious embarrassment. Despite his age, his body was lean and trim, strong but not muscled, with no hint of a paunch. He goes to the gym, I thought.
I got up and approached him. I felt his chest, biceps, and thighs. I walked around behind him and ran my hand over his shoulder blades and down his spine. I squeezed his buttocks. Everything was firm; his skin was good. I was like a Master examining a slave on the block. I walked to the front of him again. His cock was starting to stiffen. I took it in my hand and let it grow hard. It was both long and thick, with a slight downward curve.
I stroked him gently and said, “Why do you want me? Tell me it’s not just that you can’t stand being without a slave.”
“I’m not sure,” he said. He spoke haltingly: I liked it that my hand on his cock was making it hard for him to concentrate. “Something about you makes me want to own you. I felt it strongly the night of the New Year’s Eve party.”
“Is that why you let Pipit and Master—Frederick—have sex at the party?” I squeezed his cock, and he gasped.
“No,” he said. “Pipit likes to be lent out. I generally said yes when anyone asked to borrow her. Try not to think badly of her. We have to be tolerant of each other’s kinks.”
I let go of him, went to the chair, and picked up the collar. I took the leash off and started to fasten the collar around his neck.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going to punish you,” I said. “You’ve been telling me true facts, but you’ve been lying by omission. You’ve plotted this thing from the beginning.”
He smiled and said, “I’m not that bright.”
“Another lie,” I said, and pushed him backwards onto the bed. “Tomorrow I’ll decide whether to submit to you. But first you’ll submit to me.”
He didn’t answer, but simply waited, lying on his back. His cock was still hard. I climbed onto the bed and stood over him. I prodded him with a foot and said, “Roll over.” He rolled onto his front.
I doubled up the leash, leaned over, and gave his bottom a gentle whack.
“Are you my slave tonight?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, and closed his eyes.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said, and hit him harder. He started.
“You’ve been fucking with my life,” I said, and hit him. “Admit it.”
“No, Mistress,” he said. I hit him harder, wishing I had a real whip, or maybe a cane.
“I’m not blind,” I said as I flogged him. “You made a beeline for Frederick the minute Daniel pointed him out to you. Tell me why.”
“I wanted to meet you . . . Mistress,” he gasped between blows.
His bottom was already red, but I wanted to raise welts. “Were you trying to dump Pipit?”
His face was tense—he was gritting his teeth. “No. Yes. Not at first, Mistress.”
I hit him one more time, and I finally got a good twitch and an “Ow!” out of him.
“Turn over,” I said, and he rolled onto his back again. I straddled his head, facing his feet, and sat on his face. I’d never done this before, and I instantly decided it was going to be one of my favorite things. I was already hot and wet from whipping him; now he sucked my clit, making me delirious with pleasure. I rocked and slid on his lips.
“Did you encourage them?” I asked, leaning forward to slap his cock.
“Gmmph,” he said. I decided his answers could wait.
“Of course you did,” I said, and bore down on him, leaning back to force his nose into my crack. Heat spread from my pussy to my nipples and up my neck. “You practically threw Pipit at him.” I bounced on him a little before leaning forward into sixty-nine position, keeping my pussy planted firmly on his mouth. His thick cock felt warm and alive in me. I circled the head with my tongue and was rewarded with a salty drop of pre-cum. His tongue was sliding in my wet slit, alternately driving into my vagina and massaging my clit. I closed my mouth tight around him and sucked him deep. He stirred under me, and I could feel his breath in my crack.
It was delightful, but I thought I’d better stop before he came. I slid off him, sat beside him, and said, “Condom?”
“Pocket,” he said, and gestured towards his pants, which were lying near us on the bed.
“Like a boy scout, always prepared,” I said. I found the packet amid his coins and keys, opened it, and rolled the condom onto him. I climbed on top of him and guided his cock into me.
“Tonight,” I said, “was all your doing. I’ll bet they thought they were setting it up, but it was you, wasn’t it?”
He shook his head. “No, Mistress.”
“Yes it was,” I said. “You brought them together and made me watch them play so I’d know how fucked I was.”
I stopped moving. I said, “You thought when I knew that, I’d come running to you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I invited Frederick to dinner because I wanted to see you. I didn’t have a plan. I just wanted to see you.”
I moved a little; his cock filled me up. I believed him. Belief rushed into me like a breath after near drowning. Some great weight seemed to be shifting inside me. I looked into his eyes and felt weak all over. I swayed a little. He watched me closely, concern on his face. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, willing myself not to faint. No, I thought, don’t do this, but desire overwhelmed me. When I had strength enough, I leaned forward, took off his collar, and held it out to him. “Put it on me,” I said. I bowed my head while he put it on. I said, “Do what you want with me.” His eyes seemed made of ice.
With one arm, he raised himself slowly till he was sitting upright. I was in his lap, and he was still inside
me. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me, and his lips commanded me as they touched mine. He started to move, and his movement inside me seemed to possess me. One hand slid up my back and held my head, and I surrendered to his hand.
With one hand behind me and one holding my head, he lowered me onto my back and lay on top of me. He thrust into me gently and slowly—I could feel the suppressed energy in him—and then suddenly fierce and hard, making me cry out with pain and pleasure. He held my head in his hands, held my body with his body—and when I came, I knew that my orgasm was a gift from him, given at the moment he’d chosen. He slowed, closed his eyes, and came inside me—quiet, drawn into himself. Then he opened his eyes and was there with me again.
I lay in his arms. He ran a fingertip along one of my rose vines. “Did you choose the design?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Frederick chose the artist.”
“He did a beautiful job,” he said. “But he had a beautiful canvas to paint on.”
“The artist was a she,” I said, blushing all over.
“If you were mine, I’d give you three rings. One for here,” he said, touching my right nostril, “one for here,” my left nipple, “and one for here,” between my legs.
He was right: I wanted those piercings. But I knew I was under his spell, and my situation was perilous. I needed time to clear my head.
I got up and turned to him. “Get dressed,” I said. “I need to be alone to think.”
“I understand,” he said. I watched him put on underwear, pants and shirt. He picked up his other things and held them. “There’s a bathroom across the hall. You’ll find everything you need there. Breakfast is anytime.”
I waited a few seconds after he left and then went to the bathroom. Afterwards, I lay in bed, trying to think of the choice I had to make as a logical problem. I made no progress. The room was warm and it was late, and I soon fell asleep.
* * *
I woke up early the next morning, dressed, and went downstairs to find Christopher alone in the kitchen. He stood, turned towards me, and said, “They’re already gone.”
I said, “What about a contract?”
He said, “I’d suggest taking over Frederick’s contract. We can figure out what to do as its term gets near.”
“The trading clause,” I said. “It’s got to go.”
“We’ll cross it out,” he said.
“And about lending,” I said. “You’ll talk to me first if you want to lend me to someone, and if I say no, there’ll be no argument and no consequences.”
“We’ll write that in,” he said.
“The way you fed Pipit last night,” I said. “Do you do that at every meal?”
“Yes,” he said, “but if you object, we can do it differently.”
I said, “I don’t object. Do you like anal sex?”
“Very much,” he said, “but if you—”
“I accept,” I said. “Effective immediately.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, then smiled wickedly and took a step towards me.
“I’m a bad puppy, Master,” I simpered.
“How so?” he said, taking another step.
“I’m not housebroken, you know,” I said. “Frederick can tell you.”
“Have you made a mess somewhere?”
“I’m sure I must have, but you can’t expect a puppy to remember little details like when and where.” I pulled my T shirt over my head and started to undo my pants. “I could make a mess right here, just to be sure,” I said. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to skip the mess and go straight to the discipline?”
He stepped very close to me and said, still smiling, “I can tell you’re a frisky and rather naughty puppy. We’d better go downstairs and get started. We’ve got lots to do.”
Chapter 8. Play and punishment
“I can’t, Master.”
He doesn’t answer, but sits in the chair, crosses his legs, and watches, face unreadable. How does he feel about my pain? Curious, like a scientist observing a rat? Excited? Does he feel any sympathy for me?
The question bursts and fades. I can’t hold a thought for more than a few seconds; my mind keeps going back to my arousal and pain, now so mixed up together that I can’t tell them apart.
Master stands up and takes off his jacket. I raise my head to look—just briefly; I don’t have the strength to hold it up for long. His shirt is perfectly white, without a wrinkle. He loosens his purple tie—he’s moving so slowly!
He reaches for his belt buckle—will he finally fuck me?
* * *
“Puppies who make messes around the house have to spend time in the cage,” Master said. “This helps them learn the right way to go, and of course it’s impossible to make a mess on the floor while you’re in the cage. You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”
“Not as far as I know, Master,” I said, looking at the metal cage with awe. It was about two feet wide, three feet long, and as high as a dining table, with a solid floor and bars about six inches apart. One whole end opened on hinges, with a feeding slot at the bottom. Master was tying my wrists together in front of me with elegant and comfortable knots.
As he worked, he said, “I like knots rather than cuffs, for the artistry. I’ve been learning Shibari, the Japanese art of knot-tying. It’s like flower-arranging—a lifetime study. Done right, it’s as much an aesthetic experience for the bottom as it is for the top. Of course, binding your wrists merely gestures at bondage; it’s a tiny taste of things to come.”
I was eager to get into the cage and curious how it would feel, but Master was in no hurry. We went over my safeword and safe gesture several times so he could make sure he had them committed to memory. We reviewed my few limits, and he said, “You probably have more that you haven’t discovered yet. We’ll note them as we find them.”
I was getting impatient by the time Master backed me into the cage, closed the door, and locked it with a padlock. He pulled up a wooden chair, sat, and watched me.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Emily, Master.”
“A noble name,” he said. “But you’re not noble, are you, Emily?”
Something about the way he said my name made me feel more owned. “No, Master,” I said. “I’m a slave.”
“The name makes me think of love—amor—though there’s no real connection. I will love you, Emily, but I love by taking everything and owning it. Will you give me everything?”
“Yes, everything, Master.” I’d always aspired to have nothing.
He said, “Have you been caged before, Emily?”
“No, Master,” I said.
“How does it feel?”
The cage was wide enough for my shoulders, but I had to scrunch to fit in front to back and top to bottom—there wasn’t a lot of room to move around.
“It’s small, Master.”
“What else?”
I’d never been locked up before—most people haven’t—and I’d never imagined how powerless it would make me feel. My new Master, the man with the key in his pocket, had become the center of my universe: not just my Master, but my god.
“It makes me want to worship you, Master,” I said.
“That’s good.” He studied me for a few minutes, his silent gaze unsettling and arousing me. I’d have reached between my legs and masturbated, if I’d dared. Then he got up abruptly, went to his cabinet, and came back with a bottle of lubricant and a dog tail like the one I’d worn the night before. He stood behind me and, without saying a word, reached through the bars, lubricated me, and inserted the plug. He did it fast—pain flared and died away. Like a god, he could reach into my little world and do anything he wanted to my body. I had no power to resist. All I could do was try to placate him. I wagged my tail, which moved in my ass and slapped against the bars.
He sat in his chair again. “Now, what will you do to worship me?” he asked.
I was confused. I wasn’t used to being asked to take th
is much initiative. I looked at his face, trying to read his desires, but he was unreadable, a distant, terrible god. You’d sacrifice to a god like that.
“I’ll give you—”
“You have no possessions that aren’t already mine,” he said.
It was true. I’d just given him everything. Then I’d abase myself.
“Let me lick your shoe, Master,” I said.
After a brief, thoughtful pause, he said, “I’ll allow that.” He didn’t have to get up to put the toe of his shoe through the feeding slot.
It was a casual brown leather shoe, not new or old, polished or worn. I gathered some saliva on my tongue and licked it. It didn’t taste like anything, but the flavor of submission was strong. My heart pounded. I licked everywhere I could reach, even the laces, trying to make it shiny everywhere. I was sorry I couldn’t get at the heel.
“That’s good, Emily,” he said. He took that foot away and gave me the other. When I was done, my mouth felt dusty, but I was happy with the possibility that I’d pleased him. I wagged my tail hopefully.
“Your mouth must be dry now, Emily,” he said. He stood, unzipped, and pulled himself out—who’d have thought shoe-licking could give a man such an erection? He bent his knees a little and put his cock through the bars. By lowering my bottom I was able to raise my head enough to take him in my mouth.
Most of the time, sucking a cock makes you feel both submissive and powerful—the act is a submission, but you control a man through his cock. Being fed Master’s cock through the bars of my cage—that felt like pure submission. This wasn’t a thing he was demanding, not a thing I was doing for him—it was a gift from my god. My saliva flowed freely. I let it overflow my lips and run down my chin.
I whined in protest when he took his cock away, but he fished in his pocket for the key to the padlock, opened the door, and lifted me out. He took me by the waist and laid me over the top of the cage, and with a stray piece of rope he lashed my bound hands to its edge. Again I heard the condom packet; he eased the butt plug out of me.
And my ass belonged to him. It felt like the completion of something. Maybe it was that he’d now taken the last of me for himself, and there was nothing more of me to possess. I lay quietly on the cage, felt the cool bars under me and my ass stretched painfully, the hot friction of him. I wished I had a hand free to touch myself. I imagined the feelings I’d have if I could touch my clit, and that aroused me more. “Oh!” I sobbed. I could sense that he understood my frustration, but my frustration was his, too—he took it for himself and added it to his enjoyment of my body. He seized my shoulders and hammered my ass harder till my “Oh!” of frustration turned into a screech of pain.
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