Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set

by Serafina Conti

  “But you didn’t masturbate?”

  “No, Master.”

  “That’s a good girl,” he said. “Are you prepared for tonight?”

  “I know what to do, Master, but I don’t know what to wear.”

  “You will wear your collar,” he said. “I want them to be able to admire your tattoos and piercings.”

  “Yes, Master.” This made me happy. It felt right to be naked for guests in the lifestyle, and I loved my tattoos and rings, just as Master did.

  He asked, “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Then go get ready,” he said. “Meet me back here in a half hour exactly.”

  I ran upstairs to my room and took my clothes off. I went to the bathroom, peed, checked my eyeliner and lip gloss, and brushed my hair, making sure the purple streak was right. I checked my mound: I’d had it waxed just the week before, and it was still smooth. I sat on my bed and watched the clock until it was time, then ran downstairs. Master was already sitting on the sofa, looking marvelous in his dinner jacket, and I was thrilled when he gestured me to lie with my head in his lap again.

  He petted my head the way he’d done before, but his hand soon moved from there to my shoulder, breasts, stomach, and thighs. He stroked me in all these places, the feel of his hand on my body so delicious, and finally he caressed my mound.

  “May I open my legs, Master?” I asked.

  He said, “You may,” and I was filled with joy as I spread my legs and his gentle fingers found my clitoris. I closed my eyes and immersed myself in sensation, this great gift he was giving me. I grew warmer and more aroused—it was like rivers rushing all through my body—until finally I said, “May I have an orgasm, Master?”

  He said, “No, not yet,” but went on stroking my pussy. I twisted and turned under his hand until I was sure I’d come whether I wanted to or not. I gasped, “Master! I’m going to come!”

  He took his hand away—such frustration!—and the doorbell rang. He said, “Run get the door now.”

  I was breathless as I ran to the door and opened it wide.

  The man standing in the doorway was Asian, about fifty, lean and distinguished looking, with short salt-and-pepper hair. He looked in fact like an Asian version of Master. He inclined his head briefly, smiled, and said, “Konbanwa.” So he was Japanese, and I had to bow much lower and stay bowed longer. I was sure I wasn’t doing it right, but surely the effort counted for something.

  A woman was standing behind him, and she bowed deeply. I bowed just as deeply, and then I couldn’t help staring at her. She was Japanese too, and looked a few years older than me. Her skin was radiant, almost perfectly white, and flawless, her features delicate, eyes warm. I’d have given anything to look like her. She was wearing a white dress with a floral pattern: I didn’t know what to call it, but it looked Japanese, and it was exquisite on her. It had a high neck, but that didn’t conceal the silver collar with the silver lock hanging from it. She smiled at me, and her smile was like a ray of sunshine breaking through dark clouds.

  I said, “Please come in” and stepped back just as Master appeared in the hallway behind me, saying “Kaito! It’s so good to see you!” I backed out of the way, they exchanged bows, and the Japanese man said, his English careful but fluent and his smile warm and genuine, “It’s fine to see you as well, Christopher.” They both stepped in, and I closed the door behind them.

  Master said, “Famula, you may address my guest as Mr. Watanabe.”

  Mr. Watanabe gestured towards his slave and said, “This is Ai.”

  I was entranced by the simple and beautiful name. I gazed at her lovingly.

  “Unfortunately,” Mr. Watanabe said, “Ai knows no English. Still, she may be useful to us tonight.”

  We went to the living room. Master gestured Mr. Watanabe into a chair, and Ai knelt at his feet, head bowed. Master sent me to the kitchen to get a scotch and water for Mr. Watanabe.

  I found Astrid working hard in the kitchen. She paused to stare at me and said, “This day is getting more interesting by the minute.”

  I laughed, said, “Welcome to the wonderful world of BDSM,” and went to the drinks cabinet.

  Astrid said, “The guests have arrived?”

  I said, “There’s only one guest, but he brought a slave. She’ll be eating at the table.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” she said.

  Back in the living room, I gave Mr. Watanabe his drink and went to kneel at Master’s feet. I didn’t really listen to the conversation, but stayed inside myself, sometimes stealing glances at Ai, until Astrid appeared in the doorway and said, “Famula, I’m ready for you.” I looked at Master, and he nodded. I got up, went with her, and, under her instruction, began to prepare the table.

  Though this wasn’t the world’s most elaborate dinner, there was plenty to do, once everyone was seated at the table—pouring wine, bringing dishes, clearing things away. Ai watched as I poured the white wine, and again as I cleared away the hors d’oeuvres plates.

  As I began to bring in the soup she leaned forward and spoke to Mr. Watanabe, so quietly I couldn’t hear. Not that I’d have understood anyway.

  Mr. Watanabe frowned and answered her, and she spoke again, louder now so I could hear, her tone earnest and pleading. Mr. Watanabe said to Master, “Ai begs the favor of being permitted to assist with the service. Is this agreeable to you, Christopher?”

  Master smiled and said, “Certainly.”

  Ai stood and stepped back from the table. She reached behind her neck and undid a fastener. She pulled her dress over her head and stepped out of her panties. Her breasts were small, her nipples tiny, her body slender and graceful, her white skin without blemish from head to toe. Mr. Watanabe gave a command, and she turned in place slowly. I stared, awestruck, at the colorful dragon that wound its way up her back and over her shoulder. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. I smiled at her, and she took that as a cue to follow me to the kitchen.

  Astrid turned towards us as we came into the kitchen. She said, “This night is getting better and better. Are the men—”

  I said, “I expect they’ll keep their clothes on, at least till after dinner. Ai would like to help serve. She doesn’t speak English, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “Of course not,” Astrid said.

  Ai took up a plate with a soup bowl on it and carried it to the dining room. I watched as she set it in front of Master, leaning close enough to him that her breasts almost brushed his shoulder. He didn’t look around at her.

  Serving a dinner involves a lot of standing around doing nothing. Ai and I stood together on the kitchen side of the door to the dining room, just out of the men’s sight, and waited until we were needed. It was awkward not being able to speak. After a minute I felt bold enough to touch the dragon tattoo where it wound sinuously over her shoulder. I smiled at her to let her know I was complimenting it.

  She replied by smiling and touching the rose vine where it climbed between my breasts. Her fingertip lingered a few seconds. Her touch was light and warm, and the warmth seemed to spread out from where she touched me. I was happy being with her, as if this beautiful woman could somehow make me beautiful just by looking at me.

  Astrid told us when it was time to serve the main course. We took away the white wineglasses and poured the red, then brought in plates with duck breast, green beans, and potatoes. We retreated to the kitchen and stood together silently while Astrid worked on the salad in the background.

  Ai smiled shyly, reached out, and touched my nipple ring. She didn’t have any piercings, so perhaps she didn’t know what effect a touch like this could have. The pleasure radiated from my breast, up to my neck, down through my thighs. I couldn’t help myself: I closed my eyes and shivered a little. She pulled the ring gently and touched my other nipple with her other hand. My nipples stiffened and grew under her hands, and I gasped at their sensitivity.

  I heard Master and Mr. Watanabe talking
in the next room, their voices far away. When I opened my eyes I saw Ai still looking at me, smiling, interested. She leaned forward, rested a hand just where the rose vine twined around my side, and kissed my lips. Her fragrance was faint and floral, her lips soft, neither moist nor dry. The thought of her perfect lips touching mine was intoxicating.

  Astrid, deeper in the kitchen, was trying to pay no attention to us, though she’d finished with the salad. She was making herself busy with the dishes from earlier courses.

  Master called for me and I hurried into the dining room. “Our water glasses need refilling,” he said, and I went to the kitchen for the pitcher of ice water, which Astrid had set on the bar near the door. When I’d filled the glasses I returned to Ai, stood close to her, took one of her nipples between my fingers, and gave it a little twist. She closed her eyes and sighed, and I leaned in for a kiss while her eyes were closed. She didn’t pull away; she moved a little closer so her breasts brushed mine. I put my hands on her shoulders and pulled her towards me—lightly, gently, she could have refused this gesture with almost no effort, giving no offense—but she pressed her body against mine, one hand behind my neck, one between my shoulder blades; my hands, as if on their own, slid down her back.

  My tongue probed her mouth and my hands explored her back and ass. Her hands moved to the small of my back, so warm and soft, her mouth open, her tongue teasing mine. Her kiss was full of caring—I was forgetting where I was, forgetting the men in the next room, forgetting Astrid.

  “Ai!” Mr. Watanabe called from the next room, and she broke away and hurried into the dining room. He barked an order—orders sound so impressive in Japanese—and she came into the kitchen, looked around, spotted a little pile of napkins on a counter, took one, and ran out again.

  She returned and stood a little apart from me, the way she’d done before. I smiled at her, shy again, and she smiled back. A minute passed, and then she reached down to touch my clit ring. She said something softly in Japanese. I couldn’t understand her words, but still they rang like divine poetry, her soft voice like otherworldly music. I was wet now, and her finger slipped over my clit, between my labia—her touch was different from Master’s or Amanda’s, but just as—

  Astrid cleared her throat and said, “I hate to interrupt, but I believe the remaining diners are finished with their main courses. Perhaps you could collect their plates and give them their salads? And Ai, it might be a good idea to wash your hands first.”

  I mimed hand-washing for Ai, and she washed in the sink—then we went out together and collected the dinner plates. I noticed that Ai paused in the doorway and bowed, and bowed when she’d picked up or put down a plate. Her gracefulness when she did this was breathtaking. I wondered if I could learn to bow that way. We took the dinner plates to the kitchen and returned with the salad. Then we retreated into the kitchen again. I was feeling a little abashed, and Ai looked like she felt the same way. But I couldn’t help sneaking a peek at her soft, long pubic hair. Having seen it, I had to touch it, and having touched, I had to massage her clit. How I loved her silky wetness!

  I was moved by her unearthly beauty, by her enslavement—it was my enslavement—by the forbiddenness of what we were doing, giving each other pleasure without the Masters’ leave. I fell to my knees in front of her, and she leaned back against the wall and bent and spread her knees, giving me access to her pussy. I licked her clit softly at first, then more urgently. I heard her breathing, not quite a sigh—she was controlling herself, wanting to make no noise—till she was humping my mouth, her wetness running down my chin.

  She took my head in her hands and lifted me to her. She kissed me for a few seconds and then with her small hands guided me to the floor and laid me on my side. She parted my legs, lay down, resting her head on my inner thigh, and parted her own legs for me. I pulled her pussy to me, enthralled by her straight pubic hair, her smooth little labia, her swelling clit, the mysterious, lightly downed crack hiding her anus. I was lost in the flavor and smell of her, in the overwhelming sensation of her mouth on my pussy, her tongue exploring my slit and penetrating my vagina. Somewhere in the distance someone might have been calling “Famula!” or perhaps “Ai!” but that wasn’t important, only her perfect body against mine, her tongue inside me, my lips sunk into the slickness of her—

  “Famula, stop that now!” I heard Master’s voice clearly. It was above me, strident and compelling, but I couldn’t stop. I stabbed my tongue into Ai’s vagina, humped her mouth, and heard her cry out, a high, whining cry—it was her orgasm, and the beauty of it tore at my soul. Mr. Watanabe was shouting orders in Japanese, and Ai rolled away. “No!” I sobbed, and reached for my pussy; I was seconds from coming, but Master’s strong hand grasped my wrist and restrained me.

  I thought, We are so in for it. Our infractions were numerous: we’d neglected our duties, given each other unauthorized sexual pleasure, failed to come when called, and refused to stop when ordered. Ai had had an orgasm, and I’d tried to masturbate without permission.

  Ai sat calmly on the floor, waiting for whatever was coming. I, on the other hand, was anything but calm. My shame was cutting me up inside like knives. I groveled in front of Master, clutched his foot, and howled that I’d been bad, and I was so ashamed and afraid, and I knew I’d have to be punished.

  Master crouched beside me, lifted me by the armpits, made me kneel, and said “Be quiet!”—a sharp order. I obeyed as well as I could, hiccuping and scrubbing my nose with a palm.

  Mr. Watanabe said, “I can see that what you told me is true. You have quite a problem on your hands.”

  “Yes,” said Master, “it’s gone beyond being imperfect as a slave, beyond mere disobedience—”

  “She’s rebellious,” said Mr. Watanabe. “She will require stern correction.”

  “But there’s an additional difficulty here,” said Astrid. I glanced up at her in surprise. She’d taken off her pants and was unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a black leather corset beneath. “You’ve told us that she misbehaves deliberately to make you punish her.”

  “So when you punish her,” said Ai, her English scarcely accented, “You’re rewarding bad behavior and incentivizing further rebellious acts. The effect is the opposite of what you intend.”

  I sat up and stared at her. Holding her collar in her hand now, she stared back at me with clinical detachment. I sniffled a little. Suddenly I felt very alone.

  Astrid said, “You’ve got to nip this in the bud, or before you know it you’ll have a complete brat on your hands.”

  “I thank you for your opinions,” said Master. “You’re confirming what I’ve suspected myself. But the greater problem is what to do about it. That’s where I’m most in need of your advice.”

  “Punish her misbehavior with kindness?” asked Astrid. “Reward her with punishments?”

  “I don’t think that will work,” said Master. “She seems to like kindness and punishment equally well.”

  “So our goal,” said Mr. Watanabe, “must be to find a punishment for her that’s actually a punishment.”

  “Separation often works,” said Ai. “Send her to her room. Deny her your company.”

  Yes, that would be a punishment. I could hardly bear the thought. I whimpered and collapsed into a little heap on the floor.

  “Thank you, I may try that,” said Master. “But for tonight—”

  “It wouldn’t be much fun,” said Astrid. “We need something we can do in your dungeon. What are her hard limits?”

  “Cutting, asphyxiation, shit,” said Master. “You know, edgeplay.”

  “And soft limits?” said Mr. Watanabe. “Whipping? Wax? Electric shocks? Insects? Interrogation? Public humiliation?”

  “She doesn’t have any soft limits,” said Master, “or at least there are none in our contract.”

  “Then let’s tie her up,” said Astrid, “and explore a little.”

  They led me to the dungeon and made me stand in the center of the mat
ted area, just below a hook in the ceiling.

  Master said, “Kaito and Ai are my Shibari instructors. They are great artists.”

  He didn’t explain anything more, but just let them work. They tied my arms and legs with intricate knots, and more knots to support my middle, until finally I was hanging in the air about two feet above the mat, my body flat, spreadeagled, face up. The thin, soft ropes were like a net encasing every part of me, supporting me everywhere, so I felt light, as if I were lying on a bed of clouds.

  Ai crouched by my head and said, “Look at me, Famula.”

  I raised my head. Her beauty still filled me with wonder. My desire for her was undiminished—but now I wanted her to punish me.

  “We’re going to stuff you now,” she said, and showed me a facial harness with a double dildo—a small dildo to fill my mouth and a larger one for the outside. It was an awe-inspiring thing.

  “You won’t be able to speak,” Ai said, “but hold these keys.” She pressed a set of keys into my right hand. “If you drop them, it will be like a safeword. Now open your mouth.” I did as she’d said, and she inserted the dildo—it was skinlike and good. While she was buckling it behind my head, someone I couldn’t see was lubricating my ass. It felt so good, I squirmed in my ropes and moaned way down in my throat; then I twitched as someone shoved a butt plug into me.

  There was something at the entrance to my vagina. I could lift my head now and look—it was Mr. Watanabe, naked, shoving a big dildo into me—I wanted to shrink away from his hand, but the ropes held me and my body responded in spite of myself.

  I let my head fall back in time to see Astrid approach. She’d taken her panties off and was wearing only her corset, and even though she looked upside down, she was magnificent and statuesque, a Nordic warrior goddess. She was rubbing herself, fingers deep in her slit, and the gesture made her unshaven pussy seem obscene and repugnant. I tried to turn away, but she seized the dildo, straddled me, and lowered herself onto it. I caught a glimpse of it sliding between her puffy pink folds—her smell was ripe. Then she reached down, supported me with one hand behind my head, and humped my face.