Five weeks into their new life as a family, he’d had them many times in all combinations. A few scenes stood out in his memory. Once he’d hogtied them both, tormented them with vibrators, and alternated fucking them front and back. As they’d played, he’d sensed the love between Emily and Amanda and their love for him, and he’d been hot with excitement.
Once he’d made Emily wear a butt plug while she was out all day shopping. She’d come home begging him to ass-fuck her, but he’d made her wait till the next morning, by which time she was beside herself. And once he’d come back to the apartment sweaty after a morning run and had caught Amanda staring at him. He’d made her lick the sweat from his body, and she’d spent much of the day in a trance.
He’d clarified a number of things about the boundaries of his authority—while he ruled the two women, Emily ruled Amanda too, and he had to avoid interfering with her authority. Having two owners didn’t confuse Amanda, in whose mind she was slave to them both and loved them both, though she submitted to Emily with a devotion that she was incapable of with anyone else. This was all right with Andrew, since Emily’s devotion to him was similarly absolute—she reserved only her responsibility for Amanda’s well-being as an area in which she submitted to no one.
Andrew also accepted that the terms of his contract with Emily didn’t permit him to control her relationship with Amanda. Emily’s last Master, a compulsive voyeur, had tried to make them have sex so he could watch, precipitating the crisis that had brought Andrew and Emily back together. Andrew, on the other hand, liked seeing the women make love but didn’t need it. Yet occasionally the two slaves would dash, giggling, into a room where he was trying to concentrate on the Anabasis Alexandri and tumble down into a sixty-nine on the floor. He’d harrumph and try to ignore them, but his resistance would soon be worn away. So when Emily, knowing they had his attention, would look up from Amanda’s pussy with a naughty smile and say, “Fuck us, Master?” he’d be overcome with lust. His book would fall to the floor, and he’d tear his clothes off and take over their game.
Still, he was uneasy. Maybe it was an insecurity rooted in his knowledge that, though the women had given him authority over them, he was in important ways the most junior member of their family, the one who had the least experience in their lifestyle and knew least what he was doing. Maybe his male pride was bruised by the fact that the lowliest of the slaves, Amanda, possessed a small fortune given to her by her billionaire former owners, and Emily was well positioned to find a good job in some tech field, while he, the supposed Master, would be drawing a meager stipend as a graduate student in classics.
Or maybe he had some platonic sense that playing the Master’s part, and having sex as Master, should be a transcendent experience for him as being a slave often was for the women. But the life of a Master was one of iron self-control, never the ecstasy of self-surrender. There seemed to be no domspace corresponding to their subspace.
And thrumming beneath it all was surely the eternal anxiety of that kind of man who loves to please women, as Andrew did: was he doing what they wanted? was he doing it right? was he good enough?
He needed advice, and to get it he turned to the most successful Dominant he knew: Mistress Ai. When she learned that he wanted to consult with her, she invited him to come to lunch the very same day.
It was Asoko, Ai’s female slave, who opened the door to him. During the days that he, Emily, and Amanda had stayed with Ai, he had often seen her without really noticing her: Emily and Amanda had claimed his whole attention. But they weren’t with him now, and he took a good look at Asoko. She was about thirty-five years old, plump and ample-breasted, with an intricate interlace design tattooed on her right thigh. Her round face was sunny and welcoming. Like all Ai’s slaves, she was naked except for a plain black collar. Unlike the male slaves, she’d been allowed to keep her eyebrows and her blond hair, which she wore in a side ponytail twisted like a loose rope: she was hairless everywhere else. Andrew thought her more than a little attractive.
Asoko led him to the living room, where Ai rose and greeted him. They sat while Asoko went about preparing their lunch.
After Ai had listened to the news about Emily and Amanda, she invited Andrew to tell her what she could do to help him, and he confided his misgivings and anxieties. “I sometimes wonder,” he concluded, “whether I’m really a Dominant at all.”
“It’s my opinion that you are,” Ai said, and Andrew drew a sigh of relief. “That is to say, you have a native capacity for dominance. But that capacity is still undeveloped. Similarly, a native ability as a baseball player doesn’t lead to a great career in sports unless one trains rigorously.”
“That occurred to me,” said Andrew. “I was wondering if it might be a good idea to practice—you know, with a submissive who’s not my own and could give me advice about what I was doing right and wrong.”
Ai smiled. “You could. The problem is that—well, I’ll show you. Asoko!”
Asoko came hurrying from the kitchen. “Yes, Mistress?”
“Would you like to suck Master Andrew’s cock?”
Asoko smiled brightly. “Oh, yes, Mistress! Right now?”
“No, Asoko, not right now. Or perhaps Master Andrew would rather fuck you.”
Asoko glanced at Andrew with warm eyes. “Oh, Mistress! That would be heaven.”
“On the other hand, he might decide to forgo sex and simply flog you.”
“Thank you, Mistress. It would be an honor to be flogged by Master Andrew.”
Ai said, “If Master Andrew were to play with you, what would you want him to do?”
Asoko looked confused for a moment, then said, “I would want Master Andrew to do what pleased him, as long as he respected my limits.”
“Thank you, Asoko. I’ll reward you later for those good answers. You may bring the soup.”
Asoko went back to the kitchen.
“You know well,” said Ai, “that a submissive surrenders her will to you. She’s far more likely to echo your own desires than to give you useful advice.”
“Okay,” said Andrew. “Well, then, I’m out of ideas.”
Ai said, “Probably the single most valuable thing a Dominant can do is spend some time as a submissive—to experience what they experience and see the world from their perspective. The submissive is tuned to the desires and needs of the Dominant, but it is even more important that a Dominant be tuned to the desires and needs of the submissive. To perform the role properly and safely, it’s essential to be in sympathetic communication with the submissive at every moment. This is a more important ability than that of persuading people to obey you. It’s the ability that needs to be most carefully cultivated—not only because it’s important in itself, but also because it’s an area in which it is easy to go dangerously wrong. The best way to cultivate that ability is to experience the Dominant/submissive relationship from both sides.”
“I get it,” said Andrew. “So I should spend some time as a slave. How do I go about doing that?”
“You could visit professional Dommes,” she said, “but doing so would probably be beyond the means of either a store clerk or a graduate student. The cheaper alternative—and the better one, really—would be to join my household for a day as a slave. I know exactly how Emily likes to play. I could help you experience what she experiences. And to be honest, it would be fun for me. There hasn’t been enough variation in my routine lately.” She smiled.
“That’s incredibly generous,” Andrew said. “I accept your invitation.”
“Excellent,” said Ai. “Why don’t we make you a slave for twenty-four hours. We could start at noon tomorrow, if you’re free, and go to noon the following day.”
“I’m free,” said Andrew; “the women can get along by themselves. I wonder what I should tell Emily, though.”
Asoko came in carrying two plates with rice balls and vegetables. Her eyes shifted from Andrew to Mistress Ai and back again. She put down the plates and left, hip
s swinging a little.
Ai said, “Tell her you’re going to be my slave for a day—or tell her nothing. As her Master, you’re not required to ask her permission to do this—or, for that matter, to play with Asoko, who has, I see, become rather excited and needs our attention. Would you like to play with us after lunch?”
Asoko was returning with a water jug. Andrew allowed himself a glance at her plump, bare mound and said, “Thanks—I’d love to.”
* * *
Daddy buzzed Master Jason in from the street, and a minute later there was a knock on the door.
Daddy said, “What are you waiting for, idiot cunt? Go let him in!”
Pipit was naked except for a collar with a leash that hung down between her breasts. Daddy was wearing her leathers again. Pipit ran to the door and opened it. Jason was soft and overweight, a man of about forty with a close-cropped beard. He wore a brown jacket, gray pants, and a dull red tie.
He was startled by the sight of Pipit naked in the doorway but managed to recover gracefully. Pipit liked the effect she was having on him.
She smiled and said, “Come in.”
He came in and she closed the door. Daddy approached and said, “Go to the playroom and wait for us, cunt. I need to have a word with Master Jason.”
Pipit went into the playroom, where the stocks had been dragged to the center of the floor. She knelt on a mat, staring at the stocks and feeling scared and excited—so like the delicious feeling she used to have while waiting for Master Christopher to bring a friend to his dungeon to fuck her. She knew Daddy was reviewing limits and safewords, condom use and other safety things, and getting Master Jason to tell her what he planned to do so she could make sure it was all right. Maybe she was making him pay her as well, but Pipit wasn’t supposed to worry about money, so she put that out of her mind.
Finally Daddy brought Master Jason into the room. Pipit stayed on her knees and waited to find out what the game would be. Daddy and Master Jason stood close on either side and looked down at her.
Master Jason said, “It’s a pretty cunt.”
Daddy said, “But it’s a naughty cunt. It masturbated two nights ago without Daddy’s permission, and last night it tried to touch itself while Daddy was giving it a treat. So it’s an ungrateful cunt, too.”
Pipit flushed. She knew perfectly well that she shouldn’t have masturbated without Daddy’s permission, even if Daddy hadn’t told her so. A wave of hot shame burned through her, and she began to cry. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she sobbed. “Please don’t punish me.”
Daddy said, “Bad little cunts need punishment so they can learn to be good little cunts. Master Jason has agreed to teach you to behave. You’ll do what he says, and Daddy’ll watch and assist.”
Master Jason walked over to the stocks. “Crawl to me, cunt,” he said.
Doing her best to look terrified, Pipit crept slowly till she was at Master’s feet. She knelt again. The stocks towered over her: it was a pair of frames put together in an L, with boards for the feet in the bottom horizontal frame and boards for the head and wrists, about waist-high, in the vertical frame.
Master Jason said, “What are you waiting for, cunt? Get in the fucking stocks.” He grabbed her under an armpit and hauled her, whining, to her feet. She let Master remove her collar and manipulate her body to put her in the stocks, hands lingering on her stomach, thighs, and ass. When he was finished, she was standing in the bottom frame, ankles immobilized more than two feet apart. She was bent at the waist, torso horizontal, with her head and hands in the vertical frame.
She’d never been in the stocks before. She experimented with moving her body. She could wiggle her bottom and bend her legs a bit, but couldn’t move a lot without discomfort. She felt as vulnerable as she ever had bound to a cross or table.
Master was walking slow circles around her, undressing as he went, till he was wearing just tight black boxers. His cock made a bulge.
Daddy said, “Its mouth and cunt are at a good height for fucking.”
“Yes,” Master said thoughtfully. Maybe he was trying to decide which end to fuck first. Pipit held still and waited, pulse racing.
Finally Master came around to her head and pulled himself out. He was fully erect, but neither long nor thick. The head of his cock was oversized and purplish, like an exotic mushroom. He held it in his hand and said, “Open up, cunt.”
She opened her mouth, and he thrust in. This was one of the best moments of this kind of fuck, when a cock first penetrated her. Huge emotions lit up her mind, so complex: shame, arousal, terror, revulsion, desperate longing all tangled up together, all overwhelming. Adrenalin surged through her body: she wanted to run away and hide, but she couldn’t move. She wanted to scream, but Master was already shoving as deep into her as his little cock would go, and she could make only strangled moans.
He held the frame with two hands and thrust hard so her nose smashed into the shiny black cloth of his boxers. She hummed, stuck her tongue out, tickling his balls, and let this strange cock fill her up—so warm and alive, pulsing with his lust. She let her mouth fill with saliva and overflow.
Daddy said, “It’s a good cocksucker.” She took her leather pants off, went to the closet, and came back with a metal butt plug, a dildo, and a bottle of lubricant. She lubricated Pipit’s ass and pushed the cold butt plug in roughly and painfully; but her pussy was already wet, and the dildo slid in easily. Pipit heard Daddy’s gasps and guessed that she was masturbating while she fucked her with the dildo. Pipit was glad: she loved it when Daddy was wet and excited because of her. She thought about the few times Master Christopher had joined in while a friend fucked her, the intensity of having two cocks in her, so hot and slutty . . . this was like that.
Master pulled his cock out, and Daddy pulled out the dildo. Pipit wondered if they were going to trade places, but Daddy came to her front, spread her own legs, and eased the dildo into herself. Pipit watched it slowly disappear between Daddy’s big pink folds, hoping she’d get to suck it with Daddy’s wet on it.
Then she felt Master’s fingers touch her stomach lightly; with his other hand he touched her side.
Her body twitched violently. “No!” she cried, suddenly realizing what was going on.
“It’s ticklish,” Master laughed. He tickled her stomach with both hands, then her sides, till she was giggling uncontrollably and trying to wriggle away—those parts of her that she could move—laughing “No! Please!”
“Oh, yeah,” Daddy sighed, fucking herself with the dildo. “Make the cunt scream.”
This wasn’t funny—her laughter was a hysterical screech. Master laughed too, a sadistic chuckle, as she thrashed in the stocks and screamed while Daddy worked her pussy just inches away. There was no escape, no matter how much she wriggled and thrashed.
He stopped, slid two fingers into her pussy, and fucked her. Daddy pulled the dildo out of herself and put it in Pipit’s mouth, and she sucked gratefully, savoring Daddy’s strong cunty taste, so familiar and comforting. She was relieved to be back to doing something that seemed safe and normal.
But her relief lasted only a minute. Master took his fingers out of her pussy, Daddy took away the dildo, and Master went on tickling her. His fingers explored her body, looking for more ticklish places—the insides of her thighs, her back, behind her knees, her neck—and it seemed that every inch of her was sensitive.
They paused again. Daddy gave her the dildo and Master finger-fucked her, but her pleasure was all too brief. Soon Master was tickling her again, and by the time he stopped for good, her laughter was torture and her body was weak, her knees wobbly.
Daddy let Pipit suck the dildo again. She gazed into Daddy’s face and tried to read her expression, but she couldn’t. Then she felt a sharp spank on her bottom, and she gasped around the dildo, knowing that a spanking was coming, and then, probably, a paddling or a caning.
Daddy pulled the dildo out of her and fucked herself with it again as Master said, “Little cun
t needs its ass warmed,” and Pipit cried, “No, Master, please, I’ll be good!” He ignored her, as she knew he would: he gave her five hard spanks.
Master had brought his own paddle, one with a slit in it, and it burned. Pipit tried to concentrate on Daddy and her dildo, the sight of it sliding into her big pussy, the ripeness of Daddy’s flavor on it when she let her suck it. Daddy jammed the dildo into her throat each time the paddle came down, making her gag and drool. The slap of the paddle echoed in the room together with her own sloppy gargling noises.
Master paused, and Daddy said, “Fuck the cunt.” Master put on a condom, stood behind Pipit, and pushed into her pussy. This had always been a special moment in Christopher’s dungeon—the moment when she couldn’t pretend it was just play anymore, what she was doing. She was getting fucked, she was a slut, and shame surged inside her, making her pussy even hotter and wetter.
It was hard work for this fat Master to fuck her standing up; he gasped and panted as he labored, Daddy still fucking Pipit’s mouth with the dildo, till Pipit was sure he’d come soon.
Daddy pulled the dildo out and dropped it on the floor. She stood by Pipit’s ass, spread her cheeks, and pulled out the butt plug.
“Fuck its ass, Master Jason,” she said. She pushed Pipit’s ass down, making her bend her knees so Master could reach her.
Pipit whined and squirmed as Master pushed into her ass: there was still lubricant in it, but not enough to keep it from hurting bad. Tears ran down her cheeks and she wished she had Daddy’s dildo back, but Daddy was still behind her, spreading her wide for Master, murmuring, “Fuck yeah, nail that ass,” mesmerized by the sight of his cock forcing its way into her—Daddy had a thing about asses.
It hurt less once Master was deep inside, fucking her rhythmically with long strokes. She made fists to help ease the pain as Daddy chanted “Yeah, fuck it.” Master fucked her a long time—she couldn’t tell how long, it seemed hours—before she sensed the instinct taking over his body, his breaths coming rougher, his thrusts hard and involuntary.
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