“No,” she said, wilting. “You can’t . . . please don’t tell.”
“Don’t you deserve it, though? You were a nasty little number back when I knew you. Wouldn’t it be just right, you know, karmically, if everyone knew you were living off your cunt?”
“I always liked you, Andrew, really I—”
“Get on your fucking knees when you talk to me. Here, right in front of me.”
She knelt in front of him and said “I always thought you were cute, and really sweet, Andrew—”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” said Andrew. “I’m going to spend the rest of the night making up my mind whether to let your proud mommy and daddy know you’re a whore. You’d better be thinking about how to please me. Believe me, you can’t do it with lies.”
“I’ll please you, Andrew, I swear.” Her mouth looked so succulent when she said that, and talking this way was incredibly hot. He was already rock hard.
“Call me Sir, whore.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, looking frightened.
“Take your clothes off.”
She started to get up.
“Don’t get up. Do it on the floor.”
She pulled off her top and squirmed out of her shorts while sitting on the floor.
“Lie down,” Andrew said. “Spread your legs, pull your lips apart, and show me your cunt.”
She did those things. Andrew saw she was wet already. He bent down and slid a finger into her. He thought she had the most beautiful pussy he’d ever seen.
As he finger-fucked her, she said, “Do you like it, Sir?”
He said, “Shut up and turn over.”
She turned onto her stomach, and he bent down, pulled her ass cheeks apart, and inspected her anus. That was just as beautiful—tight, symmetrical, pink. He pressed a thumb against it and felt it push back against him. “I’ll bet you sell your asshole, too, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir. You can fuck my ass too, Sir—”
“Just answer my fucking questions. Don’t say any more.” He turned her onto her back again and gave one breast a slap, making her gasp.
She even looked a little like Becky. Andrew said, “I can’t believe I ever thought you were beautiful. You have pretty features, but the rot inside makes you ugly as hell. You may as well weigh five hundred pounds, because you’re so filthy and depraved, I can hardly stand to look at you.”
Her eyes were beginning to tear up. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said.
“Sorry for what?” Andrew said. “Sorry for the way you treated me back in school? Sorry for being scum?”
“Everything, Sir. I’m so sorry.”
She was so persuasive when she said “I’m sorry” that he almost believed his words were really hurting her. The feeling was exhilarating, as if he were the world’s greatest Dominant, making his sub feel the most powerful emotions. He needed more of it.
“You are a sorry slut,” he said, putting a hand on her bare mound. He slid a finger into her: she was already wet. “Does it turn you on, selling your cunt?”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, wriggling under his hand. “Please, Sir, I need you to fuck me.”
As he listened, his arousal became unbearable. He stood, pushed his pants down, and said, “Suck me, bitch.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said meekly. With a graceful, fluid movement, she got to her knees in front of him and leaned forward, letting his cock slide into her mouth. He reached around her, seized her braid, and pulled her to him roughly, forcing her to take him deep.
“Fucking skank,” he said. “You were already a whore back in high school. And now you’re just a collection of holes for men to squirt cum into, aren’t you?”
Her answer was a liquid, gargling noise. Tears were running down her cheeks. He pulled her to him harder, and she choked and drooled. That turned him on more, but Emily often did that for him, and he wanted something bigger and more intense.
“Just a fuck-toy,” he said, and shoved her backwards onto the floor. “Like a plastic love doll.” He mounted her head and forced himself deep into her, grunting with the effort. She squirmed and put her arms around his thighs as he pounded her throat. She gagged, turned her head so his cock flopped out of her, and spat drool onto the floor. Then she turned back to him and cried, “Please, Sir!”
He pushed into her again, took her head in both hands, and pulled her up hard. He held her there, tight against him, nose smashed into his pubic hair, and moved a little back and forth, liking the way that stimulated the head of his cock way back in her throat.
Suddenly her body convulsed, and she wrenched away and vomited a yellowish mess onto the floor—not a lot, but enough to excite Andrew even more. He seized her head again and thrust as she flailed under him, choking and puking, making a yellow puddle.
When he felt he was close to coming, he pulled out of her. He yanked her to her knees, bent down, slapped her cheek, and enjoyed the way she said “Ow!” and flinched.
She was really crying now. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she sobbed. Shit, she was good, really convincing. He slapped her other cheek, grabbed her wet pussy, and rubbed hard, overstimulating her and making her cry out.
“Time for a fuck, cunt,” he said, and slapped her pussy, making her twitch violently.
“Ow, Sir!” she cried as he sank three fingers into her, “Anything, Sir!” He didn’t know when he’d felt as good as he did right now, his body buzzing with energy, his mind ablaze with a wild happiness.
He’d left a few condom packets on the edge of the mat. He took one, put it on, climbed on top of Tosatsu and thrust into her pussy. He slid in easily—he’d turned her on so! “What are you?” he growled.
“I’m a whore, Sir!”
“Are you filthy and degraded?”
“Yes, Sir, I’m a filthy whore!”
He made her say these things over and over, like a catechism, as he fucked her. Then he flipped her over and thrust a finger into her ass, which she’d already lubricated for him. He rammed into her from behind, sudden and hard, and enjoyed the way she cried out with the pain and sobbed “I’m sorry, Sir!” as he fucked her and taunted her with her worthlessness and sluttishness.
And finally, when he felt his orgasm coming, he pulled out of her ass, tore the condom off, and flipped her over. Her face was wet with drool, bile, and tears—more beautiful than ever. “Oh, please, I’m sorry,” she whined, but he jerked off inches from her open mouth, and his cum splashed onto her cheeks, into her mouth, onto her forehead, and into her eyes.
“Filthy whore,” he snarled, and was thrilled by her tears and her devastated look as he smeared his cum all over her face with an open hand.
He held her then, and she cried quietly in his arms. He thought it strange that she was still crying after the scene was done. Not knowing what else to do, he stroked her back and waited for her to recover. When she’d calmed down a little, he said, “That was fantastic. I hope it wasn’t too rough.”
She sniffled, wiped an eye, and said, “No, it was good. You were . . . amazing. Please . . . promise me you’ll come back?”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t mean to come back, but in his heart he must have known he had to.
* * *
Neko wished she knew how to comfort Pipit. She sat with her arms around her friend while Raquel saw Andrew out. Then Raquel came back, took Pipit from her, and held her in her arms, and she cried in Raquel’s ample bosom for a long time, unable to speak. Finally Pipit said, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Raquel rocked Pipit and said, “You’re really fucking exhausting, you know that, babycunt?”
Pipit said, “I’m sorry. Please, Daddy?” and started to cry again.
Raquel got up tiredly, leaving Pipit sprawled on the mat. She came back smacking a paddle against her palm.
“Fucking whore,” Raquel said. “Filthy cunt. On your shoulders and knees.”
Neko sat and watched Raquel make lovely red marks on Pipit’s ass while she screamed that she was sorry, so sorry.
She wondered what in the world was going on.
When Pipit’s ass was all red and shiny, Raquel sent her to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Neko had the next turn in the bathroom, and when she got back Pipit was already locked in her cage and Raquel was impatiently tossing a padlock from hand to hand. Neko crawled into the new cage that Raquel had placed next to Pipit’s, and Raquel locked her in and left to go to bed.
Neko listened for a minute to Pipit’s sniffles, and then said, “What did that guy do to you, Pipit?”
“He called me a whore and a slut, worthless, disgusting, and depraved, and he fucked me like he hated me. He . . . he made me throw up.”
“That’s horrible, sweetie.”
“It was what I asked him to do.”
“Why did Raquel paddle you?”
“She had to punish me for being the things he called me.”
Neko took a few seconds to think about that, and then everything snapped into place. “Oh, sweetie,” she said. “I wish I could give you a hug.”
“You don’t want to touch me,” said Pipit. “I’m filthy and disgusting.” She started to cry again, and Neko ached, wishing she could comfort her.
* * *
Later Pipit lay awake in her cage, wrists cuffed to the bars, listening to Neko’s breathing. How she wished she could masturbate! Daddy had punished her for whoring, but there were other things that she couldn’t even tell Daddy, bad things she’d done. If only Daddy knew to punish her for those! Or Neko, her best friend, or Andrew—she needed them to punish her for the things she was doing to them.
Snot dripped from Pipit’s nose, but she couldn’t wipe it away with her cuffed hands. Tears puddled on the floor of the cage. Moisture trickled from her pussy and tickled her thigh. She twisted her body to rub her legs together, trying to stimulate herself, but it did little good. She was wound up, her need overwhelming. She whispered, “I’m sorry, Neko. I’m so sorry, Andrew.” And on the last syllable of “Andrew,” she came without touching herself.
Chapter 7. Female Male Female
The night Pipit brought Neko home with her was a turning point. After that, Daddy didn’t give Pipit freedom, exactly, but she trusted her enough to let her out to stretch her legs every few days. She loved walking around the Village, the way she’d often done when she’d lived with Christopher: being on the street, surrounded by people, made her feel so alive. She’d walk around Washington Square, down Sixth Avenue, up Broadway: she loved it all.
Three days after Daddy had brought Andrew home to fuck her, she was walking up Macdougal, enjoying the crowds and thinking of getting one of her favorite lunches at Mamoun’s Falafel, when she saw Famula sitting by herself at one of the tables outside Caffe Reggio. She had a cup of coffee and an untouched croissant in front of her: she was staring at these things and seeming not to see them.
It surprised Pipit that she didn’t feel a surge of hatred at the sight of Famula, the way she had the last time she’d seen her. She stood on the sidewalk some thirty feet away and watched her, studying her own feelings. Definitely no hatred, no disgust. No feeling of triumph, either, at having fucked her Master. There was guilt, of course—something like what she felt whenever she was with Neko—but that feeling was an old friend. It went with her everywhere.
It had to happen, of course: Famula raised her head suddenly and looked straight into Pipit’s eyes. Then she looked down quickly, as if she’d been the one caught staring, not Pipit.
Pipit rushed over to her, keeping on the far side of the green railing so it wouldn’t seem she was inviting herself to sit—but Famula had to look at her. She seemed a little annoyed, as if she’d have ignored her if she could.
“Hi, Famula,” Pipit said, shyly and awkwardly. “I just wanted . . . I’ve been thinking . . . would you tell Mouche I’m sorry? I wasn’t nice to her. It’s been on my mind.”
Famula’s face softened a little. Pipit decided she hadn’t been fair to her: she was really pretty. “I’ll tell her,” she said. “It wasn’t a terrible thing, her leaving Karen and Daniel. She’s been happy.”
Pipit said, “I’m glad.” She really was glad. She didn’t want to go. She cast about for something to say. “I had to leave, you know. Karen’s kink—I just couldn’t do it.”
Famula hesitated a second and said, “Have you had lunch? I wouldn’t mind some company.”
“Thanks,” Pipit said, came around behind the railing, and sat.
“I don’t know how you managed it for even a little while,” Famula said. “I couldn’t have done it at all.”
A waitress came, and Pipit ordered a latte and a panini.
“I must have been crazy. I think I started to lose my mind New Year’s Eve. I never attacked anyone before, you know. You were the first.”
Famula smiled. “I’d never been attacked before, or fought back. I wish I had a video of it. It’d probably be a hit on YouPorn, two naked slaves wrestling on the floor.”
“Maybe we should recreate it,” Pipit laughed. “If we could draw it out to about ten minutes—”
“Add sound effects, shots of the crowd cheering,” said Famula, smiling.
Famula seemed to be warming to Pipit, who glanced at the rose vine tattoo that was just visible in the bit of cleavage she could see above her halter top. Another vine wound up the side of her neck. Even that didn’t disgust Pipit anymore. It seemed pretty now, the colors vivid in the late summer light.
Famula said, “So what are you doing, if you’re not with Karen and Daniel anymore?”
Pipit told Famula about her work at Mistress Shigemi’s and her life with Daddy, but didn’t say anything about Neko, Andrew, or fucking clients at home. “Daddy’s rougher than I was used to,” she said, “but she’s been really good for me. I think she’s teaching me to be a nicer person—if that makes any sense.”
Famula said, “It does make sense. I’ve always thought being in a good relationship makes people better.” She looked troubled for a moment, as if she didn’t quite know how to continue. But the moment passed, and she said, “You weren’t so bad, you know. I mean, after New Year’s Eve I didn’t hate you or anything.”
“You’re nice that way,” Pipit said. “I wish being nice came as easily to me as it does to you.”
Famula looked pleased and a little embarrassed. She didn’t say anything.
“How about you?” Pipit asked. “I’ve heard you’re really happy with your new Master.”
There was that troubled look again. Then Famula said, “Yeah, we’re really happy. He was out of the lifestyle for a long time, and he’s making sort of uneven progress getting back into it. But he’s good-hearted, really. If he does strange things sometimes, I just have to try and guide him.”
Pipit smiled and said, “Isn’t it tiring being a slave? I mean, having to be in charge all the time?”
Famula laughed. “Yeah, I always wanted to give up all responsibility and make no decisions at all. Turns out being a slave doesn’t get you there.”
They chatted about people they both knew and passed another half hour. By then, Pipit had finished her panini, but Famula had barely nibbled her croissant. They fiddled with their purses.
“Do you think we could stay in touch?” Pipit asked. “I’ve really enjoyed talking to you. I think we could become friends if—you know—you could forgive some of the shitty things I’ve done.”
Famula smiled and said, “I’d like that.” Pipit gave her Raquel’s phone number and wrote down Famula’s.
There was a spring in Pipit’s step as she continued up Macdougal. She was pleased how much she liked Famula. She hoped they could become friends. Still, fair was fair—and the feelings her activities with Andrew were stirring up inside her were new and irresistible.
* * *
“Not all that well,” said Andrew to Pipit before their play at Mistress Shigemi’s. “I pushed up to her limit with the cane, the way you and I discussed, and she safeworded.”
“So?” asked Pipit. It sounded t
o her as if the scene had gone well.
“Well, she seemed to think that since I knew where her limit was, I shouldn’t have gone that far. She acted as if I’d done something wrong.”
“What did you say to that?”
“I said maybe it was good for both of us to push against our limits, to keep our relationship from being static and boring. She said maybe so, but we should talk beforehand about anything new we tried.”
Pipit sighed. “A lot of submissives insist on talking everything out, but I think all that talk’s just a way of seizing power in the relationship. She’s got to be clear about who’s the Master and who’s the slave, and the way you communicate that to her is by being completely in control of every scene.”
Pipit was glad to see that Andrew was serious and attentive.
“Did you try any humiliation play?” she asked.
“That didn’t go all that well either. Emily likes humiliation. She likes to be called cocksucker, slut, cum-bucket, things like that, but words like worthless and disgusting upset her a lot. That night she asked to go sleep with Amanda.”
“Amanda?”
“She lives with us. She’s Emily’s slave, but she plays with me too.”
“Your slave has her own slave?”
“Yeah. I know it sounds odd, but it’s actually nice. I can play or have sex with either or both of them.”
“Okay, but it sounds like they may be teaming up against you. Did you let Emily go sleep with her slave?”
“Yes—why not?”
“Because being in control of where she sleeps is one of the most important ways you can assert authority. You don’t have to put up with her being pissed off at you. You can make her sleep on the floor or in a cage as punishment—to teach her a better attitude. You can make her sleep in a cage just to remind her who’s in charge.”
After they’d played at Mistress Shigemi’s, Pipit suggested that Andrew come and play with both her and Neko at Mistress Raquel’s, and she was thrilled when he agreed.
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