I try to not think about what that means, because if I ask, I risk being turned away.
I don’t want to lose this. I…can’t. She’s become a damn drug.
I need it. I need Her. I need the sweet silence that settles in my brain when I’m with her and doing nothing but focusing on exactly what she tells me to focus on, whether it’s taking her pain or giving her pleasure. I find my every spare moment is focused on her, thinking about her.
I know that she plays with others. I try not to feel jealous over that, because this is what I signed up for. For all I know, I could wake up tomorrow to find out I’m being shipped out to some FOB in Afghanistan or somewhere.
I don’t feel I have a right to…complain.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Following orders, unfortunately, is something I’m pretty good at.
The longer we do whatever this is, the more she puts me through, and the more she starts hinting that I will be playing with her and her other pets at some rapidly approaching time in the future. Pets who also have a vested interest in secrecy.
How me reaching that point would make her so proud.
One evening, when I let her know I’m free, I’m summoned to her place and immediately stripped and hooded, my wrists cuffed behind me. She sits me on the end of her bed and spreads my legs wide, strapping leather cuffs to my ankles and then attaching them to the bed frame so I can’t close them.
She smiles at me. “You are allowed to come tonight as many times as you want. This is a reward for being my very good boy.” Her hand rubs my head through the hood and I feel the drop into subspace hit me. All she has to do is rub my head and I’m…gone.
“All you have to do tonight is not talk, orgasm, and if something is put in your mouth, you suck it. You may moan or make noises like that, but you do not speak unless I ask you a direct question. Do not embarrass me tonight, boy. This isn’t just a reward—it’s a test. If you wish to keep doing what we’re doing, then you’d better obey me and impress me. Do you understand me?”
Fear tightens my gut. “Yes, Mistress,” I whisper, unable to speak any louder than that with my growing terror.
I guess I knew this day would come.
She looks so happy, and when she laughs…it melts me. “Such a very good boy.” She kisses me—something else that rarely happens and I treasure it when it does—then buckles a blindfold into place around my head.
Music starts, and only a few minutes later, I hear a knock on her door.
I swallow hard, force back my fear…
Pray I don’t fuck this up or embarrass her.
I hear a nervous-sounding man’s voice, and Elsa’s voice drops into Mistress mode. They’re both speaking German, and the man sounds like a native speaker.
I try not to listen, but I can’t help it.
Context tells me this guy is another of her “pets,” but it sounds like he gets off on humiliation. I hear their voices draw near and the sound of him stripping at her command.
Behind me, the bed dips, and Elsa’s voice softly speaks next to my right ear. “Good boys get rewarded,” she reminds me, her hand rubbing the top of my head through the hood. “Bad boys, on the other hand...”
I hear a yelp, followed by the feel of warm breath on my cock.
A man’s stubbly cheek rubs against the inside of my thigh.
From what I can feel of her body against mine, her arm over my right leg, I’m guessing she’s fisting his hair and forcing him to choke down my cock.
She presses her face against the side of my head, the hand on my head rubbing, her voice telling me what a good boy I am…
I don’t last long. She chokes the guy on my cock, and a weird kind of pleasure fills me when she degrades him, tells him I’m a real man compared to him, which is why she’s making him suck my cock.
Over the next however long it is, I’m sucked off twice more by two different guys. Despite my fear, nothing is put in my mouth except for her fingers, which I eagerly suck. Once the last guy leaves, she releases me. I’m trembling, my back and shoulders aching from having sat up like that for so long, but the pain made the pleasure feel that much sweeter. Once she pulls the hood off me, she kisses me deeply.
“There. See? Good boys get rewarded. You did so good. You made me so proud by how good you were.”
I can’t help it—the wild-eyed pleasure in her eyes is my undoing. “Thank you, Mistress.”
* * * *
This becomes my new routine. Over the next couple of weeks, I’m only allowed to come when I’m restrained on her bed and faceless, nameless men are sucking me off. I’m either sucking fingers—usually hers, but one time a man’s—or a dildo. I eagerly suck that when it’s presented, because it makes her laugh, and usually I’m so horned up I can’t help it. Some of the guys are obviously skilled at what they do. Some are not, and I can tell they’re getting off on the humiliation of her forcing them to do it.
She allows me to go down on her and make her come at the end of the nights, but by then I’m usually too drained to do anything but get her off.
I sleep like a fucking rock, though.
I start to notice sometimes that, when she kisses me during these sessions, her mouth tastes like beer or hard liquor. She always offers me drinks, but I stick to water or soda. Sometimes I see her take pills, but I don’t know what they are. One day she sees me watching her and smiles. “Xanax,” she says, shaking them with a smile. “They keep me calm.”
After several weeks of this, there finally comes a night in this routine where it’s two men who arrive instead of one. They’re the first of the night, and I’m not sure how to feel now that I’ve noticed I get hard in anticipation when she straps me down in this position, and even more hard when I hear a knock on her door.
The men are speaking German and sound like native speakers. I gather from the context they’re a Master and slave couple, but the slave sounds like he’s inexperienced.
This time, it’s not a dildo that slides into my mouth as my cock is swallowed, but a condom-sheathed cock.
I pretend it’s a dildo and savor Elsa’s laughter even as the guy blowing me is being choked on my cock by her hand in his hair. I guess I should be glad she made the guy I’m sucking use a rubber.
When they depart, she leaves me restrained but pulls the hood off and kisses me deeply. Then she smiles and strips, gets me hard again, and rolls a condom on me before she straddles me and fucks me. Her eyes bore into mine and a gorgeous smile fills her face.
“You were perfect, boy,” she tells me. “You did so good. I can tell how much you enjoyed that. I cannot wait to begin the next stage of your training. You want to make me happy and be my good boy, don’t you?”
I’m lost to her and those gorgeous blue eyes. “Yes, Mistress, I want to be your good boy.” She’s always horny after these sessions, and it’s all mixed up in my head now.
Later, she frees me and allows me to cuddle in bed with her, and I feel…
I guess I’m happy.
Right?
* * * *
The first time I fuck another man, I don’t know it’s Eddie.
I didn’t know who it was, at first, and he didn’t know it was me, either.
It’s the following week when my next stage of training begins. When I’m summoned to Elsa’s that evening, I’m not taken to the bedroom immediately. Elsa had hooded, blindfolded, and gagged each of us as soon as we arrived. I assume after the fact that Eddie arrived first and was in the bedroom.
Then she played music loud, and over the next hour or so tortured us and worked us both into a frenzy as she ordered us to beg her for relief. I’d thought she was simply making me wait between activities the way she sometimes did when she played with me, leaving me and ignoring me for a while before coming back and paying me attention.
In retrospect, the fact that she’s playing with two of us at the same time explains everything she did that evening. I do know she loved anything we sa
id or did that put her front and center of our attention and affection.
A total narcissist.
Having two of us desperate and begging, focused on her and unaware of the other’s presence, must have been a huge turn-on and ego boot for her.
I have no clue about any of that at the time, though. All I know is after spending time rubbing her feet, being allowed to lick her pussy several different times, and going through every position she ordered me to assume, as I kneel there on the cold floor, naked except for the cuffs, hood, and blindfold, I think my balls are going to explode. I am beginning to wish she’d strap me to the bed and let me come, even if it’s another guy sucking me off.
She clips my hands behind me, hooking them to my ankles, and forces me to remain in that position as she reaches in and plays with my balls, my cock, delivers cane strokes to the bottoms of my feet and the backs of my legs.
“There is someone else here,” she reveals after our ball gags were once again put in and she turns down the music. “You’re both being remarkably good boys right now. I’m very impressed.” Her hand settles on my head, rubbing me even through the hood, and what little fear had filled my brain from the revelation that we weren’t alone vanishes.
“Such good boys. So good that I want to reward you both. But reward still must be earned. Show me how well you can beg to be fucked, and I’ll let both of you come.”
I am desperate. I hunch over as low as I can with my wrists bound the way they are and plead to be fucked. I’ll gladly take an ass-fucking to be allowed to finally be able to bust a nut, even if it means jerking off while she fucks me.
I have no idea who the other guy is. With both of us gagged, it’s just muffled, mumbled gagspeak. I can make out words, barely, but not his voice.
What I can hear, like bright, crystal sunlight, is her laughter.
Pure amusement.
I crave hearing that, making her laugh like that, nearly as much as I crave making her smile or hearing her say good boy to me.
“I can’t decide,” she finally says. “I know! I’ll flip a coin to decide.” I finally realize she’s speaking English and fear hits me, because I wonder if that means the other guy can’t speak German.
Like…what if he’s another guy from the base?
To this day, I have no clue if she really flipped a coin or not. I don’t know what criteria she used to decide who was on top, if it was just random choice, or because I had a bigger cock and she wanted to watch me fuck him—I don’t know.
I’ll never know.
I don’t even want to know how she decided, because it really doesn’t matter.
“Excellent,” she says, followed by the sound of her preparing. I hear her moving stuff around, the sound of a pained male grunt, and then I flinch when I feel her hand grip and stroke my cock.
I can’t help moaning.
“Yes, my very good boy,” she softly says. “My special boy. You’re my favorite, you know.”
My heart races over her words as she keeps my wrists clipped behind me, but unclips them from my ankles and makes me crawl on my knees until I bump into a naked leg, which startles both of us guys.
I quickly realize from what’s happening that I’m the “lucky” one. She rolls a condom onto my cock and helps me into position between the man’s legs. He’s on his hands and knees, too. She holds my cock to line it up with his ass, and maybe this is the moment the first hints of my bastard side emerge, because I’m so goddamned horny that I don’t even care if she’s lubed him or not.
“You may put your cock inside him, but hold still once you do. Be my good boy. Do not start fucking him yet, or your positions will be reversed.”
Her hand disappears. Me and the other guy both moan as I press forward, maybe harder than I meant to, but goddamn his ass is hot and tight and it’s grabbing at my fucking cock. It takes every last ounce of fucking willpower I have not to plow him.
I’m biting down on the fucking ball gag now more to hold back my needy groan than anything. I sense her right next to us, doing something, and then the guy groans again, his ass twitching around my cock.
She unclips my wrists. I instinctively reach forward, my hands on his ass, his hips. I realize his hands are clipped behind him, and I hold on to them, pinning him there.
If he’s like me and enjoys the way she uses a strap-on, then he’ll love that.
I think his happy-sounding moan is in response to me doing that.
I hear her whispering something to the other guy, then another long, loud moan from him.
“You may fuck him, boy,” she tells me. “Make it last as long as you can, because unless you decide to suck another one from each other, it’s the only one you’re allowed to have until next time I let you play.”
Fuck.
I don’t even have time to contemplate that. I start fucking him, realizing at least she lubed the poor bastard. I suspect from how eagerly he’s fucking back against me that either he likes being on bottom, or she’s jerking him off at the same time, or maybe both. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.
I slow down, wanting this to last, but Elsa’s a bitch. She strokes him in a faster rhythm that’s making the guy’s ass clench around my cock and getting me too close to the edge too damned fast.
Fuck it.
I know what she said, but I’ll risk it. Lights go off behind my eyelids when I finally explode, grinding hard into the nameless man as she gets him over and his body squeezes me.
Laughter.
Her laughter.
Even though I just came, I feel my cock twitch already.
Especially when she reaches over and rubs my head through the hood. “Good boy,” she says.
Chapter Nineteen
Now
I leave my suitcase back at the hotel just outside the airport, in the room that I’ve booked for two nights. Between my stop at the bank and my visit to Eddie’s, I return to the hotel and change from the suit I wore to take out the safe deposit box and deposit into it the cash from the wire transfer I accepted there.
In Western countries, men wearing five-thousand-dollar suits and ten-thousand-dollar watches don’t usually earn a second look in a bank. Especially a bank such as this one, who has a very…specialized clientele. But the jeans and sneakers I’m currently wearing damn sure would have met with resistance and extra scrutiny from them.
The suit ensured my transaction was handled quickly, discreetly, and even if they were asked about me later, these people will swear that they can’t recognize me for certain, no matter what their security camera tapes might show.
That’s one of the things Benchley learned about that particular bank before using it for the wire transfer.
They came highly recommended by friends of his.
Elsa’s building is older, not in the best neighborhood, and doesn’t appear to have any CCTV cameras out front. Here, a man in a five-thousand-dollar suit would stand out like a pile of dogshit in a buffet line.
Fortunately, I thought ahead and opted for jeans and sneakers and left the watch in my suitcase. The damp evening is quickly turning chilly, so the jacket I’m wearing to hide the gun doesn’t look out of place. Neither does the knit cap pulled low over my ears. Along with the cheaters I purchased in a drugstore, worn low so I can look over the tops of them, it should be enough to throw anyone off.
I study the building for a few minutes before I time my steps so I hurry and catch and hold of the front door for a woman with two young toddlers and her arms full of groceries. In my other hand, I carry a paper grocery sack with a bottle of vodka in it.
“Guten Abend,” I say as I smile and hold the door for her.
She offers me a hesitant smile as she herds her children ahead of her. “Danke.”
Fortunately, the mom lives on the second floor, while I’m walking up to the fourth. The formerly red carpet in the hall is threadbare and filthy and now a rust-hued shade of brown in most places. The building’s interior is twice as dingy as the exterior.
I smell stale cigarette smoke and have a strong suspicion there might be a meth lab somewhere within, based on the chemical odor.
Not my problem.
There’s not a lot of noise on the fourth floor as I walk down the corridor to where Elsa’s flat sits, the last on the left. There are no cameras on this floor, as far as I can tell, although there was one inside the lobby downstairs. Except, based on the building, I’d be willing to bet that one’s not even working. Or, if it is, it’s likely not recording to anything, or being monitored by anyone.
I unzip the jacket, take out the nine, and knock with my left hand, being careful not to smash the bottle against the door as I do. I remain mostly turned to my right, like I’m looking through the small, dusty window at the end of the hall. I keep the gun held down along my outer right thigh where others can’t see it should they peek through their viewfinders.
When she opens the door, I shove it, hard, taking her off-guard. Before she has time to respond, I’ve got the gun in her face.
“Don’t,” I whisper in German. I’ve decided to speak German tonight, because the sound of English might raise suspicions and cause people to pay more attention than they would otherwise. I quietly close the door behind me and lock it, and I’m extremely pleased to see she now looks absolutely fucking terrified.
“You alone?” It feels weird speaking German now, like this, especially with her.
Tears roll down her cheeks, but she nods.
I cock the hammer and touch the muzzle to her forehead, even though she likely doesn’t see I have the safety on. “Truth. Someone steps out of the bedroom, I’m killing them, and then you.”
“I’m alone,” she hisses. “I swear!”
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