“That’s it. You know what to do now, girl. I want to see you get off. So move your body, hump my leg, just like the little hungry pet you are. I want to feel you fucking yourself on my boot, bringing yourself off just like a bad dog in front of company. And you’re going to do it quickly, girl. You have three minutes.” He gripped her hair and showed her that he was looking at his watch. “Begin.”
Robin couldn’t think; she didn’t dare think. Every word he said, the images he invoked, the incredible humiliation of it all was too overwhelming to believe. But the need within her was also overwhelming, and the need to obey, to do as she was told, was also incomprehensibly strong. Slowly, she shifted her position, trying to figure out how to do it. The first time her weight settled back onto his boot, the leather pressing against her, opening her up, she moaned at the intense surge of joy that raced through her. The position was odd, and the command heavy, but she moved her hips and body, and grasped his leg and whined, and soon she had built up a rhythm that would satisfy.
“Ah, such a good girl,” Chris murmured encouragingly. “Such a good little pooch. Come on, hump it out; let me see how much you need it, you’re just like an animal in heat, you need to fuck it out.”
“Oh, oh, nooo!” Robin whimpered, clutching him even tighter.
“Yes, yes, that’s it. Do it. You may come at any time, girl, but if you don’t before the time is up, it may be a long time before I permit it this opportunity again.”
“Please! Yes! Yes! Ungh! Oh God!” Robin writhed against the leg and against the boot, feeling the leather grow slippery underneath her, and feeling the wetness of tears against the cloth she was leaning into, and then the rush hit her as fast as lightning. Her entire body, aching, hot and tight, drew tightly against Chris’s leg and her cunt ground into the top of his boot and she seemed to explode! Her eyes tightly shut, she still saw bright bolts of light, her hands gripped compulsively, her toes dug into the carpet, scraping back, pushing her forward. She panted, and thrust herself forward again, only slower, and felt the shudders rise into pleasure again, only this time fainter, and as she drew back, she felt Chris’s hand lightly stroking her head.
This time, she let the tears come and knew they were there, and she sobbed and gulped air as he gentled her down, putting her back onto the floor. When he lowered his leg, and nudged her with the boot that was now covered with her own essence, she didn’t hesitate, but raised her head up and began to wash it over with her tongue. She didn’t stop until she covered every inch, and her tears added a different taste to the leather where they fell.
He took it away when he was satisfied, and she felt something light fall across her shoulders.
“There is money on the table by the door. Give it to the housekeeper when she comes, and then lock up again and come into the bedroom.”
As he walked away, Robin sat up, still a little dizzy. The object across her shoulders was a shirt―the one Chris had been wearing. She pulled it on just in time to hear the gentle knock on the door, and she followed his instructions, giving the five dollar bill to the woman in return for the blankets she bore.
Chris, his muscular shoulders now more evident in the white T-shirt that was tucked into his pants, pointed at the floor at the foot of the king-size bed. Robin nodded, and, feeling more than a little bit disappointed, laid the blankets out on the floor. I should have expected this, she thought, folding them into a semblance of a bed. It’s in all the books, isn’t it? I’ve dreamed about it, haven’t I? But somehow, the cold reality of a hard floor next to a wide, soft bed with plump pillows and the warm body of a man who had just given her a magnificent orgasm was just too jarring. She trembled slightly, trying to form the words in her mind, trying to decide whether begging for the privilege of sleeping next to him would be presumptuous, and then just allowed the thoughts to subside. She would not―could not!―tempt fate. When Chris came up behind her, she knelt absolutely still.
“Do not remove this during the night,” he said, slipping a soft blindfold over her eyes. “If you must rise to answer a call of nature, you will manage to find your way without removing it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Please―I’m sorry, sir, I should have thanked you. After...I mean, thank you, sir.”
“Yes, you should have. But I’ll make an allowance this one time, because of unfamiliarity. Go to sleep. I will tell you when to remove the blindfold.”
He guided her down into her cocoon of scratchy wool. She pulled the blankets around her and―despite the strangeness of the place and the circumstances―fell at once into a deep, deep sleep.
Chapter Two
Robin awoke to the sound of a shower running. For a moment, she felt confused. Where was her pillow? Why did her body ache so much? But the entire evening flooded back into her conscious memory, and as she stretched a little bit, she fairly purred with satisfaction.
Of course I’m sore, she thought with a grin. I was well used and slept at the foot of my master’s bed, like a good slave. Immediately, she curled back with a rush of embarrassment at her own thoughts. Why not just rush things, she asked herself angrily. As far as I know, last night was just a little test of my reactions, and I am not a good slave, and he is not my master. But he has to be pleased! He did accept me. He could have thrown me out. I don’t even know if camping out on the floor is supposed to be a reward or a punishment! Troy thought it was silly. And Maria would just send me home....
Home! How am I supposed to take care of my apartment? I should have packed more stuff. I should have given notice. I have to call the super! Robin turned over onto her belly and leaned her head into her folded arms. Oh God, I am such an idiot. Ken Mandarin told me to get ready to leave right away―why didn’t I listen?
Because you didn’t think you’d get in, answered the voice inside her. Because you figured that the Marketplace wouldn’t be interested in you. So you didn’t even warn them at work, and you didn’t talk to the landlord, and you only packed up some of your things, leaving days of work that will have to be done before you can just pick up and leave your life behind.
They never talk about what happens to a person’s life when they just vanish into thin air, Robin reflected. They just start the story with the slave arriving at the master’s house. You never really find out how many people they had to say goodbye to, or if they just decided to leave everyone they knew with this mystery.
I guess there aren’t a lot of people who really have to know anything, she reflected. People leave jobs for better jobs all the time. And it’s not like I have loads of personal friends who are going to miss me. She grimaced at the self-pity that swept through her, and continued her inventory. The landlord won’t care; all I have to do is leave my security with them. And if I never attend a meeting of the WISE Women again, no one will ever know the difference. But there are a few people who would want to maintain contact with me, even if I told them I was taking a new job and moving away... She didn’t want to think about them. How am I supposed to tell my family? Oh Mom, don’t expect to see me at the holidays this year; I’m going to be a full-time slave, and slaves don’t get vacation days.
Her stomach twisted into a knot, and she slumped down. This business of creating a reality out of what I assumed to always be a fantasy is too hard. Of course I didn’t prepare, and of course I never really tried to think about what to tell everyone. I might as well have been trying to figure out how to tell people that I was going to Mars to live with little green men. At that moment, she realized that the shower had long since stopped running. Without thinking, she held herself still, and listened.
Rustling and clinking noises, the sounds of a man getting dressed. Around the corners of the blindfold, she could tell that the light in the room was artificial. Was it still very early morning, or did Chris Parker just dislike sunlight? He walked past her, into the other room, and she heard him open the outer door. She stopped trying to figure out what he was doing, and just remained still.
When he cam
e back, she felt and heard the bed shift as he sat on the edge. The heavy sliding sound and the light thump could only mean he was putting his boots on. Robin decided that she had wasted enough time feigning sleep, so she raised herself up on one elbow and tilted her chin up.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, her voice slightly cracking. Oh, I need a cup of coffee, she thought, clearing her throat. At least they’ll have good coffee here. It’s a great hotel.
But there was no response from the man, only a moment of silence, held suspended as she realized that she had just done something that was very, very wrong. She tried desperately to think of what it was. And then Parker was off the bed, and she heard a sound like a long, ragged whisper, and felt his strong hand close around her upper arm.
She yelped, but he merely pulled her up and halfway out of her wrapping of blankets. Her feet were caught and tangled, but it didn’t matter, because he pushed her powerfully against the bed, forcing her head down to the sheets with one hand, bracing her body against his leg. She barely had enough time to gasp when he brought his doubled-over belt across her ass cheeks, hard, with an explosive crack! that filled the room.
Robin’s yelp of surprise became a wrenching cry of pain, and she buried her face into the bed, pushing her mouth against the surface to try to contain it. Chris paid it no attention. He merely used that belt on her bent-over form, again and again, each stripe glowing white and then red and then fading back until he struck her in that same spot once more. She writhed, and clenched her teeth into a crumpled wedge of sheets, but never tried to escape him. And when he stopped, and the ringing in her ears and the pounding in her chest threatened to send her toppling off the bed, he solved her imbalance by pulling her back and letting her fall to the floor, her feet still tangled in her own bedding.
He began to slide the belt back onto the loops around his waist.
“When you awaken,” he said, his voice betraying just a hint of breathlessness, “you will only speak when spoken to.”
“Yes, sir,” she managed to whisper. Her ass glowed with a painful heat.
“I have left instructions for you in the other room. You may get up and remove the blindfold when I have gone. Do you understand?”
Robin drew in a deep breath. No! she wanted to say, no, don’t go! What comes next? Do I have time to make my arrangements? May I call the auction house? Can I go home? But she drew all the questions in and held them tightly, and concentrated on trust. She had to trust him! “Yes, sir.”
She felt him pushing the toe of one boot next to her face, and she twisted to kiss it gently. She felt him change his posture, felt the nearness of his body as he squatted down next to her, and shivered when his hand gently stroked her hair.
“Good girl,” he said. “That’s a good girl.”
And as the tears came and dampened the inside of the blindfold, she felt him rise again and leave her. Minutes later, she heard the outer door close, firmly.
“Oh my God,” she whispered out loud, curling into the blankets as shudders drove their way through her body. “This is so good. This is so right!”
* * * *
The instructions were precise, and Robin read them while she ate the bagel and strawberries that were left on the breakfast tray in the outer room. If Chris Parker had actually eaten anything, there was no evidence. Not a crumb or a wrinkled napkin to be found. But then, Robin thought mischievously, he was so neat and proper, crumbs probably sprang away from his body and self-destructed. He did leave an empty coffee cup by the window, though, leaving her to wonder just how long he had been awake before she stirred. She had to shift in her seat from time to time, favoring sore spots on her rear, but this only made her smile.
The note was written on hotel stationary in (of course) a steady, refined hand. It read:
You will pack my personal belongings and deliver them to the address below. I will not expect to be there until eight o’clock this evening, whereupon you will deliver yourself and one personal bag. You do not need to pack a wardrobe.
In the meantime, you may consider yourself free to conclude whatever affairs necessary to facilitate your exit from your current life. You will of course conduct yourself with utter discretion concerning your future plans.
Parker
It was nine o’clock in the morning. The address on the bottom of the page was on the Upper West Side, in the low 100s, and there were two keys on a silver ring in the envelope. Robin thought for a little while, lingered over her own coffee (it was good, as she had guessed earlier), and then got up and got to work.
There wasn’t a lot to pack. Chris had left one change of clothing and his suit jacket and several ties. There were no personal items in the bathroom. In the closet, she found a garment bag. He had already checked out, via the computerized system in the room, so after she showered and dressed, she picked up the bag and left. She couldn’t resist looking at her rear in the mirror. It was still blushing slightly red, and several marks crossed both cheeks from his belt. If she didn’t have so much to do, it would have been nice to stretch out on that bed and pleasure herself for a while, pressing those sore spots down to get the most satisfaction. But she contented herself with the knowledge that she had things to do, and left the room awake and slightly aching and perfectly happy.
She left the garment bag with the bellman downstairs and took a cab all the way home. It was extravagant, but soon she would have no need for the money she had so painstakingly saved over the years. Why not splurge, she thought, sitting back and watching the traffic. I should go to town! Have lunch at Lutéce, maybe. If there’s time.
Home was a modern building in the financial district, not far from the South Street Seaport. She looked around her one bedroom with a moment of indecision, and decided to make her calls first. Might as well get the really hard part out of the way. She changed into jeans and a T-shirt, pulled her Rolodex out and started calling.
It was a regular roller-coaster ride of reactions. Of course her boss at the auction house was pissed. Couldn’t she at least give them two weeks’ notice? And who was it? Was it Christie’s? Would she at least give them a chance to match the offer? Robin bit her lip and lied, and felt a little guilty. But in reality, she knew that they would have no problem filling her job, and that after a few days her co-workers would get used to her absence as they all got used to the eternal shuffle in the art world.
That done, she called the super and told him that she would be vacating within the week. As expected, he stuttered and shouted his own outrage and swore dire circumstances should he have to place a call to the owner corporation, but her willingness to let the security deposit go caught him by surprise.
This is not so hard, she thought, dialing the third storage company and getting their prices. I guess it’s really kind of easy to leave town in a hurry. Not that I know I’m leaving town. Hmm, that’s a thought. Do Marketplace slaves ever go out? What if I don’t leave town and I end up seeing people I know? What would I say if they invited me out for a drink, asked me what I was doing?
“Hey, lady! You still there? I said you can get the lease as long as you want.”
“What? Oh, yes, yes, thank you. I’ll call you back later,” Robin said, returning to the present.
You think too much about the wrong things, she scolded herself, laying the phone down. You didn’t think about how to manage this properly, but now you’re thinking about what might happen if you get accepted and if you get sold and if that person lives in town and if and if and if. And meanwhile, the next number on the list was her Mom and Dad’s.
She decided to spend some time packing.
That job wasn’t easy at all, and by lunchtime, she knew that Lutéce was out of the question. She called one of the Chinese places that delivered menus under her door every week and ate General Gau’s Chicken right out of the box while she divided her belongings into Pack, Give Away, and Throw Away piles. Then, she spent more time on the phone, calling various charity organizations that provided
pick-up service. Only one could send someone today, so they got several boxes and bags of clothing, kitchen items, books and office supplies. The young men were very friendly and grateful, and she was even more pleased with herself when they gladly accepted $50 to take her “throwaways” as well, and dispose of them somewhere.
And it was only after they left that she realized that not once did she imagine them overpowering her and ravishing her on the floor of her apartment. She giggled and dove back into her work, trying to get as much finished as she could. The Rolodex remained next to the phone, stubbornly flipped open to the card she left it on.
By 5:30, she admitted defeat. There was no way she could get anything else out of the house today. So she showered again, dressed simply, and threw a carry-on bag onto her bed. She had thought all day about what to take, and the items she put in the bag were gravid with memories. Three books went in first. One, an anonymous Victorian novel, the second a fairy-tale romance, the third a collection of short stories about gay men. All were about surrender and mastery. All of them were worn with handling. A leather collar, bearing a golden “M” in gentle scrollwork followed. A small box of jewelry. A woven leather wrist-cuff, worked into a complex mystery braid. Her favorite pillowcase, dusky rose in color, a whispery cotton that felt smooth and comforting beneath her cheek. Then, she tossed in her latest journal and a box of her favorite pens, her address book, wallet, and banking items. Her passport and ID. Her prescription medications she tossed in just in case, and followed them with her spare reading glasses.
It was such a minuscule collection, really. Hardly the markings of a complex life.
The Rolodex seemed monstrously huge next to the phone.
The Slave Page 3