The Slave

by Laura Antoniou

  Time had lost all meaning when she finally dropped the last book and grabbed blindly for her vibrator. Arching her back, she lowered it to the exact right spot, directly on her clit, and with her other hand, she pinched one nipple, hard. There was no teasing now; she had reached the end of her limit on arousal. At the first touch of the insistent toy, she jerked against the bed, and clenched her teeth together to still her cries. Oh this would be a good one! She reached across her body to pinch the other nipple and moaned, and then yelped, and with a burst of wetness and an explosion of body-shaking tremors, she came, her hips thrusting at nothing, her eyes tightly shut.

  “Oh God, oh God,” she whispered, collapsing back onto the bed. “So good. So... so good.”

  Chapter Four

  Robin awoke with a start, knowing immediately that she wasn’t in her own bed, and feeling the disorientation that comes with darkness and deep sleep. Then, she turned over and remembered; she was in the room that had been locked, and Chris Parker was presumably sleeping in the room across the hall. That’s twice in two days, she thought, stretching a little. I guess I really haven’t spent that much time waking up in strange beds, have I?

  She had never been one for one-night stands. Predictably, plain sex, ‘vanilla sex’, as she came to call it, became something she just avoided. She stopped going to the singles hangouts that her friends from school and work crawled through, except when she had a large group to insulate her from unwanted attention. And if her reputation seemed to be somewhat prudish, well, there was ample evidence that she did have relationships with other people. Somehow, it just didn’t seem that she met them dancing, drinking, or while conducting the dating and mating rituals of her class and culture.

  Two mornings waking up in different places was already something new.

  Disappointingly, the locked room turned out to be another bedroom, at least to casual glances. Before she turned out the light, however, she realized that there was a distinct spartan atmosphere to the room, a lack of heavy furniture and a lot of wall space. There was a small bathroom, with a shower stall. Large closets with locked sliding doors lined one wall entirely, and unlike all the other rooms, this one had heavy drapes to close out the light.

  Or to hide the interior from voyeurs with binoculars across the street, she added. She had made a note to carefully examine the room the next day if she had time, but she was pretty sure that it was a playroom.

  But there had been no time this night. By the time she finished filling Parker in on her erotic life up until college, it was already getting late. Her trainer did not touch her or use her in any way, but merely sent her to bed with a wake-up time and a wave of his hand. Still trying for best behavior, she had gone, and dove into the single-sized guest bed within the ten minutes Chris had suggested.

  She glanced at the clock. God, was it really only three in the morning? She flopped back down into the sheets in frustration. Insomnia would be damn hard to combat now. She had been given some very simple instructions concerning her sleeping arrangements.

  “You will sleep naked,” Chris had ticked off, looking her directly in the eye. “You will remain in bed, unless you have a physical need to leave it. You will keep the lights off; no reading, no watching television, if there is one present. And you will not, under any circumstances, give yourself pleasure. That right belongs to me now. If you even absently stroke yourself for the calming effect, you will be stealing from me, and will be punished.”

  Her hands itched to do just that. Just thinking of the instruction caused a twinge of excitement to run through her, and she moaned, turning over onto her stomach to trap her hands under the pillow. There was a part of her mind clamoring for attention, a strong and determined segment which demanded satisfaction. How would he know? that part of her screamed. You know how to keep it quiet! And you are going to take a nice shower in the morning, plenty of time to make sure there’s no evidence, not that women really leave anything men know to look for. It’ll calm you down, it’ll get you to sleep, it’ll be all right, just this once!

  But I’m trying to live this way, she hollered back. There’s no point in me doing this if I don’t do it all the way!

  Somehow, she managed to fall asleep again, and the buzzing of the alarm clock seemed like an explosion when morning came.

  * * * *

  Chris seemed disgustingly alert when he came out of his bedroom, his curly hair wet and his body clothed in jeans and a T-shirt. Robin caught a better look at him while she poured coffee. He was stocky in build, heavy-shouldered and short-waisted. She imagined him fighting a lot in his youth; short boys get picked on as a matter of course. So, he probably bulked up his body with weight lifting, to put some muscle power in his reactions to their taunts and provocations. She wondered if his height cost him any dates in the gay community, or whether the shoulders and the jacket made up for a lack of inches.

  I wonder if he even cares, she thought, hesitating before pouring herself a cup. She glanced over to him.

  “Yes, you may,” he said, not looking at her. “Normally, you should assume that you take your meals or drinks in the kitchen, before or after your owner. You may or may not be used for domestic services; my assumption is that most slaves are. In the case of a single owner, you may have to snatch something to eat while they do; your attentions may also be needed immediately before and after a meal. Individual owners will, of course, have their own tastes. Some may treat you like a member of the family; I understand it’s all the rage in California.”

  Robin grinned and casually took a seat on the floor, leaning against the wall. Cushions scattered around the apartment took on new meaning. “And you don’t approve, sir?”

  “No, I don’t. And neither do you.” He sipped and nodded his approval. “If you did, you’d be looking for a position as a domestic, not a slave. You really shouldn’t try to be too clever, Robin. I don’t appreciate it unless it’s excellently judged and timed, and others might take it for impertinence.”

  “Yes, sir,” Robin murmured. She buried her concentration in the coffee for a while, to cover her embarrassment.

  “You will have a total of three days to complete your business in the outer world,” Chris announced suddenly. “Wednesday of this week, next Sunday, and the following Monday. You will live here, except for next Sunday night, which you may spend anywhere you like. Consider it your last night in freedom for quite some time.”

  “It sounds like you have a lot of confidence in me,” Robin said, trying not to appear too eager.

  “I do. But I must admit that I also have a great deal of confidence that your shortcomings can be mastered in a relatively short amount of time due to my training. You’re hardly the first applicant I’ve handled, you know.”

  “Ken Mandarin said that you’ve trained hundreds.”

  “Mandarin exaggerates. I have participated in the training of over one hundred slaves, yes. Personally, I believe my standing is twenty-six to the block, four back to their owners. That’s not an extraordinary number for a trainer who has been doing this work as long as I have. Some of my methods have achieved some minor professional notice; perhaps Ken was merely trying to express that my influence has been felt to that extent.”

  Robin cocked one eyebrow, masking the move as soon as she felt it. Chris Parker wasn’t exactly lying, but what he was saying seemed in direct opposition to what Mandarin had told her. In fact, Ken seemed to be excited by the discovery that Chris was “in town.” And there was absolutely no reason to doubt Mandarin―in fact, Ken seemed supremely confident that Robin could be in luck if she could only get Parker to see her. So was everyone else they had spoken to while they looked for a potential trainer.

  But there was no reason for Chris to pretend that he wasn’t as successful and respected as these people seemed to think he was. And you can’t reach that kind of level in your field without knowing your relative value, Robin noted. So what reason could he have to be so self-effacing with me? You’d think he woul
d inflate his experience for my sake, to make me feel more in awe of him.

  “We begin your training today,” Chris said, bringing her attention back to the real present. “You should attempt from this moment on to behave as though you were my property―your body, your responses, your services, your mind, your thoughts. You will eat, drink and wear what I give you, sleep where I direct, and do whatever work I assign. You will accept my direction in all things, and never hesitate to inform me of any physical or emotional limitation which may hamper you in the performance of your duties. Is this all understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” That familiar rush of pleasure covered her, and she drew herself up to listen.

  “I want you to ask me questions concerning any aspect of your time with me; by the time you get to the block, I do not want there to be any mysteries about your position or the potential in your future. Your confidence will be what sells you, if your passion for slavery is real. And to that end―” He focused his eyes on her, the morning light glinting off his steel-framed glasses, “should you ever experience real doubt as to your wish to be sold, I want you to come to me immediately and inform me. Is that understood?”

  Robin nodded. “Yes, yes, sir.”

  “Good. There are a few other rules you need to know besides the ones I’ve already explained to you. This apartment does not belong to me, in case you have not already guessed. You will treat it and its contents with respect and courtesy, and keep it clean and straightened. While inside, you will not wear clothing, unless I have directed you to do so.”

  Robin blushed. She had put on the same clothes she had worn last night, not even thinking. But Chris went on without pausing.

  “You will wake up at the time I indicate every morning, and keep such hours as I direct. You may, as I’ve indicated, ask questions, but you must learn to limit small talk: speak when you are spoken to, and answer any of my questions quickly, honestly, and to the best of your ability. As a trainee, an applicant, you have no status in my world, and therefore you will treat any visitor with the utmost respect and courtesy.

  “You will keep yourself clean and available for inspection or use at all times. You will submit with dignity to any punishment or training exercise I prescribe for you, and I expect that you will show the proper attitude toward correction and reward at all times.”

  He didn’t have to ask again; she understood. “Yes, sir, I will.”

  “Go into my room. Strip, and leave your clothing there. Bring the object you find on the bed back to me and present it to me properly.”

  Robin bowed her head in a nod and sprang up and into the hall. Her cheeks burned as she tore open the buttons of her shirt. I should have asked, she cursed, pulling it over her shoulders. I should have asked before I went to bed! Or when I woke up, I should have just come out and waited for him to say something! God, where did my brains go?

  Chris had made his own bed, and quite neatly, too. Lying on the bed, centered on the luxurious patterned quilt, was a leather strap. It looked like a doubled over belt, with two ends formed into a handle and riveted together. It had a loop strung through the handle for fastening to a belt ring, and it looked very old and very used. But in the way of good, rich leather, its use had made it glowing and supple. Unlike most of the SM toys she had seen and felt over the years, it wasn’t black with silver studs or anything like that. It was a deep but light brown. British Tan, she thought, having read the name over and over again in catalogs.

  Dumbly, she thought, what do you know? Maybe he is an anglophile. Focus, damn it! Pay attention!

  And then she stripped off her jeans and folded her clothing in a pile. It had been a long time since she had been self-conscious about her nakedness, but suddenly, she felt a shiver of fear. It was daylight now, and she was in a large, beautiful modern apartment with a stranger. It wasn’t the weekend, at night, in some darkened place, whether a bedroom or a playroom. And when she picked up the strap, a tingle ran up her arm, as though she had picked up a livewire.

  Suddenly, she didn’t know how to hold it. In one hand, her arm hanging down? Both hands? Across her lower body? No, that would look like she was trying to hide herself. Both hands held out? No, that would look stupid!

  I’m panicking. What’s wrong with me? I can do this. I used to bring stuff to Troy all the time. And Ken told me how to present it. I’m OK.

  Repeating that to herself all the way down the hall, she balked only once, when she crossed into a shaft of light. But she forced herself forward, and reentered the dining room, where Chris was standing, draining his coffee.

  With a calm grace that she had no idea was in her, she went to him, lowered herself to her knees, and offered the strap to him with both hands held above her eye level. He took hold of the handle and snapped his fingers, and she looked up.

  He was pointing to the edge of the table. Robin bit her lip and glanced up once to be sure, and then rose and carefully stood at the edge, lining her belly up with it. She gasped when his hand came down in the center of her back and pushed, hard.

  “You should have assumed the command to present,” he said, stepping back. “Ten more for that hesitation. Do not count.”

  She didn’t, at least not out loud. The strap landed on her ass cheeks like a broad band of pain, not as intimate as his hand, not as sharp as his real belt, but heavy and punishing, the way a good strap is. Each swing brought it hard against her, covering her ass, driving her slightly forward, washing her with stinging pain and solid whumps of impact that drove the breath out between her clenched teeth.

  Like the beating she had experienced yesterday morning, it was devoid of teasing, touching, or even the gradual increasing of pressure and speed that an erotic beating manifested. No, this was punishment, pure, almost dispassionate. She clenched her fists as well as her teeth and rested her head against the smooth surface of the table, raising her shoulders when the impact drove her to unsteadiness, shutting her eyes and trying desperately to keep quiet.

  But her body never felt so alive! Each heavy slap of the old, polished leather, each careful swing, each wonderful drive forward, sang through her entire body. Waves of pain, yes, covering her, washing over her, until sounds were wrenched from her, sighs and groans, and then whispered, desperate sounds that started as words and ended as whimpers.

  And of course, punishment or not, her sex opened for the music, and she could feel the dampness of her excitement, the delicious humiliation of her state. She moaned once, loudly, and then wailed out her frustration and her agony, the fire spreading outward, upward and down, catching her again and again, over sore places not yet healed, over the backs of her thighs, around the curve of her buttocks.

  The strap fled her and returned with a rush of air, over and over, increasing in speed and strength only by the smallest of increments, and when her whimpers became little explosions of sound without meaning and her every breath was punctuated with the forcing of air, in and out, she wished for bindings to cling to. It was so hard to simply bend forward and hold her body still for this abuse!

  And then, sharply, it stopped, and she realized that the glowing in front of her eyes were the tear drops on the table, shining in the morning light, so clear and so precisely placed beneath her. Her own breath seemed ragged and harsh, and heat covered her from behind.

  Chris’s hand suddenly came up between her spread thighs and took hold of her there, cupping her pussy again, taking it all into his hand, and holding her tightly. She wailed again; it was too much! Then, as the sound seemed to echo in her brain, she stifled it, brought it back inward, and coughed out humiliating little snuffles and gasps as she brought herself back under some measure of control. The silence in the room grew to such an intensity that she heard the distant whooshing sounds of the cars along the highway.

  “What have you learned?” His voice was supernaturally loud in her ear, and she jumped. She hadn’t even realized that he was leaning forward, over her, next to her.

  “To... to not wear clot
hes without your direction,” she managed back.

  “What else?”

  “To... Ah!” He had seized her even tighter, curling his fingers into her, making her body squirm under him. “To make sure I know what is proper, sir! Before I do something!”

  “Good.” He raised his body away from hers and placed the strap on the table next to her head. Then, he placed one firm hand at the back of her neck, while his hand remained nestled between her legs.

  “Don’t try to bring your legs together. Spread them wider apart. That’s it. Never try to close yourself to me. Next time, I’ll use something you won’t like at all. But admit it, you did like the strap.”

  Oh, how did his voice go from matter-of-fact to sultry? Or was it all in her mind, the gentle lilt that she heard now that wasn’t there before? She did as he instructed spread her legs wide, and whimpered slightly as he played with her.

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered, clutching at the air. “Yes, I like it.”

  “Tell me about something you don’t like.”

  “Paddles,” Robin answered, a little too fast.

  He chuckled. “But paddles are common things. Every player of sex games has one hidden in the lingerie drawer. Surely you’ve learned to endure the touch. Now, tell me something less common. What, if given the option―and I am sure you have been granted this―would you remove from a player’s arsenal from fear or knowledge? What makes you squeal and cry and surrender utterly? What frightens you?”

  His hand never stopped, in fact, it demanded more reaction from her. Gently stroking, it opened her and retreated, circled and pressed, flicked and massaged at her, until she really bit her lip and tasted warm salt in her mouth. Groaning, she tried to still the jerking movements of her hips, and her desperate efforts seemed to amuse him even more.

  “I asked you a question, girl. Answer now.”