The woman never materialized. Whether she had changed her plans or Troy had forgotten his intentions, Robin never found out. But the idea remained. Robin remembered Troy’s casual announcement with a combination of anxiety and contentment. Anxiety over how it would eventually happen, and with whom. But content in the knowledge that Troy had such confidence in her obedience to him and in his ownership of her that he would so casually suggest such a thing. She could hardly wait for the opportunity to come up. She would have a wonderful way of proving her loyalty and devotion to him.
And certainly, she thought at the time, Troy would not loan me to someone without some mark of ownership on me. Perhaps a collar. Perhaps―something else.
As time passed, Robin kept herself aware of Troy’s friends, making notes about their preferences and habits in her mind whenever she had a chance to learn them.
Not only will I be obedient, she thought with a sense of satisfaction, but I will be on my best behavior and whoever gets me will think that Troy has to be the best master in the world. They’ll think I was the best trained, most eager slave they ever met.
But Troy never brought up the subject again. And as their relationship continued, Robin began feeling a familiar sense of doubt. Unlike Maria, Troy always maintained that certain distance, keeping them apart as master and slave. There was very little of the slipping of roles that had threatened and finally ended her previous relationship. But at the same time, there was little forward movement either. As soon as she learned certain things, Troy’s regular training sessions halted.
“You’re just about perfect,” he told her one evening, when she dared to ask him why this was so. “If I trained you any further, there wouldn’t be enough left for you to be punished over.” He chuckled and she had smiled, blushing.
But when she thought about it, it was clear to her that she was nowhere near perfection. Her behavior did vary, sometimes depending on her mood and sometimes because she just forgot something. And even though Troy could usually be counted upon to notice and react, his reactions started to shift toward acceptance of her faults and forgiveness rather than reinforcement of correct behavior.
One night, at the ending of yet another seminar about their sexuality (during which Robin struggled to stay awake and look intelligent and happy), Troy and Robin ended up involved in a discussion with some other couples about roles and behavior. Robin was surprised to hear Troy bragging about how well schooled and behaved she was, and how genuine she was compared to other women he had played with in the past.
“No, this one’s for real,” he had said, placing an arm around her shoulders in an uncharacteristic gesture of pride. “I don’t know how much longer she’ll be content with me! I’ve already made her perfect.”
And the people had laughed and the topic turned to someone else’s relationship. And Robin went home that evening with a profound sense of confusion.
The questions compounded with every minute of thought she devoted to her situation. Why did Troy believe that she was perfect in her role when it was patently clear to her that she was not? And why, if she was indeed so “perfect,” did he not choose to make their relationship more formal, to place some sort of visible claim on her? Thus far, the closest he had come to that was using a high training collar during some of their sessions. But it was a toy, and not a mark of ownership.
Among their friends, they had seen many examples of such distinctions. Collars were common to be sure, but even they varied in form and substance. Simple leather bands that fastened with buckles, silver and gold chains with delicate locks on them, steel bands, woven and beaded chokers; each one showed the nature of the people using it as well as the style of relationship they had.
But collars were only the most obvious. Other people wore everything from bracelets to body chains to nose, nipple, cock, labia, or even belly button piercings. Still others had markings made on their flesh with tattoo inks or scalpels or even heated iron. In fact, they had been to at least two demonstrations of such arts, and acted as formal witnesses to the binding pact between two friends of theirs.
(Who subsequently broke up three months later, but that seemed somewhat beside the point.)
And what about the things that Troy spoke about but never did? One was his announcement that she would or could be loaned, but there had been others as well. He spoke about extending his control over her to such a point that she would be going to work with some kind of harness beneath her clothing, holding some kind of penetrating toy within her body during the day. Or once, he spoke of the possibility of their attending some kind of fundraising mock slave auction, where he would offer her to a crowd of strangers, stripping her on a stage under bright lights and showing her off.
At the time, the very suggestion filled her with horror. But the event came and went, and Troy never brought it up again.
Troy, who had sought her out because she seemed “real” to his eyes, always seemed to stop just short of behaving in any manner that would demonstrate that she belonged to him.
She wrote one night:
It seems obvious that he is insecure about some aspect of our relationship. It could be that Joe and Susan’s break-up hit him harder than he’s showing, and he thinks that setting up a similar situation will make a fool out of him if it doesn’t work out. Or it could be the standard male attitude toward commitment. But either way, here I am feeling like I’m missing something and getting trapped in the same old game! I don’t want to mess up what I have now. But I can’t see that I’m going to get anything much better by giving up. I have to keep trying. Maybe he’ll come to his senses.
She decided to try, gently, to remind him of the things he had spoken about but had never acted upon. She was always careful to be non-irritating and cheerful, always acting as his eager to please and easy to satisfy submissive, backing off at the slightest sign of anger or disinterest. And when he actually listened, the responses were one disappointment after another.
About the day-time intrusions, the clamps on her nipples or labia, the dildo in her body?
“We don’t need that shit,” Troy said, waving his hand derisively. “I know that if I ordered you to do those things, you would. And that’s all that matters to me.”
About the auction?
“That’s just a show for tourists,” he had sneered. “I think more of you than to put you through that kind of humiliation just to make a couple of wannabes squirt in their shorts. If we had a better quality of people out there, I’d do it in a minute.”
And finally, after that night of uncomfortable silence over her suggestion concerning some kind of mark, Robin approached the last thing that Troy had mentioned but never acted upon. It was the last chance for her to somehow prove her sincerity, or so she saw it.
Barry had been Troy’s buddy since college. They had joined together for various sexual adventures, including a brief bout with swinging, and then had settled back into doing SM with their lovers. Unlike Troy, Barry was a switch; he could be top or bottom as the situation required, and frequently enjoyed both in a single evening’s entertainment. He tended to stay away from long term relationships, preferring to keep his sensual activities casual or brief. For all those reasons, plus the fact that Barry was a safe and skilled top, Robin decided that he would be ideal for her purposes. Her idea was to gently remind Troy that she was amenable to being loaned, and to then add the suggestion that Barry seemed a likely candidate for such an honor.
She wasn’t stupid enough to link the two ideas together all at once. But when Troy raised his eyebrows and told her in no uncertain terms that yes, he knew she could be loaned, and indeed, he had never lost track of that fact, she became almost tearfully eager to move things along. It was the first sign from her man that he was interested in doing something they had never done before.
* * * *
It happened on a Sunday, over at Barry’s apartment. They had finished their bagels a little over an hour before, and were relaxing in the summer heat. Robi
n was working her way steadily through the Times while the guys talked about baseball. It seemed all very natural and familiar, but Robin wasn’t in the least bit surprised when Troy snapped his fingers and made a hand gesture.
She was instantly wet; a thrill shot through her body as she dropped the paper and rushed over to his side to kneel in a formal position, her head bowed and her wrists held behind her back.
“Nice trick,” Barry chuckled. “Does she roll over and play dead, too?”
Robin turned a dark red with blushing. Barry had never been so casually insulting before, and he had certainly seen her do similar things on many past occasions.
“If you want her to,” Troy said amiably. “I’ve got to run a few errands, it’ll take me until four or five. You wouldn’t mind keeping her for the afternoon, would you?”
“Keeping her? You mean, would I mind if she just hung out here for a while?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so ungenerous,” Troy said, dropping one hand to her head. “So that you don’t feel inconvenienced, why don’t you do whatever your heart desires with her. She’ll obey you as if you were me, won’t you, slave?”
Robin’s throat closed against her. She could barely get the words out. Troy had called her slave in front of someone else―but at the same time, he was offering Barry carte blanche, and even leaving the apartment!
She glanced up at Barry and saw clearly that he was neither surprised nor confused by the offer. So the two men had already discussed it.
Somehow, that thought simultaneously pleased and worried her. It was nice to know that Troy had given the matter thought and had contributed some advance planning. But it was unnerving to think of exactly what the two men had concocted between themselves.
“Yes, master,” she managed to whisper. She hadn’t spoken that word out loud in a long time.
“Then, sure, I’ll keep an eye on her,” Barry said cheerfully. “Take your time.” As soon as the door clicked shut behind Troy, and even while his footsteps were still audible in the hallway, Barry was on her. One hand reached for the curve of her breasts, searching and squeezing, while his other hand whipped to the back of her neck and pulled her up and into his embrace, his mouth covering hers. The faint whimper of her surprise was lost in his fumbling around her blouse buttons, freeing her soft breasts so that he could run his palm over them. Her nipples were stiff and already tender, and she moaned into his mouth.
“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” he groaned as their lips separated. “You’re so hot! But first, let’s warm you up a little!”
Quicker than she could have imagined, Barry pulled her blouse off, threw a pair of cuffs on her wrists and hooked them to the chain he had installed in one corner of his living room. She was familiar with the position; Troy had put her there many times before for private play parties. Barry lost no time in admiring her, but stripped off her skirt and panties and began to spank her, one hand cupping her tits, the other swinging wide to bring up a slight warmth from her rear cheeks.
“Oh God, this is great,” he murmured, moving around her to mouth her nipples. “Do you like it, baby? Tell me you like it.”
His voice was desperate to please.
Robin felt the beginnings of disappointment and frustration.
“Come on, baby, tell me you love it!” his insistent voice demanded.
“I―I do,” she answered hesitantly. “Please... I love it when you spank me. Please keep doing it?”
It was almost comical how quickly he seized on her nervous query. “You want some more spanking? Coming right up! Man, I love this!”
And he ducked back around her shoulder and started spanking her again, this time with slightly more enthusiasm and force. But the damage had been done. Although the steady tapping and cupping of her ass cheeks was as pleasurable as it always was, Robin had already lost her passion for the scene. She bit her lip to keep from sighing when he stopped spanking and leaned in to lick her ear and ask her if she would like a little paddling now.
When she said that she didn’t like paddles, he asked her what she would like. In despair, she tried the answer that Troy had taught her. “Whatever would please you, master.”
“Yeah, I like to hear that. Well, how about―some whipping? You’d like that, right? I have a nice whip. It’s so soft... you’ll love it! Wait right here―slave!” With a cackle, he ran off to his bedroom to bring out his toys.
This was not one of my better ideas, Robin thought.
Barry proceeded, in his friendly and genuinely eager to please fashion, to do precisely whatever Robin wanted. Or at least what he supposed she wanted. He brought out the lightest, most sensual whips he owned and trailed them over her body, and then slapped them gently across her shoulders and ass to no great effect. At the first sign of discomfort from her, he was immediately caring and tender. He only paused between “whippings” to kiss her mouth or suck gently on her nipples. He returned to spanking her, slowly and lovingly, cupping her ass cheeks between each smack, and asking whether she liked it. When she finally lost her patience and urged him to hit her harder, he did so for about three minutes and then praised her lavishly for her ability to “take pain.”
When he freed her from the chain and laid her down on her back so that he could massage her wrists and then work his way down her entire body with his hands and mouth, she sighed and tried to relax. This would have been great, she reflected, if it happened three years ago. But now, with the need to prove herself to Troy so strong and the drives within her so directed to dominance and control, submission and surrender, it was like making out in the back seat at the drive-in. Sweet, but ultimately unsatisfying. There was barely a glow of warmth on her backside.
If I were a normal woman, she thought, feeling slightly tickled as Barry kissed her belly, I’d want to get fucked. Or at least, I’d need to come. Being who I am, I really need to get dragged out of here, strapped until I cry, and made to feel utterly used.
Instead, Barry brought her into his bedroom, went down on her with glee if not great skill, and showed off his erection with all the pride of a teenager who never realized it could get so big. And it was impressive―nice and fat and tubular. As he unrolled a colorful condom over it, smoothing the latex down over the skin, it reminded Robin instantly of a red-skinned kosher salami. She held her breath as his words came tumbling out.
“See what you do to me baby? Look at it! It’s all for you! How do you want it?”
Sliced thick and pan-fried with eggs.
Amazingly, different words came out of her mouth. “Fuck me!” she cried, fighting to keep the giggles back.
And Barry threw himself on her with exuberant passion, driving into her with a satisfying ease that filled her and kept her mind off that last image. It was the same vanilla fucking that dear old Greg had introduced her to, but by now she knew more about her own body and responses. She lifted her heels up and hugged Barry to her, making him grind his cock against her body, pushing her ass up off the bed and putting pressure right where she liked it, his cock pushing down, his body pushing in. She rocked against him, moaning when he finally took the hint and began to match her rhythms with his own. And with the help of a brief fantasy image of having Troy come in on them and thrusting his own hard cock into her ass, sandwiching her between their two bodies and using her until she was limp and covered with sweat and semen, she did come, a nice, long, drawn out orgasm that engulfed Barry’s salami and literally milked his own come out of it. Unlike Troy, who gasped when he came, Barry whimpered.
His saving grace was that he did not ask her if it had been good. Nevertheless, aware of the fragile male ego, she assured him that the earth moved. He was so thrilled that he went out and brought her a glass of water and insisted that she “rest” after her “workout.”
Robin took the opportunity and feigned sleep until Troy came to pick her up. The two men had a brief conversation in front of her where Barry made a big deal about how obedient and responsive Robin was, and what
a pleasure it was to use her. Then Troy made a big deal out of thanking Barry for his attention, and they parted with friendly reminders about some upcoming event they were all going to.
That night, Troy fucked Robin with a single-minded passion, turning her body and pushing her into different positions so that his cock could literally assault her from every angle. She cried out, she wailed, and came for him, over and over, and when he finally shot his come, he was rigid with strain and harnessed power.
But the next morning, things began to fall apart in what Robin instantly knew was such a cliché that she should have seen it coming months ago.
* * * *
“You liked it, didn’t you?” Troy’s voice was as insinuatingly hostile as it had been the first time he asked that question. And the fifth. And the tenth.
It had started with Troy’s insistence that Robin give him a detailed description of everything that had happened at Barry’s. He interrupted her frequently, asking her questions about how this or that felt, and whether she enjoyed everything that happened. And she was honest with him, as was only right; she told him how disappointed she was in Barry’s un-master-like attitude, but admitted that it was nice to get such soothing, caring attention.
And then she figured that the incident had ended. She was sure that Troy was now aware of the full spectrum of power he had over her, and he knew that she desired only him. She was completely wrong.
For Troy had manufactured some impossible scenario, wherein she had manipulated him into allowing her to sleep with his best friend. Despite repeated assurances that she was not interested in Barry emotionally or physically, he used her own words against her in a relentless inquisition concerning her reactions and thoughts and present and future desires.
The Slave Page 17