“Listen,” she confided to Robin, “from the trouble I saved them, they could buy a twin for Muscledog and have enough left for a year’s supply of Alpo.”
It was Eric who suggested that the main reason why they couldn’t easily part with Robin was that they had truly counted on her work for the next two years. And when he and Jimmy met eyes and looked back at Monica, she could see their brains churning away at an honorable compromise. It might be hell on the person in question, but then....
“What are slaves for, anyway?” Jimmy had asked. “Let’s call that sonuvabitch trainer of hers and get him to agree to the changes.”
And it was done. And in two days, Robin bid tearful farewells to her fellow slaves, and went back home with Monica. Home.
To narrow, tree-lined streets that curved and circled, to Ethiopian restaurants and tiny bookstores and life inside a major city again. The first thing that Monica did was establish quick ground rules.
“Don’t call me ma’am anymore.” She grimaced and then grinned. “It makes me feel old. Just plain Monica will do, or Mo, if you like that.”
Robin grinned back, fingering the new chain and lock around her throat. “If I like it?”
“Well, look. I’m one of those poor kinds of masters that can’t afford formal behavior. Hell, I can’t even afford you. In fact, I think that I’m so poor that I might have to bring you to bed just to keep warm in the winter. This is not sunny LaLaLand anymore... It’s the cold, harsh world of politics and big business.” Monica’s dark eyes flashed when she teased, and they were dancing when she said these things. “In fact, I think you’ll be spending a lot of time in my bedroom. It’s been a neglected part of my life.” When Robin blushed and dropped her eyes, Monica laughed out loud and hugged her. “That’s what I love about you, darlin’. You’re so damn easy to embarrass!”
Other rules―basically, Monica traveled. A lot. And her house (and two cats) would now be Robin’s responsibility. Robin would also assist the young man who handled most of Monica’s paperwork and correspondence. She would be doing a lot of domestic chores, a great deal of packing and unpacking, and do things like make the house warm and welcoming for Monica when she came back from her trips.
“That’s what I really wanted you for,” Monica admitted. “I just kept thinking how nice it would be to come home to someone like you after doing three states in three days. Eat real food instead of take-out, let someone else handle all the stuff I had to do all alone, and then slip into bed with someone who was happy to see me. It was either you, or a nanny and a big dog.”
There would be no special outfits to wear at home; in fact, Robin had to buy some new jeans and shirts to wear. After all, most of Monica’s associates had no idea that anything like the Marketplace existed.
“You’re back in the closet about your slavery,” she joked. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for your liberation movement.”
It was like being back in college, and moving in with a new roommate. Except that Monica directed, and Robin acted. Even though it might have been years since Monica had owned a slave, she sure wasn’t awkward about it. There were no gaffes, no moments of indecision. And although Monica offered Robin choices from time to time, she rarely stopped to ask for an opinion, or to see if something was all right.
Which suited Robin just fine.
For a few days, they were concerned with moving in, and Robin learned the layout of the house and where everything was. Then she set up her new office and spent a day re-establishing ties and contacts and arranging her files. She slept in the double bed in the room that was now going to be hers, feeling vaguely disoriented by the expanse of the mattress and the excess pillows. But for the first week, Monica did not invite her to bed or use any form of pleasure or discipline other than a soft kiss or two and some gentle, encouraging pats.
* * * *
On her seventh evening in her new home, Robin received the summons she had been waiting for. As she hung up from one of her West Coast contacts and began to shut her “office” down for the night, she turned to see Monica leaning into the doorway.
“I figure it’s about the right time to welcome you aboard, kiddo,” she said.
Robin took a quick breath and smiled; her heart had already started to dance in reaction to the sultry tone in her mistress’s voice.
“So strip down and get your butt over to my room. I think it’s been too long since you got it warmed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Robin answered automatically, her fingers already starting to undo the buttons on her blouse.
“Tsk, tsk,” Monica shook her head. “Forgetful, huh? That’s one punishment I have to deal with first.”
Robin blushed, but kept undressing furiously. “Yes, Monica,” she agreed.
There were no special punishment places in Monica’s house. Robin hurried to the largest bedroom, and gasped with delight, because Monica had lit candles on her shelves and window sills and in her corners, casting wavering, subtle lights and shadows over the room. The bedcovers had been pulled off and piled to one side, and leather cuffs were already on the bed, along with a riding crop and two whips. Robin put the cuffs on when Monica pointed to them, and eagerly got into position on her belly, spreading her arms and legs wide for Monica to fasten them down.
“First the punishment,” Monica whispered, trailing a soft bundle of leather tresses over Robin’s back, “and then the welcome.”
Quickly, she switched the whip for the crop and delivered twenty-four fast and stinging blows to Robin’s ass. Robin squirmed just a little, feeling the tapping blows like little splatters of annoying pain, covering her rounded cheeks in a pattern that followed the outer curves of the flesh and made it grow hot and tender. And when it was over, she sighed and said, “Thank you, Monica.” Instantly, Monica’s cool hand was brushing over the hot points.
“So well behaved,” the older woman replied lightly. “So good. Let’s do something nice now.” And the first fall of the soft whip caught Robin right at the underside of her butt, thumping lightly between her legs. So did the second and third. Each fall made Robin moan with pleasure and more gratitude, and as Monica stepped up the impact of each blow, it only served to make Robin begin to breathe heavily and tense and relax in her bonds.
But every time Robin began to whimper in pleasure, Monica would switch off, either changing her aim to cover Robin’s shoulders or thighs or upper back, or she would change her tempo and strength, brushing her lightly with the entire whip, or stinging her quickly with just the tips.
Soon, Robin’s body began to warm, with pink areas springing up wherever the whip kissed her. And still Monica continued sensuously, until it seemed that Robin began to pant with every third blow. Then, Monica switched to the longer and more punishing whip, and began to lay into her new slave, making pink spots red, and painting broad lines of color and long lines of heat, working steadily up and down Robin’s body.
Robin hadn’t been beaten like this in months; her owners never used lover’s techniques like this, and few of the guests bothered to put so much time into making her feel things. And as Monica began to pause and stroke her between sets of particularly hard strokes, Robin couldn’t help but groan and push her heated flesh back against Monica’s hands and fingertips. That only made Monica laugh and back away, and begin to strike her again.
Turning her over was quickly done, and Monica used the crop to tease her, trailing it over her breasts and tapping it against her nipples, and then passing it along her body to tap it harder over her pubic mound. After a few minutes of that, which left Robin stretching and arching and making little mewing sounds, Monica picked up the softer of the two whips and began again, bringing color and sensation first to Robin’s breasts, and then across her belly, and then over the fronts and insides of her thighs.
Robin fell into a vortex of sensations; every minute, a new pleasure was added, every shift of her body caused new and wonderful spasms of warmth and minor pain. She cried out like she hadn’
t in ages, and licked her lips and bit at them in a pointless effort to remain still and quiet. But unlike Eric and Jimmy, Monica delighted in every new whine and whimper and rewarded them with harder shots and more searching touches. Before long, Robin felt like she was one long mass of awakened nerves, ready to pull against her bonds at the slightest touch, her flesh red with impact marks and the flush of her own excitement.
When Monica laid the whip down and drew one finger along the edges of Robin’s cunt lips, Robin came without warning.
It was so lightning fast that Robin couldn’t even draw a deep enough breath to sustain it, let alone warn Monica or ask her for permission. Robin’s hips rose up, and thrust against Monica’s hand, and that one pressing finger, and Monica laughed and drew away.
“Bad girl,” she said softly, picking up the riding crop again. “I wanted that one.”
“I’m sorry, Monica,” Robin managed to say, her throat catching on every word.
“Too bad―now you’re going to have to wait longer before the surprise.”
Robin didn’t bother to ask what the surprise was; besides, she was distracted by the stinging smack of the crop’s flapper against the sensitive flesh that had just throbbed with such delightful intensity. Robin moaned and then yelped as Monica delivered a rain of slaps all over her cunt, and then down the insides of her thighs. The puffy flesh of Robin’s cunt lips grew red and angry quickly, until Monica’s fingers could wrest a strangled whimper out of Robin with just a light sliding touch.
And then Monica left her there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling and feeling the waves of pounding heat from the beating. Robin’s back felt wonderful, warm and aching and good against the softness of the bed. And her pussy, spread wide and dripping wet, also ached, in so many different ways that it was hard to tell which was the most insistent.
When Monica came back, she pulled a box from under the bed. Robin couldn’t see what it was, but could hear the scraping of it against the floor and the snapping of latches being opened. Then, Monica re-appeared, rising to fix a pair of screw-type nipple clamps on Robin’s very erect nipples.
“I can’t wait for the surprise,” Monica said, tightening the clamps until Robin winced. “So consider these the rest of your punishment for coming without permission.”
“Yes, Monica,” Robin whispered back. She winced as the clamps bit into her flesh, but watched Monica eagerly for evidence of the surprise. Monica stepped back and picked something up from the floor. It looked like a flat pad, attached to a long slender chain. At Robin’s inquisitive stare, she carefully pushed it down the front of her jeans, leaving a trail of silvery chain coming out at her waistband. Then, Monica leaned down and turned something on. It sounded like a light hum.
“I got this little toy thinking about you,” Monica said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I can’t wait to see how you like it.”
And slowly, making sure that no other part of her body touched Robin’s, she extended one hand and touched Robin on the lips.
And Robin jerked at the touch of an electrical shock! It wasn’t painful, and her eyes widened as Monica laughed. Robin pursed her lips, and Monica obliged by passing her fingertips over them. This time, they stayed longer, and the buzzing was hot and tingly and made all of Robin’s body shiver. Monica trailed her fingers down Robin’s body, and everywhere they touched, a little static electricity followed, dancing and jumping along Robin’s skin.
She played like that for a while, testing Robin’s tolerance and reactions, holding her hands closer and then farther away, curling her fingers at the base of Robin’s breasts and then across her stomach. “Isn’t that nice?” she asked teasingly. “The minute I felt this, I knew I had to use it on you. It’s as much fun as I thought it would be.” She giggled and tapped her fingers lightly on the tops of Robin’s thighs.
Robin didn’t know whether to jump around, tense, moan, or giggle. The sensations changed rapidly from buzzing to a stabbing, needling annoyance. And when Monica touched her clamped nipple tips, Robin couldn’t help but yelp, loud, and then moan as Monica trailed the sore tips with her tongue. For one second, Robin thought that she was feeling the after-shocks of the electrical toy, but then she realized that Monica’s tongue was acting as a transmitter as well. It was almost overwhelming. And when Monica got up onto the bed and positioned her face over Robin’s spread legs, Robin began to whimper.
The touch of that electrified tongue on her swollen lips was incredible! Using just the tip, Monica worked a series of light shocks all along Robin’s soft wetness, pushing the flesh and gently poking at it, spreading her wider and opening her to more pinching and stabbing darts of static electricity. When she raised her head and looked at Robin’s flushed face and tense body, she laughed.
“You can come if you want to,” she said before getting back to her amusement. And at the third or fourth strong touch of Monica’s tongue on her engorged clit, Robin did, and her own convulsions of pleasure lasted so long that she could barely tell when Monica turned off the machine and touched her with hands and lips that held only the heat of their owner.
Robin did know that when Monica shucked her jeans and turned around on the bed, lowering her own wetness to Robin’s mouth, she was delirious with pleasure. It was hard to remember that she was bound to the bed; all she wanted to do was clasp Monica’s thighs to her, pull on her ass cheeks and press her face up into that fragrant delta, drowning herself in the feminine moisture that was proof of Monica’s arousal. But she was stretched out, held immobile, and Monica teased her for a good long time before letting Robin’s searching, hungry mouth settle and work.
When Monica had her fill of that, she turned around again, and settled down on her side, next to Robin’s body. They were both panting, both flushed, and both smiling between deep breaths.
“And you know I’m not finished with you,” Monica said, unhooking Robin’s legs. “Bring them up, open yourself wide. I want to see what you can take.”
Robin eagerly brought her knees up, and leaned back against her shoulders as Monica began to work her fingers into Robin’s cleft. Robin was so wet she was almost dripping, and Monica slid four fingers in comfortably. In fact, Robin arched her back and spread herself wider, feeling that incredible fullness, and the delightful pressure that made her want to shake and moan and swallow Monica’s hand. This time, there was no sharp pain. This time, she felt like she was a warm nest, engulfing Monica like a living thing, taking all she had to offer. Monica had a bottle of lubricant over by the side of the bed, but with one answering thrust up and then forward, Robin took Monica’s thumb into her body and Monica’s hand formed gently into a fist.
“Oh yeah, that’s my baby,” Monica crooned. “That’s my sweetie. That’s it, eat me up, sugar. You’re all mine now.”
Robin trembled with passion and tension, and moaned at the sensation. It felt so good, and so terrible, and so amazing! She could look down her body and see Monica’s arm making small, tight movements that all became heavy, shifting pressures inside her body. Every shift of position was as powerful as any thrust, and even the slight turning of Monica’s hand was a wave of pressure that made Robin’s entire body shiver.
“I do,” she moaned, keeping her legs wide. “Oh yes, I do belong to you....”
And Monica rolled gently and placed a kiss on the top of Robin’s spread mound, licking lightly at the exposed clit. And Robin came again, no wild thrusting this time, but a steady pulsing that flexed and pulled at Monica’s hand until Monica swore and laughed, and by the time Monica eased her hand out, they were both sweaty, red with passion, and exhausted.
Later, with all the toys put away and Monica and Robin both cooled and snuggling under the covers, Monica turned Robin so that Robin had her back to her. Spoon fashion, they cuddled, and Robin could feel the heat of Monica’s softer body against her back. It was comforting beyond belief. Outside, it was raining, hard, and the splattering sound of the drops against the windows was a wave of white nois
e that was as soothing as the softness of the bed and the heat of the two bodies in it.
Monica caressed Robin’s body with long sweeping movements, settling her down into a position that she found comfortable. With one hand wrapped around Robin’s waist, Monica whispered, “I’m going to have you pierced. Right up behind your clit. It’s the latest thing, and it looks so pretty.”
“Thank you,” Robin murmured back. That sounds nice, she thought. And she contained the giggle that threatened to follow; had it been so long ago that she trembled at the thought of a piercing? And one behind my clit, at that! But if Monica liked it....
And they listened to the rain together, until Monica’s steady breathing indicated that she was asleep.
But Robin stayed awake, luxuriating in the wealth of emotions and sensations that had collided in her. The weight of Monica’s arm, and the scent of the room, the heat from her back and cheeks, and the delicious feeling of warmth between her legs. Even the tingling of her sore nipples was nice. And it was so good, to sleep with a woman in her own bed, to feel her body, the softness of her breasts, the roundness of her belly! To fill herself in the scent of a woman’s passion, to taste the sweet saltiness of her excitement, was so right, so fulfilling.
So nice, Robin thought, snuggling deeper down. This is what I’ve always wanted. I’m still a slave, I’m still completely owned, but the person who owns me... loves me. And I love her. This is the best of all possible worlds. For once, I can be sure that it just doesn’t get any better than this.
Probably.
And outside, the sounds of the rain began to grow faint as the nation’s capital got the first snowfall of the season.
A Familiar Ring
The Slave Page 35