I don’t care if I don’t have an orgasm, she thought, thinking of how wonderful it would feel to lie back and spread her legs like that again. I rarely come when I’m fisted anyway. Oh Judy’s got nice, small hands―I wonder if she likes to fist?
But Judy had opened a cabinet and withdrawn a big bundle of blue rope, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Well, Robin thought, getting tied up is nice, too.
Judy unraveled her rope, and made a simple knotted loop and tossed it over Robin’s shoulders. Working quickly, she wrapped the ends around her body, crossing them over Robin’s collarbone, and then under her breasts. It seemed all too fast at first―there was a line going down Robin’s spine, and every once in a while, Judy would move her around and pull the strands of rope past one point or another. Before long, the blue lines seemed to divide Robin’s body up into little diamonds. Rope passed between her legs, and Judy grinned for a second as Robin tensed, but then Robin felt her slender fingers pulling the rope apart so that it ran along the insides of her thighs, around her sex instead of up and through it. She sighed even as Judy chuckled.
Slowly, Robin was being dressed in rope―like a form-fitting garment that drew her body up tight. But no part of her was actually bound to something else―it was more like being wrapped up somehow. Khim lit some candles and watched in appreciation while Judy worked. Isn’t it interesting that they both do rope work so well, Robin thought.
But―this was not something Marketplace owners were known for, she remembered, thinking of the mysterious way they seemed to know how she was trained. In fact, owners were less likely to get extravagant unless they had a particular fetish―she had been warned about that and had ample opportunity to witness it as well. Being freed from having to cater to the fetish desires of the slaves―other than that overwhelming need to serve in an ordered and safe way―owners didn’t have to set up elaborate scenes if they didn’t feel like it. Decorative bondage had not been of interest to any of her owners, although Monica did like to tie Robin to the bed from time to time.
In a way, Robin thought, as Judy wound rope in more intricate patterns down her arms, this is sort of like serving Monica at my old place in California!
How strange.
“Very pretty,” Khim said. She was now sitting on the table, her legs swinging.
Robin looked down at herself―she was covered in criss-crossing rope, all blue, marking her pale skin into patterns. She shivered in appreciation and said, “Thank you, ma’am! It’s beautiful!”
“I need to see it better,” Khim said. She pointed to the clear space at the base of the table. “Go there and show yourself.”
Robin froze once more. There it was again! Yes, it could have been just a coincidental phrasing―but “show yourself” was a standard instruction for Marketplace slaves!
So, were they owners or not? Robin shook slightly, afraid of either possibility. If they were, then she was being hesitant, or downright disobedient. If they were not, she dared not show them the formal series of poses taught to her as ways to display her body before a potential buyer.
“I―I don’t understand what you mean, ma’am,” she finally managed to say. “I beg your forgiveness, but please explain...”
Judy laughed suddenly, and Khim grinned too. “Never mind that,” the taller woman said in a commanding voice. “You know what we mean. Do as I said.”
Robin couldn’t help it. Her body moved, despite the warning bells going off in her mind. They must be owners, she thought desperately, even as she crossed her wrists behind her head, showing off her tightly bound body. They have to be. Oh, please, let them be. The barest of nods, and she turned, the hardest part, bending over like that... She could feel the ropes tightening around her hips, loosening around her waist, stretching up her calves and thighs. As her ass cheeks parted slightly, her bare pubis seemed tightly framed by the ropes alongside of it, the ring hanging free of her for an instant.
Then, slowly, she rose and then turned once more, dropping gently to her knees and feeling the rope harness tighten in new places. Gracefully, she brought her hands down, and then crossed her wrists behind her back, feeling the layers of rope keeping her from tucking them up next to her the way she should have.
“Oh that was nice!” Judy exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Khim agreed. “Come over here, Robin, let’s get to know you better.”
Robin rose and followed her instructions, and soon found herself on the table, on her back, her arms and legs tied down with red ropes, all along the sides. Judy ran the ropes up and down and in and out while Khim moved a basket of something to the table and brought candles closer. Before Judy had even finished, Khim was pulling long, colorful clamps out of the basket.
Each clamp had a tight, narrow grip, and Khim put one into every diamond shape the ropes left on Robin’s body. She worked fast, with a cheerful assurance, seemingly ignoring Robin’s gasps and hisses as each one went on. Some were nice―she liked the grip on the inside of her arms. Others were erotic―her nipples were already hard before Khim got to them, and the clamps made them ache delightfully. But some just hurt. The ones over her collarbone seemed agonizing, and if she twitched just slightly in her bondage, their shaking made her gasp.
Judy finished tying off the last few inches of Robin’s body and grabbed a handful of clamps herself and also went to work. Before long, Robin was covered in these clamps, many more than Monica liked to put on her (more than Monica owned, in fact!) and in places she had never been clamped before. She shivered again, and set them all dancing, which made her two tormentors laugh.
“We’ll warm you up,” Khim said, picking up a candle. “Don’t you worry!”
Very carefully, wax covered just the tips of the clamps. From two sides of the table, the women worked on her, and every time the sensations shifted, Robin struggled, unable to keep still. But of course, there was nowhere to go! The body harness was tied down tight, and every time she stretched or curled, it tightened all over her, giving her wonderful freedom to squirm and pay the consequences.
Each dribble of wax from the candles awakened the nerves pressed at the base of each clamp, and then spread out. The little glowing points were like bites―tiny, hot bites, everywhere from her shoulders down to the balls of her feet. Different colored candles made little splashes of color in between the ropes, covering her small breasts. The line of clamps in between and on top of her thighs were repeated targets because the skin there seemed extra sensitive and made her twitch and shudder.
She felt her arousal grow, that steady progression that started high and spiraled up from there. It was so wonderful to bottom to two women! Oh, what a dream of hers this had been, and how wonderful the reality was! It was one thing to bottom to Monica and her friend of the moment, always fun and sometimes surprising. But two women who knew each other so well―two women who had planned this, not one women who was leading while another watched or followed... Oh, it was heaven!
How could she have doubted Monica? How could she have worried about this?
“I think she hates this,” Judy said suddenly. Robin’s eyes flew open in panic, and she heard the two women laugh. She blushed, deeply. How could she have been so sloppy?
“Oh no, no, please, I am so sorry, ma’am, I love it, thank you, thank you so much!” Robin said. Oh, how Chris would have laid into her for that! Had she gotten lazy all of a sudden?
“That’s better,” Khim said, judiciously adding a dollop of wax on top of one nipple. Robin hissed. “Wouldn’t want to think that you were just enduring this for our pleasure now.”
“Oh, speak for yourself,” Judy said. She tipped a bit of wax from a black candle onto an area of uncovered skin on Robin’s thigh. “I like it when they’re doing it for me.”
“OK,” Khim said easily. “Suffer for her then, and enjoy it for me. Are the instructions clear?”
Robin couldn’t help but giggle. “Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am!”
“Good―good girl.”
Robin flushed again, this time in pleasure. She couldn’t help it―being praised always made her like this. And now that she knew that they enjoyed her reactions as much as Monica did, she let go a little more, fighting back the years she had spent with two masters who wanted her to keep as still and silent as possible whenever she was in pain.
When they were either bored or finished with the wax, they played with the clamps―shaking or twisting them, and then finally starting to pry them off. As most of them came off, there was only a sharp stab of the reawakened nerve, but a few actually made her yelp. Bits of wax cracked and sometimes peeled off, and in between the ropes, Robin’s body felt warm and glowing, with star-like points of pain that made her purr.
Judy ended up touching the ring first, and Robin couldn’t help it; she jumped, her body held down in the topes, but obviously in greater discomfort than either the clamps or the wax had caused. Judy smoothed her cool hand down Robin’s belly, making soothing sounds. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We know it’s still healing. It’ll be OK. I won’t touch it again.”
And without warning, Robin’s eyes started to tear again. It had all been so perfect! She had been having such a good time, and these women had turned out to be so wonderful! Her fears about inappropriate behavior, about not getting along, about unrealistic expectations, had all vanished under their expert hands, and now this damn ring had to make her react like a novice! And to hear the genuine concern and the patient reassurance that she would be taken care of was just too much.
“What’s wrong?” Khim asked, leaning over.
Robin didn’t want to answer―she just wanted the entire moment to vanish away like it never happened. She struggled to keep herself still, to fight back the tears, but the same bondage that made her feel so eroticized also kept her from wiping them away, and they trickled down the sides of her face. “I’m―I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “Please, there’s nothing wrong. It’s just a little tender―nothing really! Please don’t stop, please!”
“Well―I hear that,” Khim said with satisfaction. “We were about to move on anyway. Pass me something sexy, Judy!”
Robin saw a silvery glint above her, and then Khim showed her the curved, wicked little knife. “You want to keep very still,” she said softly. “You don’t want me to slip.”
“No, ma’am,” Robin whispered. She even smiled―it had been years since someone played with knives around her. She had liked them then―she liked this even better.
The last time she had been menaced with a knife in SM play, it had been one of her aborted attempts at dating. A male top had suggested that they roleplay a rape scene, and she had been very eager. It was something she could not have done with her previous top, Maria, who didn’t like any scene that suggested real force. But one of Robin’s biggest secret turn-ons was being ravished, preferably by more than one man, and she definitely had fantasies of being pressed down and violated. So, this friendly, slightly overweight man set up the scenario and “raped” her at knifepoint in his apartment, after dinner. The set-up was fine, and the start was as much of a turn-on as she always anticipated it could be. But it turned out that among other things, he wanted her to suddenly switch gears from fighting him, screaming and begging for it to end, to then enjoying it and asking for more.
The first “Beg me for it, bitch,” was hot.
The second one was just... silly. He had dropped the knife and was busy trying to get the right angle to fuck her. He was so engaged that if she had been still pretending to struggle, she could have quite accidentally kicked him right in the balls. She decided that such a level of verisimilitude wasn’t on his agenda. Sadly though, she felt no sense of danger, not even pretend danger, so when he growled the command for her to beg for his big dick, it was almost tempting to ask, “Why?” Instead, she did her best to enjoy the fuck and then lost his phone number.
But there was no implicit threat of force here―she was already quite helpless. No, this was the eroticism of the blade, the sensuous thrill of the steel touching her skin and pressing, feeling it glide underneath the edges of the layers of wax, a bizarre skinning effect that made her relax instead of tense up.
The tears stopped almost at once, and she breathed gently as Khim worked. How nice it was to say that she was all right and be taken at her word! How nice to just go along, keep going―for their pleasure as well as hers. She sighed luxuriously and when Khim was shaking the wax off her fingers, she stretched, just a little, to feel the continued constriction of the bondage.
“Yes, that’s it,” Khim crooned. “Isn’t that nice?”
It took longer to get the wax off than it did to put it on, but some of the minutes were spent with the sharp edge of the knife against the smooth skin under Robin’s knee, or around her heels, or on the inside of her arm. She held herself still as possible, breathing in sighs of relief as strip after strip was taken from her body.
“Don’t think we do this every night,” Judy cautioned at one point, finding a neglected clamp and removing it. Robin gasped at the sudden pain. “This is just to say hello!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Robin whimpered. “Thank you, ma’am! It’s wonderful!”
They did not try to play with her clit or her cunt, staying away from the area almost so perfectly that she felt both relief and shame. She could feel the wetness between her spread thighs―there was no question that from the moment she knelt by the coffee table, she had gotten aroused. Oh, she could use an orgasm, and a big one! Or several in a row, for that matter. She groaned as Khim applied her knife edge to her wax-covered breasts, and resigned herself to an orgy of frustration. Maybe, if the two women were interested in hearing what she wanted, she could beg them to fist her.
Finally, she felt the slide of loosening ropes, and realized that Khim had stopped scraping the wax away. She could still feel bits of it here and there, clinging to her skin in places the knife couldn’t reach or where Khim didn’t care to go. She felt a little dizzy, off-center. It had been so wonderful to have to lay there and accept all that attention―yet if Monica had done it, she would have felt bad! She couldn’t clear her mind to puzzle over that contradiction and still manage to get up, as the hands on her body were nudging her to do. She rolled over and sat up, her legs over the side, feeling the bending and twisting of the rope harness as it pulled more wax from her skin with every movement. It was maddeningly hot.
“Thank us,” Khim said, coming around the table to stand in front of her. Without thinking, Robin dropped to her knees and kissed the flat of the knife blade that was offered to her, and then the hand holding it, and then went down to kiss the tops of Khim’s shoes. For a second, she almost froze again―but then she thought, how many other things could she have meant? This is pretty standard in porn, isn’t it?
She repeated the motion for Judy, and then rose to her knees, her head bowed. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said softly. “Thank you, ma’am! That was so wonderful!”
“Of course it was,” Judy giggled. “I bet you haven’t had a lot of Owners who got that fancy with you, huh?”
Robin’s head jerked up. She caught a certain inflection in Judy’s voice―something she hadn’t heard in some time! She blinked in the flickering light of the many candles still perched around the room, as Khim laughed.
“Uh-oh! Something gave us away,” Khim said, even as she put the knife down.
“Oops!” Judy said, looking around. “What did I say?”
“Owners. Everyone says ‘doms’ now,” Khim said. “I keep telling you that. You keep using Marketplace words.”
“Shit,” Judy muttered. “I hate that ‘dom-sub’ crap.”
“And it gives you away every time,” Khim laughed. “Especially when you say it like that. Hell, it turns me on when you say it like that. ‘Owners,’” she echoed with perfect mimicry. “So, don’t leave the poor slave down there shivering, let’s get her upstairs and get the rest of the wax off!”
Robin had hit the floor again, her head all the way down in the posture taught to her as correct for a slave who has realized they’ve made a grave error. From between her bent arms, she said, “Please, ma’am, this slave begs forgiveness; please, this slave was not aware you were Marketplace owners! This slave will never fail to display proper protocol again; please allow this slave to make amends or take any punishment you desire....”
“Shh, shh,” Judy said, leaning down and tapping Robin on the shoulder. Robin shook―and then peeked up. Judy was smiling, her bright smile cutting through the dim light on the floor. “It’s OK, we’re not owners,” she said. “We’re slaves.”
* * * *
Retired slaves to be precise. After Robin shut her mouth and blinked, the two women hauled her up by her still-macramé’d arms and helped her up the stairs. They used hot water and the hand-held massager to help her get the rest of the wax off, talking to her while chips of wax scattered everywhere.
It was easy to believe that Judy had been a slave. Robin kicked herself for not noticing things like the way she held herself and the way she listened intently, and of course, for the way that she almost always seemed to be ready for the lead that Khim took, whether it was in movement or play. Looking into her large gray-blue eyes, it was easy to see that she had once taken a collar. There was a depth there that Robin had seen a few times in her experience. In Greta, the physician slave, and sometimes in Raul’s dark eyes, on the nights when he was quietly reflective and talked about his experience. And of course, in Chris Parker’s eyes, that sense of having belonged―of longing and the knowledge of a mystery the rest of the world had no concept of.
The Slave Page 38