“The answer must have pleased him, for he reached out his hand to caress the top of my head. ‘Good girl’, he said in a gentle, kindly tone which fed my pride as surely as it marked me as his special pet. ‘I want you to go over to the corner now, where you will find my shirt hanging on a nail. It has a rip. There is thread and a needle in the pocket. I would like you to sew it for me’.
“I was so sorely tempted to object, to complain that this was kid stuff, not the grown up kind of sex play I so badly needed. But I held my tongue and did as he ordered. He allowed me to walk, and he had me bring my sewing back to a place just in front of him, where he had me kneel before him on my heels. As I worked, my aching sex continuing to telegraph its pungent need. He told me odd little things, about how tomorrow I would polish his boots and how when I returned home, I must sleep naked in my bed, on my back, legs spread, not touching myself, even once. And lastly, how in a dream he had foreseen that I would bear his children.
“This last remark affected me so greatly I stabbed myself with the needle. Sobbing profusely, I was allowed to go to him. He held me very tightly for the longest time, stroking my hair, soothing my jagged nerves. When he determined I was well enough to resume sewing, I expressed my disappointment. ‘Why won’t you make love to me?’ I asked, ‘when you yourself say I will have your children?’
“’Because it isn’t yet time’, he replied, in that enigmatic way of his.
“’But why not?’ I wheedled, trying my feminine wiles.
“’Lie on your back’, he said, ‘and spread your legs’.
“I did so eagerly, thinking I had won.
“’What do you feel?’ he asked, placing the flat of his hand on my belly.
“I sighed happily. ‘I feel safe and warm’, I cooed.
“He shook his head. ‘That is not enough. Now I want you to lie across my lap’.
“’Another test?’ I smiled.
“’No, Libby, this is punishment. For your lack of trust’.
“The flat of his hand proved to be a terrible instrument of discipline, and as he struck my wriggling, unprotected buttocks over and over with terrifying efficiency, I could scarcely imagine what effect the whip might have on me. I learned many lessons that night, not the least of which was to never again underestimate Malcolm’s power or to ask for things I wasn’t ready for.
“Tears streaming down my face, my pride smarting, I squatted on my sore buttocks to finish his shirt. When I was done he took it without comment and told me to dress and go home. I was furious, and I vowed I would never come back. At the door, just as he had the first time, he stopped me for a final word.
“’One more thing, Libby, when you come back tomorrow night I will ask you if you have masturbated, and you must tell me the truth’.
“’I won’t be back at all!’ I huffed, and off I ran.
“I did come back, and when I arrived that second time, at exactly midnight, I found him napping in the hay. How I fought going to him! It felt like hours as I wrestled my own pride before finally divesting of my shorts, t-shirt, panties and bra and going to him.
“Without opening his eyes, or dislodging the straw between his lips, he told me where I could find the boots and that I should polish them three times and then go home. I waited for him to ask me the question, about my touching myself, but when it did not come, I assumed he had forgotten. The whole time I worked, however, it began to eat into my conscience. When I was done, I told him I had masturbated twice thinking about our time together.
“He said nothing, and so I asked him for a punishment.
“’Devise your own’, he said, rolling over and turning his back to me.
“I was again furious. Determined to upstage him, I suggested as my punishment that I should return tomorrow and clean one of the horse stalls, naked. He never said a word, but the very idea so aroused me, the utter and complete degradation, that I returned the next night and threw myself at him, scantily clothed, hoping to drive him mad with a lemon yellow negligee.
“Malcolm had no tolerance for my disobedience. Binding my hands over my head with a stiff rope, which he hung from one of the beams, he gave my nightie and I some time to think about our actions. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes he left me like that, on tiptoes, utterly exposed to the night air, but the effect was profound. I was so completely moved by his domination of me that as soon as he returned, I begged him to release me so that I might strip myself and fall on my belly to lick his feet. Through tear filled eyes, overjoyed at the sight of him, I swore that I was conquered now, utterly tamed.
“My punishment, however, or rather my lessons, had only just begun. In order to be freed from my bonds, Malcolm told me, I would be required to collect twenty ‘points’ in a kind of mix and match torture game. My options were lashes from the riding crop, at five points each, blows from a paddle, for two points apiece, or intimate caresses, for a point each. It was an interesting dilemma.
“The nightie torn from my body, I chose the caress first, thinking I would outsmart him this way. What I did not realize is that sexual arousal, with no hope of release, is its own form of torture. By the third caress, I was in tears, and the fourth time, my sex throbbing wildly, pouring out its juices uncontrollably, I asked for the paddle instead. Swathed as I was in heat, I doubted I would feel anything. How wrong I was! With a single expert snap of his wrist, he reduced me to a ball of blubbering nerve endings. My ass was like fire.
“When he told me to choose again, I began to cry, telling him I could not. It was at this point that he produced from his pocket the subtle but infinitely nasty clamps. ‘Ten seconds’, he explained, ‘upon each nipple for refusing to choose’. He put a dowel in my mouth first, smooth like ivory and attached to straps that fit behind my head and ears. This was to stifle my screams.
“‘The next refusal will cost fifteen seconds’, he said as he removed them, ‘with an increase in five second increments for each subsequent offense. Do you understand me, Libby?’
“I nodded fiercely, and when he shared with me the new communication method, by which I was to incline my head towards the desired object of my torture, all three of which would be extended in front of my gagged face. I broke every speed record in thrusting my forehead onto his upheld left palm, the symbol for a caress.
“He was harder on me this time, taking me to the brink of orgasm, close enough to see and touch and taste it, but denying me entry into its golden land. I could not bear this again, I thought, and so I touched my head to the paddle the next time.
“It was not fair; he seemed to know my body so well! When he took a practice swing, touching the flat, unyielding wood against my bottom, I jerked against it, as though it were a cock. The blow itself must have hit some sweet spot, for it suddenly became difficult to discern pleasure and pain. I think I may have orgasmed, or else blanked out. Whatever the delay, it cost me dearly.
“The clamps, tiny alligator things, were given free range to ravage my tenderest flesh for a full fifteen seconds. As he counted aloud, the numbers throbbed in my brain. The release of the clamps seemed to bring pain of its own, and it was only his hand on my bare shoulder and his soothing words that allowed me to focus.
“Too long, I thought. It’s going too long. I ran the risk of panic if I didn’t make some headway fast. The whip, I would have to take the whip. Gone was my romanticism of pain. I needed the points, a fast five, to bring me past the halfway point. Malcolm was a thoughtful man, and he chose his placement carefully, as well as the choice of the device. The crop left welts, but did not scar. It stung and burned, but did not seethe into infection. The blow was discrete, across the middle of my ass cheeks. I would not sit for days, but I could still wear a bikini.
“I was a wreck, broken in pleasure and pain, but I was at thirteen, just seven from home. What to do now? I imagined it must have been so much easier for slaves in the olden days, simply having things imposed on them. They could cry, not cry, squirm, whatever they might cho
ose. My brain told me one more lash, then the paddle and it’s all over; that would be the logical choice. But no one, no one can be expected to choose that kind of thing. It’s like when you know you can pull a band-aid off fast to limit the agony, but you’re afraid to, so you do the stupid thing, and go slow. I swooned, the choice in front of me once again. And the time limit imposed over it, the clamps, ever ready as a ‘free bee’.
“I chose another caress, though I regretted it at once. Malcolm’s snaking little fingers were feeling like whips of their own between my legs. Thrashing and thrusting myself against him, throwing back my head I pleaded for an orgasm, tried to squeeze it out. If I could force myself over the brink, burst through his defenses I might win yet.
“But Malcolm did not yield. The hand won, and for the next round, I bowed to the paddle, choosing it as my master of the moment. Its heat, its hardness seized me like a brand. He held up his fingers when he was done. I was four points away. Chomping furiously on the dowel, I chose another stripe, which he landed directly above the first, millimeters away.
“After he untied me, I could no longer grovel for him, though I yearned to submit at his feet with all my heart. Overwhelmed by weakness, I fell into his arms instead. Freed of the controlling dowel, my torso drenched in rivers of my own spittle, my crotch and ass burning, I smiled my thanks into his eyes for being strong. For calming me and centering me. For teaching me my lesson.
“He carried me back to the house, climbing the wooden lattice himself as I clung to his back. He must have sensed some change in me, because as he left, having tucked me naked into bed and kissing my forehead, his final words were for me not to come to the barn tomorrow. Tears in my eyes, I asked if I had displeased him, and he said no, that the reason I was not to come to him was that he would come to me. It was to be at midnight, and I was to be ready, naked and in my bed.
“I can’t recall a single thing about the next twenty four hours, except that, at long last, I heard the creak of my shutters and the sliding of my window pane which told me he was there again. The man who had trained me, the one who would fill me with his seed. Alert, primed, I waited, legs apart, arms at my side, palms up. The room was pitch black, and he was so stealthy that the first I sensed of him was his hand upon my belly.
“I shuddered so deeply that I orgasmed, just from the touch of him, the commanding presence of his hand on my body. ‘Forgive me’, I wept, knowing I had broken his command to not come.
“’It’s all right’, he soothed, striking my cheek. ‘Your reaction was the correct one. It shows that you are ready now’.
“With that he came upon me, his clothes magically vanished. The feel of his penis pressing into my sopping wet vagina brought me immediately to the brink of another orgasm. But I held back when he whispered that we would come together, at his command.
“I lay beneath him luxuriating, yielding, and marveling at his powerfully gentle having of me. It was like a ballet, a dance with an unwritten script. With the merest of whispered words, I was in motion, conforming to his every wish. Three times that night, he came inside my womb, first on top, then from behind, and finally straddling my legs from the side. In between, I learned to please in other ways as well, not the least of which involved my mouth. I’d wanted to swallow his semen, as a sign of my subjection, but he refused, reminding me that it was my womb that was destined to be the vessel of his progeny.
“This idea of impregnation proved to have an erotic power all its own, especially as it entailed unprotected sex. Whenever I spread my legs that summer or otherwise offered up my womb to his naked staff, I felt the most delicious sense of abasement, of belonging to a class of women inconceivably lower than the standards of society. Again, I don’t recommend this, except to say that I followed my heart, and so the danger was worthwhile.
“Malcolm was my life that summer. There were so many delights: laying for him as he possessed my womb, trembling as he disciplined my bare ass, or simply sucking him for all hours of the night, his salty, sweet cock planted in my mouth like a piece of my own heart. And then there were the times together in public, our rare dates away from the estate, when we could exchange daylight looks, telegraphing that delicious secret between us that beneath my clothes, I was not merely his date, but his property.
“I wish I could recall the exact night you girls were conceived. We did the act so many times, in every way imaginable. Did it happen while I was on my back? On all fours? On my belly? Was it on the floor, in the bed, in the hayloft? Was I free to squeal and move at the time, or did he have me bound? Did I wear his bit in my mouth? Was I weighed down with his rawhide straps? Was it a gentle taking, lazy and sweet, or a disciplinary affair, harsh and abrupt? Was I pleasing enough to earn a treat, a tussle of my golden tresses or a piece of candy, or had I held something back, requiring him afterward to soften me up, humbling and correcting me with some lowly task. Or else by means of the whip, a device I learned to fear and respect such that the mere sight of it in Malcolm’s hand would make me grovel, the fragrance of my erupting sex filling the air? Believe me, these are questions I’ve lived with every day since.
“At any rate, I turned up pregnant that fall, a short while after returning to school. I got word to Malcolm and he came at once, enacting our preset plan to run away together. No one else knew about us at this point, not even my parents. We were determined to raise our child in peace, far away from everything and everyone we knew. We found refuge in a small remote town in the north, where Malcolm knew a large animal vet. He was the one who delivered the two of you.
“The birthing itself was beautiful and earthy. I was lying in a stable, wrapped in white cloth, and out the two of you came. Your father was there the entire time, and at my request, he had my left ankle tethered by a long lead to the wall. I needed that restriction, that sense of his control over me. I was his creature, after all, his female beast.
“When you finally came—Andrea was first—I looked into his eyes, so tired and weak, and yet so proud. When he touched my hair and told me I was a good girl, the tears came like rain. I was so happy. After that, things got fuzzy, and there was some pain that came and went. I recall Malcolm tending to me through the night and though he spoke not a word, I knew something was wrong.
“It was the next morning he told me the news, two fold, and together comprising the most devastating blows of my life. The first thing he revealed was that there had been not just two babies, but a third, another girl who died upon her departure from the womb. Her name was Alicia. This alone, to be cheated of a precious life, would have undone me for a long time, but then he told me the rest of the news. The triple birth had been revealed to him in a vision weeks before, along with a warning of a great transgression. He’d not told me of it sooner, not wanting to frighten me.
“Alicia’s death was a sign of the reality of that transgression in his mind and the only imaginable solution was for us to part ways, never fomenting our union in marriage. I fought and screamed, I begged, but I could not change your father’s mind. He said it was a native thing, from the one fourth of his blood he owed to his grandmother, a tribal seer. I suspected there was more, though, a feeling deep in his breast that we were from different worlds and that despite his obvious mastery of my body, he still felt unworthy of me. Maybe I had the same fears.
“As for the two of you girls, we loved you more than life itself. Apart from you, we would have died. What else could we do, then, but to split you up so that each of you would have the benefit of a healthy parent? As soon as I was strong enough, therefore, Malcolm left us, taking little Andrea with him. He said he was going out west to a reservation where he had cousins, and that afterward, when the baby was old enough to travel more easily, he would build a career with horses. You and I returned here, to your grandparents, who’d been so worried that they’d had half the state police force out looking for us.
“I never told them about Andrea or Alicia, and when they asked who your father was, I swallowed my pr
ide and said I didn’t know for sure who it had been because I had been with a number of boys. The pleasure they took in you outweighed their anger at me, and all was forgiven. We raised you together, till they both passed on when you were still little. I tried to make contact with Malcolm, to send him money, but he refused, and finally I lost track of he and Andrea altogether until two months ago, that is.”
“When Andrea showed up,” Ashley supplied, “to ruin my life.”
Libby grasped her daughter’s shoulders. “Honey, I’m not excusing what your sister did, but, honestly, even you have to see that Tom has some culpability. The lion’s share if you ask me, considering Andrea’s inherited predilection to yield to the male will.”
Ashley shrugged off her mother’s touch. “I can’t believe that, Mother, that you can inherit something like that. Anyway, you’re normal now, right? You don’t go running around in dog collars!”
Libby smiled wryly. “No, honey, I don’t. Then again, I’ve held myself in check all these years for your sake. Plus, I’ve never really gotten over losing your father. But you must know I struggle with my needs every day of my life. You think I don’t want to be tied anymore or controlled? You think I wasn’t jealous, just a little, when you told me what you saw Andrea doing tonight? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want Tom, but I do want a master, Ashley. I need one.”
Ashley covered her ears and rose to her feet. “I’m not hearing this, and I think you’re both crazy and I’ve had just about enough of this family,” she announced, marching to the door. “If anyone wants me, I’ll be in my room till I die.”
Twenty minutes later, her mood entirely changed, Ashley poked her head back in the library. This time as Libby turned sadly from the fire, tears in her eyes, she beheld the sight of her daughter dressed in a short, sequined dress, black and revealing.
“It’s Andrea’s. She made me buy one last week, to match hers, and now it’s time to use it. Bye, Mom, don’t wait up, cause I’m going out to activate my slut gene—the one you so graciously gave me.”
Backwater Bondage Page 21