Safe Word

by Molly Weatherfield

  "Hey," she said now, "Stefan seems to hate you even more than he usually hates the new pet. What did you do?"

  No question of lying to her. She had my chin in her hand now and was looking at me searchingly. Round black eyes, like marbles.

  "Uh, I talked back to him, Mistress," I said.

  "Madam," she said idly, flicking the whip against my breasts.

  "I talked back to him, Madam."

  "Yeah? About what?" Another little flick of the whip. No point drawing this out.

  "Well, Madam, I knew he wanted to fuck me where Mr. Constant had fucked me, to, you know, uh, get close to Mr. Constant, and so, I told him, you know, all the places...." This was not, I was realizing, the easiest thing in the world to confess to her.

  She laughed. "Get out," she said. "You said that?"

  I nodded, my eyes on the ground in front of her Doc Martens.

  "Well," she said, "I won't bother to punish you for it. Stefan will, though, first chance he gets. He doesn't get to give out a lot of whippings, but I do have to get a day off once in a while, you know"

  She paused, looking me over some more. "Can't have a slave with a fresh mouth around here. Still, you could have fooled me. I thought you were just a nice eager set of open holes. Well, but that's what you will be, for me, won't you?"

  I assured Madam of that. Madam! Jeez, all ninety-six pounds of her. Still, she was right, silly nom de guerre notwithstanding. I wanted to please her. I hoped I'd never think of a smart remark anytime when she was around.

  "You need some lunch," she said. "And then you can rest. I'll try you out on the trail this afternoon. Come on."

  And she led me, waddling behind her in those ugly thigh straps, to the stable where Tony had gone. He'd been washed down, I could see, and his tail had been removed. And he was on his knees, bent over a trough of-oh, shit, pony food. God, it was absolutely the worst thing about being a pony slave, those horrible little pellets of, well, who knew what they were-vitamins and minerals and complex carbohydrates all rolled out and chopped up to taste like sawdust. They were mixed with chopped-up carrots and celery, just as they'd been on the pony farm where I'd been trained, making them just barely tolerable. I mean, like it would kill whoever mixed the stuff together to maybe chop an onion into it once in a while. And I was hungry, too. I wished, now, that I'd eaten more of the dinner the waiter had spread out in front of us the night before-the lovely, smooth leek soup, the pale veal with its delicate lemony sauce....-

  Mercifully, though, I stopped myself before I could seriously think about the orange souffle in its pool of velvety bitter chocolate. Soldier on, Carrie-no point crying over... well, even spilled milk sounded pretty good compared to what was in that trough. I knelt down in the straw next to Tony, folding my hands at the small of my back as he was doing, sighed deeply, and crunched down a few pellets.

  And I was so mopey that it took me a moment to realize that he was whispering to me, "Hey, we only have to eat it for lunch."

  I must have looked as though he'd just saved me from a burning building, because he laughed softly at my look of blissful relief, after taking a quick look to make sure that Annie was still out of earshot. "Well, except during competitions," he added quickly, turning back to his food at the sound of her footsteps.

  I could live with that. And I could more than live, I realized, with how beautiful he was close up. His eyes were blue, I thought at first, but, no, they were green. And it took me a while to realize, chewing thoughtfully, that one was a bluish green, and one a brownish green, the asymmetry making them dance in his tanned face.

  Annie slapped our asses and we followed her, on hands and knees, to the water trough. And then she put us to sleep in adjoining stalls, on top of clean straw. I was glad I'd eaten, and I knew that I'd need the rest for my tryout on the trail that afternoon.

  "Okay," she said, taking a breath, "your turn. But wait, are there any more croissants in the basket?"

  "Maybe a piece of one." He smiled. "Are you still thinking about the pony food?"

  She heaped jelly on the inch of croissant, grunted happily as she popped it into her mouth, and climbed back into bed beside him.

  "Okay?" she asked, giving him a slightly sticky kiss.

  He was ready this time. Perhaps he'd even planned what he might say. Earlier, so as not to be caught short.

  He licked the jelly off his upper lip. "Okay," he said.

  JONATHAN'S SECOND STORY

  The party guests were all a little manic, not bothering to hide the excitement in their eyes. At the auction tomorrow, they'd be cool, appraising all the flesh set out for them, with practiced hands and miserly eyes-as though the hundred thousand and upwards they'd pay was really a lot of money for them. But tonight they were slightly wild, kids the night before Christmas, dreaming of new toys.

  I'd been trying unsuccessfully to move on from a conversation with a boring old guy with enormous, bristling eyebrows. Friend of my Uncle Harry's, telling me all about the old days-these old farts always want to tell a polite young fellow like me about the old days. And now he'd launched into a deadly-and dead wrong-harangue on the budget that had been passed this afternoon. Seems he couldn't see why the association needed to continue investing in computer technology. Idiot. And his conversation was a real yawner, too-even the girl at his feet was looking pretty bored, crouching at the end of her leash. I stroked her head sympathetically, while I excused myself. Sounded like Kate had had her way with the association. I imagined her triumphantly attacking a big plate of bacon and eggs, tossing back schnapps as the votes fell into place.

  I stubbed out my cigarette and put another in my mouth, inhaling smoke as a naked blond boy appeared from nowhere to light it for me. Well-organized party. And it was a nice apartment to prowl around. You've seen it, Carrie. It was where you'd been examined to see if you'd get into the auction. The party hadn't spread to that very formal room where they'd used and beaten you so politely. At least, I don't think it had-it was a big place, with a slightly disorienting floor plan. Madame Roget had borrowed it, I'd heard, from some cousin, with one of those sick-soul-of-Europe names, Esterhazy or Thurn and Taxis or something.

  In a dark hallway, lit with candles in sconces and lined with hideous family portraits in big gilded frames, I caught sight of Kate's little Stephanie, carrying a big basket of fruit. You could hear a metallic clanking sound as she walked. The tokens in the coinbox hanging from her collar, you know. And she looked very pretty-naked except for the restraints at her throat and wrists-with her hair all down. It cascaded over her back, except for a few locks caught in slender braids, with ribbons and flowers twined into them, that started at the top of her head, falling down in front of her face and over her breasts.

  A couple of guys in tuxes were leaning against the wall, talking quietly. One of them nodded curtly to her and she stopped, put down the fruit basket, and knelt to undo his pants. He grabbed her head, bringing it to his cock and mussing her hair a bit, scattering a few flower petals onto the carpet. There were painful-looking, fresh red stripes across her ass. Way to go, Randy, I thought, as she finished up with the guy in her mouth, swallowing his cum and then thanking him gratefully for it.

  Another nod, barely discernible, and then a snap of the fingers, from the second guy now. She quickly stood up, bent over from the waist, and arched her back, propping her hands against some wainscoting. He wouldn't have to inconvenience himself by bending down, and she wouldn't get any handprints on the flocked wallpaper. He was a big guy, but she rotated her asshole directly toward his cock. He'd hardly even have to bend his knees, except perhaps for leverage. But he did bend over, before he entered her, to pick up a large, very ripe apricot from the fruit basket. He put it in her mouth, and as he was getting ready to jam his cock into her ass, he warned her not to get any toothmarks on the apricot. And then he leaned over her, keeping his balance by squeezing her breasts with his big hands.

  And when he'd finished with her, and she knelt and bent
her head to deposit the still-perfect apricot into his outstretched hand, you could see by the candlelight from the wall sconce above her that there were purple bruises on her breasts where his thumbs had been, and a few tears in her long eyelashes.

  She thanked the second guy now, remaining on her knees to button his pants and straighten his clothes. And then both men dropped their tokens into the coinbox at her throat, before they moved off, resuming their conversation, the big guy munching on the apricot.

  Nice. The tears, the bruises, and especially the polite sound of her voice as she thanked them. Still on her knees, she quickly scooped up the flower petals from the rug. And then she took a careful, housewifely peek at the wainscoting where she'd leaned her hands, to make sure she hadn't left any messy fingerprints. And almost of its own volition, I felt my hand reaching into my pocket to find one of my own tokens.

  I felt a hand on my arm.

  "Do pay her," I heard an amused voice say. "That little tableau was certainly worth a token. But she needs to go fix her hair right now. And the caterer needs that fruit at the buffet."

  Stephanie looked up and I looked around, both of us startled. It was Madame Roget, very elegant in a cherry red satin caftan. She had diamonds at her ears and lots of rings on long, slender hands. Her round black eyes were serene, merry. Isn't this fun, they seemed to say, I love to give parties. She kept that confiding, and proprietary, hand on my arm.

  I put the token into Stephanie's coinbox, and heard her clear little "thank you, Jonathan," accompanying the metallic clanking at her throat. Did I imagine it, or was her mouth twitching just a little, that single dimple in her cheek making a shy appearance, her blue violet eyes looking the slightest bit mischievous through their moist lashes? "And thank you, Madame," she added, as she got to her feet in a single motion, picked up the fruit basket, turned, and continued down the hall.

  Caught looking. And as I was beginning to wonder how obvious my erection was, Madame Roget added, "and I need you to come make love to me."

  "Thank you, Madame," I said, echoing Stephanie.

  "Can it," she said.

  "And may I too call you Jonathan?" she asked, leading me down the hallway and through mazes of rooms. She looked happy and hungry. She was a familiar type-like friends of my mother's-her long, delicate neck and slender wrists suggesting that she subsisted most days on Perrier and papayas. But her gestures, her air of jovial anticipation and randy selfsatisfaction, suggested some belle epoque gourmand draping a damask napkin over his rounded, dazzlingly white shirt front and preparing to down a dozen roasted quail.

  "Of course," I answered. I waited for her to ask me to call her by her first name. And then I stopped waiting for it.

  "I've always wanted to meet the boy Kate would run home to, between her periods of service," she continued.

  I murmured something about not having been a boy for quite a while, Madame, as she ushered me into the bedroom, and poured us glasses of red wine.

  It was like a stage set for Der Rosenhavalier, all gilt and lace and damask and tapestries. A huge bed, bright brass and white iron, rose up in baroque curlicues like an enormous birdcage or a clipper ship with billowy lace sails. I sat down in an armchair and watched her take off her clothes, revealing long muscles and beautiful little breasts high on her torso, with tiny, pink nipples. I would have liked to look at her a little longer, but she was impatient. I hurried to undress, to let her pull me into that monstrous bed.

  I liked the feel of her under me, strong and tuned, selfish and demanding. I liked the sounds she made when I was in her, long arms thrown over her head, deep cries from her long throat, while she thrashed and arched her pelvis against me. I liked myself with her, too, rougher, cruder than I usually am. But each time I rose above her, just before I let myself come, I would see the same slightly amused look. It was as if she was putting me to work, inviting that once-upon-a-time boy home for odd jobs-yard, basement, and bedroommuch as those friends of my mother had done, a couple of decades ago. Sorry, Madame, you're a little late for that boy at his inexhaustible best. But I tried to remember how it had been, that astonishing energy, and I think I summoned up a version of it.

  I was just about to dip my head between her legs again when I heard the door open. Who the hell would barge in like that? I was annoyed. And just a tad relieved.

  "You missed the token count, Odile," Kate's voice floated over me. "Your guests were amused."

  No wonder I was exhausted. They don't empty the coinboxes until almost the end of the party-count the tokens, to see which slave had been used most. I would have bet on Stephanie, and yeah-now that I'd raised my head a little higher I could see her, crawling behind Kate on a leash. She had her chin way up and her back arched-very elegant, like a greyhound-and she was attached to the leash by the prize they'd awarded her. It looked like the kind of prize Madame would have dreamed up: emeralds and seed pearls set in flexible gold wire, turning Stephanie's breasts into Faberge eggs, and held on by tight clips at the nipples. The clips were connected by a gold chain, with a larger link at its center, for a leash.

  Madame stroked my head, while Kate reined Stephanie in, nodding at her to kneel up at attention, and tugging affectionately at the gold chain as she removed the leash. Kate had on a velvet tuxedo, slim pantlegs draped nicely over the insteps of satin slingback spike heels. And no shirt, just a nice deep V of glowing flesh between narrow satin lapels. Well, she'd had a good day since she'd climbed off me that morning. She'd argued the board into submission, and her slave had been acclaimed the most desirable at the party. "Steffie told me the two of you had met."

  Madame nodded. "I thought," she murmured, "that you might come by."

  "He's charming," she added, absentmindedly raking the back of my neck with her nails.

  "Ummm, quite, yes," Kate agreed softly.

  "Take the big armchair, Jon," she said then. And to Stephanie, pulling her to her feet and giving her a little push in my direction, "cuddle him for a while, darling." She took off her jacket, shrugged out of her suspenders, kicked off her pants.

  "Well, Odile...." She raised her chin like a young knight riding into battle. I felt one-upped. And then I relaxed. Hey, let her deal with Madame's fathomless appetites. While I watched.

  I refilled my wineglass and led Stephanie to the armchair, collapsing into the cushions and pulling her into my lap, sipping wine and running a hand over her warm, bejeweled flesh. And watching the series of tableaux that unfolded: Kate leaning over Madame and taking her head in her hands to kiss her; Madame's elaborate chignon tumbling loose and dark down her back; Madame opening a drawer in one of the bed tables and lifting out a black latex cock on slender leather straps, while Kate fiddled absentmindedly with a china shepherdess from the same table; Madame down on her knees now, strapping the cock around Kate's hips; Kate turning slightly, to give me a better view of this; Madame's jeweled hands cradling Kate's butt, her head buried in her thighs, licking the cock, sucking it, and moving slowly down to the floor, planting worshipful kisses down Kate's legs as she went.

  "Are you ready, Odile?" Kate asked coldly. "Nowadays people don't keep me waiting."

  "No, Kate," Madame mumbled, rising from the floor, "forgive me. Just a moment, Kate." She reached into the bedside drawer for a jar of grease, rubbed it up herself with her long fingers, and then kneeled on the bed, her head in the pillows, her narrow rich lady's ass spread out for Kate to enter. Again, those magnificent cries of pleasure, this time etched just a little more sharply, pain adding dark overtones. I watched Kate-her supple lower back, the muscles in her ass and thighs-plowing back and forth in powerful arcs, deep contractions. Fucker, I thought. One of Sade's fuckers, stammering brutes from the garden imported into the boudoir for an afternoon's sport with the gentry-though, in Kate's case, there were clearly other dynamics at work as well. Oh, this is nice, I thought. But it could probably be even a little nicer, with Stephanie sucking me.

  I looked down at her, curled against my chest, her
wide, serious, troubled eyes fixed on the women in bed. I wondered if she were jealous. No, she was afraid of something. Could be interesting. I dipped my fingers in my wine, dribbled little ruby drops on her breasts, and licked them off, my tongue tickled by the fine gold wire, the little pearls that were as warm as her flesh, the cold, faceted, flashing emeralds. I kissed her, my fingers probing the stripes on her butt. "On your knees," I whispered, nudging her off my lap.

  "Yes, yes," I heard Madame Roget's voice, "but turn her around to face us." Damn bossy woman, I thought, looking at her and Kate, flushed and panting on the big embroidered pillows. Kate was refilling their wineglasses. "Is there some unfinished business, Odile?" she asked.

  "Unhappily," the lady sighed, her honeyed voice sounding anything but unhappy. "A moment of arrogance, earlier, that's gone unpunished. Tell your mistress, Stephanie."

  I could feel, rather than see, Stephanie kneeling up to them, her back very straight. I moved to the floor, sitting against the bed, so that I could watch her breasts tilt upward as she lifted her hands to the back of her neck. She parted her knees, rotating her hips to bring her cunt and belly forward. A penitence posture.

  "Well?" Kate asked.

  Stephanie sighed.

  "Well, Kate," she said, "well, um, earlier, when Jonathan wanted to have me, and I could see that Madame wanted to have him, and... oh, Kate ...I'm sorry ...I didn't mean it, but I couldn't help being a little amused, and, oh...I'm afraid I showed it."

  She was weeping now, big slow tears. One splashed onto an emerald, flashing prisms.

  "Why didn't you put a demerit token into her box, Odile?" Kate asked. "Your guests would have enjoyed watching her being punished."

  "Well, I thought you might bring her to me, you see. And I wanted to keep that punishment all to myself."

  Kate frowned. "But she's so delightful right now, marked just as she is. I hate to mess that up. Damn, and I was so pleased she hadn't gotten any demerit tokens."

  This of course caused Stephanie to weep full force, but in the most miserable, abject silence.