Cries of Penance: 5 (Chronicles of Surrender)

by Harte, Roxy

  My shift is unbearably long and when it is finally over I want nothing more than my bed. Reaching the upper corridor, I dread walking its length. I have to pass Mistress Morgana’s room to get to my own.

  I’m surprised when her door opens just as I pass by and she orders me inside.

  I can’t breathe I’m so overwhelmed by her beauty and my need. I watch her close and lock the door, feeling as though I am trapped in a dream. Turning to face me, she looks me up and down.

  Her eyes are rimmed red and puffy. I think she has been crying, but I don’t ask. I don’t say anything. She unlocks the cage holding my cock in check. “Go shower.”

  I am dumbfounded; it takes her turning me toward the adjoining bathroom and giving me a shove to get my feet moving. I know I’m going to wake up inside some new nightmare, but for a second I enjoy this dream. I wash my hair and lather my body. I allow myself to enjoy running my hands over my bare cock. It seems like forever since I’ve touched the smooth flesh. My length grows firm and I am sorely tempted to masturbate, but I don’t. A quick inspection tells me I’ll soon be due for a full-body wax, and I decide to make an appointment to have it done as soon as I awaken. I like being hairless.

  I step out of the shower and dry off. I leave the towel behind and rejoin Mistress Morgana in her room. It is obvious from her posture she is waiting.

  I don’t know what to do so choose to kneel at her feet.

  Looking up at her, she is even more beautiful than the first time I saw her. She isn’t strapped on and the lack thereof makes me feel that she has been out tonight. Perhaps clubbing. She’s heavily made up and wearing a black tea-length velvet dress topped with a leather bustier heavily decorated with metal and buckles. Even her clunky platform combat boots are held closed with dozens of shiny silver buckles. She confirms my suspicions when she sits down on the padded stool in front of her makeup vanity and commands, “Take off my boots and rub my feet. I’ve been dancing for hours and my feet are killing me.”

  I crawl nearer and struggle with the many buckles before finally pulling off the boots that extend well above her knees. I am surprised by the stockings she wears beneath. Thigh highs, but far from silk. They are a heavy cotton or a cotton-wool blend, striped gray and black. I take my time rolling them down her smooth, pale legs, enjoying the reveal of skin littered with light freckles. When I have both feet bare and pulled onto my thighs I start massaging.

  Her head drops back and she moans, but she doesn’t pull away, she doesn’t ask me to stop, even when I think that perhaps the sounds she is making are from pain rather than enjoyment.

  I guess, “Your boots are a size too small, Mistress.”

  “Two,” she whispers, not looking at me. “They didn’t have the right size, and I had to have them.”

  I chuckle. “Vanity?”

  She lifts her head enough to look at me. “Vanity is my favorite sin.”

  I wiggle my eyebrows. “I have lots of favorite sins.”

  She pulls her feet from my lap and sits up. I regret my honesty when she turns away from me and faces the mirror. I don’t move for fear of being sent away and am surprised as I watch her. She begins removing her makeup. Using makeup remover and cotton swabs, she starts with her eyes, carefully removing her fake eyelashes before erasing the wide, dark oval of shadow. She switches to a towelette for the rest of her face. The transformation is amazing.

  She’s young. Very young, I decide when our gazes clash in the mirror.

  Without speaking, she stands and faces me. She unfastens the buckles holding the bustier closed and drops the heavy material to the ground. At her sides, she unzips the zippers hidden into seams and pulls the dress over her head.

  I’m still on my knees when she walks naked and barefoot to the bed. She pulls a small set of steps out from under the bed to climb onto the high mattress. Once she is centered on the big bed, looking small and fragile, more bared than I think few have ever seen her, she asks, “So, are you going to fuck me or is this an unremarkable waste of the rest of my day off?”

  I start to stand, think better of it and crawl.

  “You are no longer a puppy. I command you to be the man I know you to be.”

  I stand and climb into her bed. I don’t know when I’ve ever felt so awkward climbing into bed with a nude woman. Should I kiss her first? Should I take her into my arms?

  I decide to take her into my arms but stall when she seethes, “You better fuck me like you know what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, I know what I’m doing.” I grab her ankles and pull her down off the mountain of pillows propping her up to flatten her out. She squeals, surprised, and I decide not to kiss her. If fucking is what she wants, fucking is what she’s going to get.

  I push her knees open and take a long look at clit and labia. I separate her lips to expose the hidden passage and find her moist. The lure of her pink, damp flesh is great. I want to taste her.

  “I don’t want foreplay,” she says and tosses a condom at me. It lands beside us and I look at it dumbly. It’s been a while since I’ve used one. My piercings tend to get in the way. I move between her legs, kneeling. I open her a bit more, pulling her labia apart, and I can feel her muscles tighten. She’s used to being obeyed immediately.

  I may only have this one chance.

  I dip my head and lick her, long and deep, liking it when she bucks in surprise. I grab her hips and hold her tight so that I can go down on her properly.

  A few nips and licks later, she begs, “Please. Just fuck me.”

  Her urgency speeds my pulse, heightens my need, but also makes me wonder what her motivation is. Maybe she doesn’t ever like foreplay, but it feels like something more is going on. I sit back up and pick up the condom. She watches as I open it and slide it over my erection, taking care when smoothing it past my piercings.

  Angling above her, I take my cock in hand and guide it in. She lifts her hips, taking more of my length faster than I intended, and the sensation of her tight sheath sliding over my pierced flesh is mind-blowing but I don’t want to slow this down. I thrust deeper, making her cry out, then pump her hard and fast.

  She wraps her legs around me, but that’s too restraining for the rough fuck I want to give her. Grabbing her ankles, I put them on my shoulders. By the sounds coming from her throat I know she doesn’t mind.

  I thrust forcefully.

  “Harder!” she begs. “Faster.”

  I won’t last long but I do as she asks. I also slide my hand between us to tweak her clit in a matched rhythm.

  She cries out, “Fuck! Yes! Oh! Fuck! Yes, yes, yes!” and it pushes me to the edge. I keep tweaking and thrusting, pushing back the wave of need riding me hard. I want her to orgasm first. I want—

  “God.” I lose the battle and push hard into her, my jism filling the condom. I keep moving over her, but it isn’t with the same force as before and Morgana grabs my hips, pushing herself harder onto me, grinding, bucking and then screaming with aggravation and unquenched need.

  I push my cheek next to hers and whisper against her ear, “Trust me?”

  “Yes.” Her answer is a rough, frustrated growl.

  “I’ve got this,” I promise.

  “From childhood’s hour I have not been; As others were—I have not seen; As others saw—I could not bring; My passions from a common spring.”

  Edgar Allen Poe, Alone

  Chapter Eight

  Kitten

  At Lewd Larry’s, I am surrounded by luxury, especially when we are on The Oasis level. Master designed the members’ only dining room with an air of mystery. Plush red carpet in a Turkish pattern covers the floor and soft-pink tube lighting creates a warm glow around the room. Classical background music offers a thankful reprieve from the frenzied dance music on the lower level. It is a place for pet owners and their canine or feline slaves to relax and play.

  I recline on a floor pillow at Master’s feet while he sips brandy with one of his top Dominants, George Kirkpatrick,
known as Doctor Psycho. I’m not sure how he came to be known by that name, because he seems to be the calmest, most rational handler Master has on his staff, although tonight he looks fatigued. Dark circles rim his eyes.

  I pretend to sleep, listening hard, waiting for him to tell George about the house. I know Thomas must have sent him the information by now and am slightly surprised we are here instead of there to have a look.

  “I’m hiring two more Dominants,” Master announces.

  “So soon? We barely have the last batch adequately trained.” George’s voice seems concerned.

  “I think it’s prudent. With Thomas not here, me looking at an extended paternity leave…”

  What? He hasn’t said anything to me about taking time away from the business.

  “And you obviously exhausted.”

  George sighs. “I’m fine.”

  “When’s the last time you had a day off?”

  “If you remember, I had almost a full month off.”

  Technically it wasn’t exactly time off. I think it, Master doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. They both know that his extended vacation was anything but restful. He’d spent the time saving Thomas’ brother’s life.

  I sigh, audibly irritated, and am surprised when Master nudges me with his foot, a gentle reminder that I’m not supposed to be eavesdropping.

  I can’t help my feelings. I don’t like Thomas’ brother. He’s going by the name Joshua now. Who knows what his real name is. I heard Thomas call him Nikos, but is that his true name? Or just another alias? Although it hasn’t been said, I know he’s a secret agent too, and no doubt dangerous.

  I might have liked him had we met under different circumstances, but showing up on our doorstep in the middle of the night, riddled with bullet holes and out of his mind on drugs wasn’t a good introduction. If not for Master’s quick surgical skills and George’s willingness to stay with him while he recovered and detoxed, the man might be dead. I know it’s not a very Christian thought but if it had been his time to die, it might have been for the best. I feel as though if he’d never arrived, Thomas wouldn’t have had to take the job on the other side of the country.

  As it stands, I hate Joshua.

  I sigh heavily a second time and receive a verbal reprimand. “Kitten!”

  I wasn’t even listening that time. Really! I open one eye and meet Master’s irritated gaze.

  “Meow-meow?”

  He leans down, whispering, “Maybe you should take a nap in the office if our conversation is so disturbing to you.”

  “Meow,” I answer, remembering the day he first taught me to vocalize two meows for positive, one meow for negative. Then it was only a game between us, pretend, but since then my feline persona has become every bit as real to me as my real life. I smile at him before closing my eyes and pretending to sleep.

  “You expect Thomas to be away a long time this time, then?” George asks.

  There is a long silence but Master finally answers, “Yes, a long time. His position in The Attic will need to be filled with a permanent replacement.”

  Permanent. He makes it seem Thomas is never returning, but he is. I know he is.

  Soft applause erupts around the room, making me realize something is happening, and I sit up on my cushion to see what. My attention is drawn to a small, intimate stage where it appears a couple is preparing to enact a scene. My mood immediately brightens.

  Boredom has not been my friend of late. I like being center stage. I like being on the receiving end of flogger, cane or candle wax, and being forbidden play since my almost-miscarriage scare, the most I can hope for is watching someone else have fun. I smile, envying the woman being bound.

  I recognize the couple as regular players, Jacques and Panda, and although I’ve never met them I’ve heard Master call him Jako in passing. Onstage, he bends her over a padded wood sawhorse, stretching her up on tiptoes. He ties her wrists and ankles, then steps back and looks at her. He asks the crowd, “Isn’t she lovely?”

  With a press on the remote control he holds, the raised dais they stand on rotates. He stops it only when she is posed with her bare ass facing most of the crowd. He rubs her bottom and I can see her tremble lightly. I can say from experience that being so exposed in front of an audience is a very emotional thing. Fear and shame are powerful aphrodisiacs.

  Not finished with his ties, he attaches a section of rope to her ponytail and forces her head back, stretching her neck out and forcing her to look forward.

  He separates a flogger from his belt and proceeds to warm her bared bottom with soft, thuddy strikes, which leaves her skin a beautiful shade of pink.

  God, I can’t wait to play again. With each landing of the leather thongs my skin reacts with memory. I am left wanting. Needing. I rub against Master’s pant leg and he tousles my hair. “I know, sweetness.”

  Our gazes meet and I know he does know, because lust is evident in his eyes. With a heavy sigh I go back to watching.

  Panda’s Master starts teasing her clit with a vibrator and she starts whimpering. I frown, understanding immediately that she isn’t enjoying being aroused in front of an audience. I think for a moment that she doesn’t want to come with spectators watching, but then Jako uses the remote to revolve them around so that she is facing us.

  She looks miserable and terrified, her eyes rolling back and forth. I wish I could have talked to her before the performance so that I could have told her to shut her eyes and just enjoy the sensation, but then I think that maybe Jako might have forbidden her from closing her eyes.

  He continues stimulating her clit with the vibrator while lightly flogging her ass.

  Suddenly and unexpectedly, her nipples start leaking and a tear slides down her cheek. My reaction to her embarrassment is just as astonishing. Heart racing, I want to leave. I don’t want to see this. I didn’t even know Panda was lactating. Did she have a baby and I not realize?

  Jako kneels in front of her and pinches her nipple. A drop of white liquid pearls onto his thumb and, laughing, he lifts his wet thumb to her line of vision. “Look at that luscious milk coming out of you, Panda. See what your arousal does to you?”

  She looks as though she wants to die of shame.

  “Are your breasts feeling tight as your milk drops for me?” He slaps her ass hard, expecting an answer.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Tell me you want me to milk you like a cow.”

  A sob catches in her throat, but she obeys. “Milk me like a cow, Master.”

  “Yes.” He sighs, cupping her breasts, squeezing. “Show the audience what happens when you come for me, little cow.”

  He holds the vibrator back to her clit and lightly smacks her breasts with the thongs of the flogger. It doesn’t take long before Panda’s shouts fill the room. “Please let me come, Master.”

  “Not yet. Show them you’re my dairy cow, Panda. Show them how much milk you can squirt for me.”

  He smacks her ass with his bare hand.

  Her moan wavers.

  “Please, Master,” she begs to come, tears sliding down her cheeks to join the milk dripping on the floor.

  “Are you my dairy cow, Panda?”

  “Yes, Master. I’m your dairy cow.”

  I gasp as milk starts shooting from her breasts. Her scream tells me that she’s coming, that her body is finding pleasure either because of or in spite of her humiliation. I shudder, not understanding how Jako could put her on display like that if she didn’t want to lactate publicly. I can’t imagine my own Master doing that to me.

  Daring to look up at Master, I see he is smiling, clapping, enjoying Panda’s humiliation.

  Flopping down, I curl into a ball and close my eyes tight. I don’t want to see any more. I thought I’d grown immune to anything that could happen here that I might find unsettling. It doesn’t matter if all of our kinks aren’t the same, right? I wish I knew what Panda was really thinking, what she is really feeling. If this wasn’t consensual
I’ve lost any respect I might have ever had for a Dominant I don’t even know. God, please don’t let Master ever get the idea of doing anything like that to me. I pout, disappointed in myself for passing judgment so quickly.

  The scene seemed to begin consensually, and she does have a safe word. Even if she had to resort to using the house safe word “alacadabra”, she could have stopped the scene. Master and any number of security would have seen to that.

  Hearing footsteps near, I open my eyes to see Matthew Farris approaching the table. He is Thomas’ inside man, though Master isn’t aware of that fact. I know he is Thomas’ eyes and ears while he is away. I know he is also here to protect us. He ducks close to Master and whispers something in his ear. Whatever he said was lure enough to call Master away and that makes me slightly nervous. Reason assures me that if it had anything to do with Thomas he would have drawn us both away, not just Master.

  I dare another peek at the stage and see that Panda doesn’t seem as humiliated as before. She is actually enjoying the attention Jako is paying her clit with a vibrator. It doesn’t matter. I curl tighter in a ball, still seeing in my mind the milk seeping from her breasts and the look of horror on her face.

  “[F]or not an orphan in the wide world can be so deserted as the child who is an outcast from a living parent’s love.”

  Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son

  Chapter Nine

  Garrett

  “Sorry to disturb, sir.”

  In a private corridor I face Farris impatiently, wanting to get back to Kitten, and instead of him saying whatever he needs to say we are wrapped in this game of verbal protocol. “Is there a good reason for pulling me way from the night’s entertainment?”

  He looks at his shoes, but just for a second, then meets my gaze. It is that gesture that warns me I’m not going to be happy about whatever he has to tell me.

  “I need to bring the actions of one of your Dominants to your attention, sir.”