by Emily Tilton
She blushed hot pink as she remembered him, remembered the way she had sassed him when he’d reminded her about the guacamole. She had forgotten the guacamole on her own, of course, because she, too, could feel her need.
“What do you want?” she asked as he stepped forward, prettily standing her ground in her server’s uniform: black skirt and white blouse. He wondered what her underwear looked like and decided it must have flowers on it.
“I want to change your life, little one.”
Chapter Four
Molly sat next to the cage, her little nightgown in a tiny heap on the sofa now. She felt a little dazed by the events of the last fifteen minutes. She knew she was in big trouble with Daniel—for starters she didn’t see how she could possibly avoid that paddling in front of Emma, and the idea sent a very distracting thrill of fear and arousal through her tummy and also down below.
But Emma looked so pretty in the cage, with her green eyes peering out between the silver bars, sitting on Molly’s own pink blanket and looking back at Molly with a tentative smile. Molly thought that since Daniel was on his way home, everything would be okay even though the next few minutes, when Emma’s shame came back, were going to be a little difficult.
The cage was technically a punishment. It stood in Daniel’s den next to the desk so that when he had to put Molly in her cage he could keep an eye on her as he worked or read or watched something on his video monitor. Like several of her protector’s (when she didn’t think of him as her master she usually thought of him as her protector) disciplinary customs, though, it didn’t feel like a punishment.
Really only the paddle felt like a punishment. Daniel’s hand and even Daniel’s belt, the cage, and the bottom harness all felt much more like lessons or training, which had been Molly’s favorite thing since her first night with him.
When he had said, “I want to change your life, little one,” next to the bus stop in Newark, she had had no idea what he’d meant, but she had wanted it all the same. What was he doing in her restaurant, in his elegant suit, dining alone on the admittedly wonderful enchiladas? What was he even doing in Newark?
Why had she said, “You didn’t order any” in that bratty voice, when he had asked for the guacamole? She certainly did know that he had ordered guacamole; it was right there on her pad.
There could be no doubt that Molly needed her life changed, of course: eighteen and living with her parents in the Newark suburbs, with a vague idea of working her way through community college to become a teacher, but really probably destined for a lifetime of waitressing and maybe, if she was lucky, hostessing. She would get married someday, too, she supposed—maybe to one of the boys from her high school who had similarly stayed put. She didn’t like to think about what would happen then—how you got from marriage to babies—because all that stuff felt so embarrassing. She had had sex ed at school, but it had just confused her more because she felt no connection to the things they told her she should feel a desire to do—dating, for example. Petting. Intercourse—at least as described in sex ed.
When Daniel had said he’d wanted to change her life, in fact, Molly knew she had felt funny down there, and her whole body had felt hot and quivery, but at the time she hadn’t even associated it with sex. Truth to tell, she didn’t even associate her love for Daniel and the things they did with the kind of sex she had learned about in sex ed. When she thought about it—which was often, because having an immortal master gave one frequent pause—she told herself that she had real sex with Daniel.
More often, though, she just thought of her life with her master as Daniel.
“What does that mean?” she had said then, next to the bus stop. But already she had known she would let him do it, whatever he meant to do.
“Walk me to my car,” he had said. “It’s just down the block.”
Molly supposed that she could have worried at that point about some kind of violence. The man in the suit did have a nearly indefinable dangerous quality about him: he moved like a predator, and his eyes seemed to see through everything he looked at, as if discerning its essence and evaluating its worth to him. Above all, that was the way he had looked at Molly when she had lied about the guacamole, and it was the way he looked at her now as they walked slowly down the sidewalk, glancing at one another as he spoke quietly of the formula according to which he intended to take possession of her. Later she understood that the sort of violence Daniel represented had put her under his spell, before she had ever felt his gentle touch in her mind.
“I am a wealthy, powerful man. From time to time, I take a girl under my protection. I would like to do that with you, tonight.”
“Protection?” Molly had asked, her tummy doing flip-flops. The way the man said the word seemed to have in it an aspect that made her blush. Did protection mean… sex?
“If you accept my offer you will live a very comfortable, even a quite luxurious life with me for several years, if you choose to stay with me that long.”
Life with him? Molly had thought she knew which car must be his, now, only ten yards away—the silver Jag. So, sex? For the first time, she realized as she looked at the sleek automobile, the thought of sex, when associated with this man and his expensive car, his age, his suit, his walk—it made warm, funny feelings happen down between her thighs.
Molly knew she would get into his car then, but she didn’t yet want to let herself in on that knowledge completely. She couldn’t say anything about the sex part, of course—her face got hot just thinking about saying something about that. But she could say something more oblique, to make herself feel she wasn’t about to climb heedlessly into a stranger’s car. “What about my parents?”
“You may visit them whenever you like,” the man said with a little smile.
Molly felt her eyes widen. The man stopped at the silver car. You may visit them. As if… as if when she got into the car and accepted his protection she would have things she was allowed to do and things she was not allowed to do. And… and if she did a thing she wasn’t allowed to do—what would happen then?
The funny warm feeling turned into a much less funny hot feeling—and a wet feeling, down there. Molly didn’t understand it, but she knew she had to have it, had to have him. No, not to have him. She could already tell that no one could have him. But she knew, just from what he had said so far, that she could belong to him, if she wanted.
“Okay,” she whispered, her mouth suddenly very dry.
“I know your name, Molly,” he said. How? Oh, of course—she had said, My name is Molly, I’ll be your server. But no one remembered their server’s name, did they? “You don’t know mine. It’s Daniel. Most of the time, though, you will call me Master or Sir.”
Molly swallowed desperately. She worried she might actually swoon there on the sidewalk, then realized that it wasn’t a worry, but a fantasy: if she swooned, she knew with absolute certainty that Daniel—Master, Sir—would catch her in his arms, put her in his car, and take her away to the place where she was allowed to do some things, but not other things.
But in fact, it turned out that what she knew for sure wasn’t really true, because he said, “You may only get in this car with me, Molly, and come home with me to be my young lady, if you say to me clearly that you consent to my mastery of your body, including, in a very little while, me deflowering you in every way: between your legs, in your mouth, and in your bottom.”
Her breath started to come in little gasps. They had barely touched, in sex ed, on sex acts that didn’t happen between a girl’s legs, and Molly had tried to block her ears and think of something else while those things had been mentioned.
“How… do you…?”
“How do I know you are a virgin, Molly? That’s not important right now, but I will tell you soon. I will tell you many things worth knowing. I will teach you to please me, little one, if you consent, and I will repay the pleasure you give me with an ecstasy you have never imagined. You will be disciplined sometimes, when you n
eed it, but I promise that my discipline will never be given in anger.”
Now her knees did actually buckle, and Daniel did hold her up with his arm around her waist.
“Disciplined how?” she whispered, looking up into his handsome face.
“I think you know how, little one—or you know the most important way, at least,” he said quietly.
“Spanking?” she asked, her voice now less than a whisper.
“Yes, little one. Panties down and over my knee. My firm hand teaching you your lesson.”
Molly felt her brow furrow deeply, and her face go bright red. “Oh, God.”
“Do you consent, Molly, to come under my protection as my young lady?”
Should she have hesitated? Sometimes she wished she had been just the tiniest bit more coy, if only because it would make the parting easier, when it came.
But she had said, “Yes, Sir.”
And now in the den, she looked into Emma’s eyes and thought, He will change your life, as he changed mine.
Emma blinked. Her face, ever since Molly had accidentally on purpose reached into her mind and did the telepathic equivalent of giving her three strong drinks, had worn a placid but purposeful expression. Her very eyebrows, in their levelness, had seemed to say, This is what I need, and now I am going to do what I need to do, and have done to me what I need to have done to me.
Molly knew the feeling very, very well. The first time Daniel had helped her, just a little, to enjoy being naked in front of him, she had felt like she had soared high above herself. She had been able finally to see in his eyes how beautiful he found her when she had no clothes on, and how very much he desired her. The need to do whatever she could to please him had come upon her so forcefully that she had gasped and fallen to her knees, but she had known that Daniel hadn’t created that need, but had rather allowed her to feel it in a way that shame had kept her from before.
When Emma had seen the cage through the open den door, and asked Molly if she and Daniel had a pet, Molly just hadn’t had the will to stop herself. She couldn’t feel another person’s mental and emotional state the way Daniel could, but she could certainly feel how unhappy Emma was about the professor, and she could tell that it had something to do with sex.
The idea of putting Emma in the cage wouldn’t give Molly any rest. She knew it would help her new friend learn the kind of lesson Molly had learned from Daniel. Yes, the little fantasy made Molly’s pussy clench and flow whenever she pictured pretty auburn-haired Emma sitting curled up in the cage the way she truly was now, and whenever she thought of the way she and Emma might kiss when Emma was allowed out of the cage. But the reason Molly couldn’t keep herself from reaching gently into Emma’s mind lay in her desperation to help Emma feel better.
She had said, “Well, actually, the cage is for me,” and at the same time she had used the powers Daniel had given her through her training, to help Emma see why a submissive girl might long to take her clothes off and crawl into a cage.
Then Emma had done exactly that, while Molly watched, biting her lip and pondering the question of just how much trouble she would be in when she told Daniel. When Emma had removed her dress and her modest cotton underwear, Molly had suggested that she try the cage. “Go ahead,” she had said, as Emma’s eyes traveled from her face to the cage with its open door. She supposed that was the part for which she would be paddled—that or having closed the door after Emma had crawled in, just to let her new friend understand how it felt.
Now, after the blink, Molly saw that her little reach had ended. The unavoidable logic of being naked in a cage had just entirely escaped Emma Woodbine.
Chapter Five
Emma knew exactly how she had ended up in the cage. The why seemed to be the absent part. It wasn’t like taking off her clothes in the men’s room at the faculty club. She’d had to fall asleep and wake up before she could see the full horror of her mistake, remembering the feeling of Professor Gage’s hands as he had tried to cover her up with his jacket while looking about, presumably for her panties, which she had folded and put neatly on the counter, remembering the sympathetic sound of his voice as he told her it would be alright, that he would walk her back to her dorm after he got her dressed.
Here in the cage, looking at Molly, though, her blush of shame came over her whole body like a tidal wave.
One moment it had seemed perfectly wonderful, though certainly not particularly normal, to have taken her clothes off and crawled into the cage, which was of a size suitable for large dogs. It had seemed sweet of Molly to close the cage door and latch it. It had seemed lovely when Molly removed her own nightgown to reveal that no, she was not after all wearing panties underneath. Her new friend’s companionable nakedness had seemed when it happened a lovely thing that had made Emma giggle and sigh, especially when she saw that Molly didn’t have any hair between her legs.
The next moment, after blinking once, Emma had realized that a girl who knew her duty to her modesty and to her future husband did not crawl naked into a cage any more than she took off her clothes in a men’s room and knelt before a professor, wordlessly begging him to do she knew not what—or, if she knew, she would never be able to name it unless he made her say the terrible words. She did not giggle at the sight of another girl’s private part, and she did not let her eyes linger there. She did not wonder how it would feel if Professor Gage told her she too must be bare down there.
She started to breathe very heavily. I’m panting like a dog, she realized, and that made the blush even hotter. She looked wildly around the room outside the cage, the little den where Molly’s—what? Emma didn’t even have a word for a man who put a girl in a cage, the way Molly had said her master did—man worked at an elegant modern-looking desk and sat in a leather recliner to watch the financial news. She looked at Molly, and opened her mouth to start the wh of “What’s happening?” but no sound came out.
Molly said in a little pleading voice, “Please don’t be mad. Master will be here soon, and he’ll explain everything.”
That helped Emma find some words, though they came out in a sob, and made terribly little sense. “What is he? Why does he…? Why am I in…?”
But none of it seemed able to help the slightest bit, except maybe the very first of the questions, and that one seemed to embarrass Molly somehow, as if Emma had touched on a subject deeper than she knew.
“He… His name is Daniel, really, but, you know, I call him… I call him different things, like, you know, Sir, and… sometimes… you know…” Her voice fell to a whisper, and Emma had the sudden sense that her new friend would now reveal this Daniel’s most important title. “…Master.”
“Master?” Emma asked in her own whisper, her eyes going wide and her heart racing as she had it finally confirmed for her that she had heard Molly right, the day before. A little whimper escaped her throat. She had crawled naked into the cage of a man whom Molly called Master.
Molly nodded solemnly. A hint of pink had come to her cheeks, too. So you feel ashamed, too? Emma thought with a little wonder. Why didn’t you tell me to put my clothes on and get out? Why did you suggest that I get into your cage? Now she started to get rather angry. Why did you take your clothes off?
Molly seemed to read Emma’s mind, or at least the emotions on her face.
“It’s still pretty embarrassing,” she said quietly, as a furrow developed on her brow.
Emma’s anger changed to desperation. “If you know that, then you won’t tell my parents, will you? I don’t know why… why I did that, and I’m so sorry. I’ll go home now, and…”
She reached her hand out to put her fingers awkwardly through the thin bars of the cage and work the latch, but Molly stunned her with quiet words. “No, Emma, you won’t go home. You’ll stay in the cage until Master comes home.”
Now that the secret of the word master had apparently come out, Molly seemed content to make sure Emma understood. The way she said master seemed to imply another word the th
ought of which made a shiver go through Emma’s body: your. Something about Molly’s voice made it sound like she had really said, You’ll stay in the cage until your master comes home.
“No… please, Molly. I… I shouldn’t have… I mean, I don’t know why I took off my clothes, but please… I’m so sorry. Just… just let me out!” She reached for the latch anyway, and Molly looked at it as Emma’s fingers fumbled, apparently content to let Emma open the door. But Emma found that the mechanism, which seemed so simple, wouldn’t budge now. She looked into Molly’s eyes with a wild, uncomprehending gaze.
Molly bit her lip, and Emma though she could see a brightness in her eyes, as of sympathetic tears, but she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Emma, but… but I promise it’s for your own good. You’ll see.”
“I don’t understand! Why won’t the latch move?”
Now a bright tear did fall onto Molly’s cheek. “Do you remember how it felt when you first got into the cage and I closed the door?”
Emma felt her own brow crease. She didn’t want to cast her mind back to that moment, because it made her whole body go hot the same way it did when she thought of the men’s room at the faculty club, but now that Molly had asked, she couldn’t help remembering. But she shook her head once, slowly, then more quickly. Tears came into her own eyes, and she looked down.
“Yes, you do,” Molly said insistently though quietly. “You wouldn’t be crying if you didn’t.”
“Don’t make me say,” Emma pleaded. “Please.” It had felt the same way it felt to take off her clothes in the men’s room, before that had gone so very wrong. Like flying. Like knowing. Knowing you had discovered the thing that mattered most, no matter how shameful that thing might seem to your parents or to anyone else. It had felt good.
“I won’t,” Molly replied. “Master didn’t make me say, either.”