To answer his own question, Paul produced a small slim vibrator, which he smeared with the lubricant. Then he shoved it up her ass, making Jill grunt from the unexpected pressure of it. He flicked a switch at the base and the thing buzzed to life.
The sensation was odd, and not unpleasant, though it tickled a little. Then she felt his fingers at her pussy. First they explored her opening, touching it, pressing inside, withdrawing, and then moving in slowly wider circles toward her clit. It felt wonderful, and the combination of the vibrator in her ass and the teasing of her cunt made Jill's pussy ridiculously wet. She was longing to feel his fingers on her clit, and then a cock in her pussy. She needed it. She wanted it. She moaned.
And then his fingers were there, touching her clit, and the pleasure mounted and was ready to explode, when the fingers were withdrawn, and the vibrator clicked off, though it remained lewdly lodged in her ass. He had known just how far to take her, and then he had stopped. “Control,” he said, as she tried to recover herself. She had to bite her lips to keep from begging him to let her come. She would never beg this man for anything.
"You are too easily aroused, and you forget why you exist. Let's work some more. First, tell me why a slave exists."
Trying to control her gasping breaths, Jill said, “To please her master."
"Right. You say the words, but I know you don't understand them yet. Now, we'll continue.” Again he teased her pussy, bringing her so close to the edge. And again he stopped. She wanted it so bad she was almost in tears. Her body jerked forward, making the ropes that bound her rub and irritate her flesh, but she didn't notice.
"Control,” he said again. “And the ability to suffer. You like the pleasure, but can you take the pain?” He produced a little purple whip with small knotted strands and brought it to her face. Jill knew what to do, and she kissed it, tensing her body in anticipation of the lashing. Paul drew it sensually across her engorged and aroused pussy, and then he smacked her hard with the whip.
She heard the whistle of it just before she felt the sting. She screamed and Paul smiled, and hit her again. She was longing to close her legs. The pain was heightened because of the stimulation from his fingers. He whipped her until she was begging him to stop, and crying out in her pain. “Please, oh God, stop! I can't do it! Stop! I'm begging you.” The more she begged, the harder he hit her, until at last she quieted, defeated and exhausted, her pussy a mass of exploding nerve endings.
He stopped at last. “You'll learn with me, missy. I like to hear you cry and beg. The more you do it, the more I'll whip you. I want to hurt you. It turns me on. It pleases me.” While he spoke, he gently touched her swollen hot cunt. It was bright red from the beating, and looked so naked and vulnerable, shaved and spread open as it was. Paul brought over a mirror and forced Jill's head up so she could see her whipped little cunt. She stared in fascination through eyes wet with tears.
"You need this, don't you, whore. I know you, don't forget. You can't ensnare me with that cunt. I've just shaved it and beaten it. It has no power over me. I've seen a thousand just like it. But you, you haven't known what it is to suffer, not even a little. You have your husband wrapped around your finger. Well, you won't wrap me. Oh no. You won't.” As he spoke, he continued to gently touch and tease her burning pussy. Impossibly, instead of hurting her, his fingers felt like heaven against her heated flesh.
She stifled a moan, not wanting him to know the intense pleasure he was giving her. She knew he'd stop if he realized how he was affecting her. He continued to finger her pussy, and then slid one inside. Her vaginal muscles involuntarily clamped down on the finger and he could feel her need. He laughed softly and said, “If you come, I'll beat you like I own you. Control it, whore. Act like a slave, not some $12 piece of ass."
Relentlessly he touched her, skillfully bringing her to the edge of a climax, and then withdrawing, bringing her down, and then slowly back up again. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she had never experienced anything like it. Most men, including Barry, used a heavy hand, rubbing and finger fucking her too hard, too fast. But Paul's fingers were light, dancing across her cunt and creating an impossible heat which only seemed heightened by the beating she had endured at those same hands.
"Don't come,” he ordered, even as he knew he was driving her, lifting her over the edge to where control was no longer possible, even for the most highly trained slave. “Don't come. I warned you,” he said, as he forced her body to spasm and contort. She screamed and moaned her pleasure before dropping limp from pleasure and exhaustion, her body covered in a sheen of sweat, her skin chafed from the ropes that still bound her.
"I warned you,” he said again, as he untied the knots of ropes that held her and released her legs from the stirrups. He hauled her to her feet. Jill could barely walk, so Paul half dragged her to the center of the room. “I'm going to whip you now, and you're going to stay still and take it. You're going to show your obedience by staying in position while I beat you. We will count to 50. Every time you step out of position, we will start over. Ready?"
"Oh, please.” Her voice was pleading. She was longing to lie down.
"Stop. Now. I said 50, but now it's 100. Bend over and grab your ankles. Yes, very nice. I like a limber body. My slave is too fat, but I'm helping her lose weight with an excellent diet. The pounds are dropping, and she misses many a meal when she can't obey. But she is becoming such a good slave I have to think up new ways to starve her.” He laughed, knowing he was shocking this little slut who was so easily shocked and so new to the life.
"We'll use Barry's whip for now. Later I'll introduce you to the cane. The English knew what they were about with the cane, let me tell you.” Jill shivered but kept hold of her ankles. She could handle this whip, and she would take it with grace and show this bastard she could.
The very first strike made her fall out of position. Barry always began slowly and built up slowly so she could adjust to the whipping. But Paul had struck her hard, sending her sprawling forward. “Pathetic,” he said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Ok, let's start again. I want you to count. Go.” And again he hit her. This time she was ready, and managed to stay still, though she swayed slightly from the force.
"One."
He struck her again, in the same place, just below her ass. “Two,” she grunted. And again and again he whipped her. No sensual buildup, just a beating. She fell out of position again and again. Her back was cramped and her arms were aching from grabbing her ankles but she held on. He lulled her for a while, not hitting her very hard, and she was feeling she would get through this at number 85 when he walloped her, sending her sprawling forward again, completely out of position.
"Oh dear,” he said, in mock solemnity. “What a shame. We'll have to start all over again."
Tears of rage blinded Jill, but she bent over grimly, determined to do this. He dealt her 100 savage blows and as she croaked out the last one, she fell forward heavily, landing on her knees. She sank to the ground and lay still on her side. She felt flayed alive, and her sweat was stinging all the abrasions that covered her back and ass. She lay completely still, curled up, her mind blank.
She must have slept, because she found herself awaking, shivering. She still lay where she had fallen, and she was naked and cold, the sweat having dried on her body. Carefully she sat up, feeling her limbs, making sure everything was working properly. Where was Paul? Had he left? Part of her hoped he had, but part of her hoped he was still there.
While what he had done had taken her to the limits of what she thought she could endure, he was right about her. She did crave it. And he was taking her to places she didn't know about, on a sensual, visceral level. She was afraid of him, but fascinated by what he offered. And challenged by his lack of sexual interest in her. She would seduce the bastard yet.
She got to her feet and found her pretty peach silk robe, which she draped around herself as she went in search of Paul. She found him in the kitchen, drinking some co
ffee and reading the newspaper. “Oh, finally awake, eh? Thought I'd let you sleep a little. Good to see you handle the floor well, since that's where you'll be tonight. Slaves don't belong in beds. Certainly not in masters’ beds. Barry doesn't agree with me there. Still, Barry isn't here tonight, as you know."
He smiled at her, but his eyes were hooded and difficult to read. Then he said, “Oh, and take off that robe. While I'm here, you're naked. Got it? No clothes. No makeup. No artifice. No hiding.” She dropped the robe and he nodded. “Hungry?"
"Thirsty,” she said, and then added belatedly, “sir.” As she spoke, she realized she was parched. She wanted to drink and drink to replenish her exhausted body.
He noticed the skipped beat but didn't comment. “Ah, then let me get you a drink.” Standing, he went to the cabinet and got down a bowl. He poured some water from the tap and set the bowl on the floor. Jill stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Your drink, cunt. You won't be using utensils or plates or cups this weekend. You don't deserve to. Whatever you eat or drink will be from this bowl, on the floor. Now kneel down and drink. I'll hold your hair for you."
She hesitated and he said, “Do it. I insist.” Slowly she knelt down, aware of her bottom which was still stinging from the whipping. She leaned over the bowl and again hesitated. He pushed her face forward, and she reared back sputtering, water dripping from her nose and eyelashes. He gripped her hair and jerked it, saying, “Stop being an idiot. Lap the water, little bitch. Little bitch in heat, lap the water like a dog."
Jill's face burned but she did as she was told, and the water was clear and cold. But it was hard to get enough, and as she tried to lap it with her tongue she made a mess, getting her face and chest wet. She was still thirsty when he pulled her back and said, “That's enough."
"Please, sir,” she said, her voice small. “I'm still so thirsty."
"What a shame. Drink when you're told to, next time.” He forced her up and led her to the bathroom. She was angry, but didn't protest, knowing it would be useless.
"I need to pee. I think this is a good time for a lesson. Kneel by the toilet and cup your hands.” Jill knew at once what he intended, and she came very close to refusing. Golden showers held no interest whatsoever to her. But again, he wasn't asking her permission.
She knelt reluctantly and cupped her hands, watching while Paul unzipped his pants. “Look at your hands, whore. I didn't give you permission to see my cock.” So, he was shy! She suppressed a small smile. Probably has a tiny cock. Has to make up for it by dominating women.
A moment passed and then she felt the hot stream of his urine splashing into her hands. She was repulsed but managed to stay still until he finished peeing and flicked the last drops on her. He zipped up and left the room saying, “Clean up and then present yourself to me in the bedroom. We're going to get ready for bed, which for you, of course, will be the floor."
Jill met him in the bedroom and awaited his instruction. She was glad to be going to sleep as she was bone tired from this crazy and demanding evening. In all the weeks Barry had been dominating her, he had never put her through the gauntlet she had experienced tonight. But it wasn't over yet. Barry was laying out several things on the bed.
First he tossed her a sheet and said, “This is your bed. Make it up now because you won't be in a position to do so later.” He also tossed her a pillow. His own slave used no pillow, but he knew Jill would have enough to adjust to tonight. Next he held up a dildo. “This goes into that twat of yours. You're going to sleep with it in your cunt, because I want you open for me when you wake up. And this...” he tossed the small vibrator that had been in her ass before, “goes back into your little asshole."
Jill picked up the items and looked at him, waiting for him to say he was only kidding. But he said nothing, only looked at her, daring her with his eyes to refuse. Slowly she inserted the dildo, which was large but yielding, made as it was out of soft pink rubber, and resembling a penis, including balls at the base which would help to hold it in. She felt embarrassed as he watched her with a dildo up her pussy, now inserting the little vibrator into her own anus.
"Good,” he said. “Now these.” He held up her leather cuffs, which Barry had left for him. “Because you are a slut and can't be trusted not to play with yourself, I'm going to clip your hands behind your back. I'm also going to secure your ankles and thighs to keep that dildo in your cunt. If I find it out in the morning, you'll pay a heavy price, I promise you.” He directed her to lie down, and then attached both the wrist and ankle cuffs, so that she was forced to lie on her side. He tied a length of cord around her thighs to keep them together. Then he pulled the sheet over her and turned out the overhead light, leaving on only a small lamp by the bed.
Jill had thought she would toss and turn all night, but somehow she fell asleep, and indeed, was asleep before he even came back to sleep in her bed while she remained bound and naked on the floor beside it.
Chapter Six
Lovers
The next morning Jill awoke and couldn't think for a moment where she was or why she couldn't move. She became aware that she was extremely uncomfortable, still secured at wrist, ankle and thigh, and stuffed with dildos. Her arms were asleep and she desperately needed to pee. She heard the gentle snore from her bed and knew Paul was still asleep. She didn't dare wake him, so she lay quietly, musing about the strange night she had just endured.
What a peculiar man. She had never met anyone like him. He was so different from Barry, who, while dominant, could never control her, or get the reaction from her that this man seemed to tease out of her, almost against her will. And he had said to her that it was a matter of will. That she was willful and proud, traits which did not become true submissives. He had said she wasn't a submissive, and didn't live to serve Barry, who she claimed was her master.
She wasn't sure any longer what was true and what wasn't. She wasn't entirely sure it mattered. This man was not God. He didn't ordain the rules and judge all who fell short. He acted like he did, though, and Barry seemed to think so. And Barry wanted this. Despite what Paul thought, Jill really did want to please Barry, and had come to truly love him as they explored this new aspect of their lives. If she wasn't a ‘true submissive,’ perhaps neither was Barry a ‘true master.’ And perhaps it didn't matter?
She drifted back to a restless sleep, and was awakened by a distant telephone ringing. And then Paul was kneeling next to her. “How did you sleep, whore?” She wished he would use her name, but she knew this was his way of demeaning her, of ‘training her,’ he would say.
"As well as could be expected, sir,” she said, trying to keep her voice guileless. He unknotted the rope, unclipped her cuffs and helped her to stretch her sore limbs. “Get your blood flowing in your arms and legs, and you can take out those dildos and wash them. You can use the bathroom and freshen up. Then meet me in the kitchen."
Slowly she massaged her cramped and aching limbs, grimacing as her arms tingled and ached back to life. She removed the dildos, which were hot from her body heat, and carried them with some distaste to the bathroom. She flung them in the sink and ran the water while she peed, and then splashed her face with water and brushed her teeth. She soaped up the dildos and dried them, leaving them on the counter.
She felt a little cold, and wished she could put on a nightie, but knew he expected her naked. She brushed her hair back, her eyes on her bare naked little pussy, and then, knowing she couldn't put it off any longer, made her way to the kitchen.
Paul was scrambling eggs, and the coffee smelled delicious. She started to take a mug and then remembered his statement that she wouldn't be using any cups or plates this weekend. She started to sit down, and then remembered she wasn't to sit on the furniture either. Sighing, she sat on the floor by the table, feeling hungry and cold, and wishing it were Sunday instead of Saturday. She missed Barry.
Paul bustled about preparing his plate of food and his steaming mug of coffee. He ignored her as he sat at the ta
ble and began to eat his breakfast, buttering a piece of toast when it popped up in the toaster on the table. Jill became increasingly restless, wondering when she would get to eat! She was starving and the food smelled so good.
He finished eating at last and carefully folded the newspaper, setting it aside. “Hungry?” he asked unnecessarily. She nodded, her mouth salivating so much that she had to swallow. Paul went back to the stove and lifted the pan, dumping some now cold scrambled eggs onto a plate. He took his own mug of coffee and poured some of the liquid into the bowl she had used last night for water.
"There you go, doggy. Eat up.” He set the plate and bowl on the floor. Jill almost stood up and told him to fuck himself, but she saw the spark of amusement in his eye and knew he was daring her to do just that. He didn't believe she was submissive, and he was trying to provoke her into proving it. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Kneeling, she held her own hair out of the way as she bit into the eggs, which were cold but still buttery and delicious. She ate several mouthfuls and then lapped delicately at the coffee, trying not to make a mess. She did splash a bit, but she managed to drink some. It was bitter, as he had added only cream, no sugar, which she preferred. Still, it was fresh, if tepid, and the caffeine would help kick start her system.
She ate all the eggs, and started to ask for more, but Paul cut her off saying, “That's enough. A little hunger is good. It keeps you keen. Get up. It's time to for your morning exercise.” She sighed, but stood up and followed him to the living room.
He reached into his duffel bag and took out a small ball. It looked like a racquet ball. “Since you are my little doggy today, we're going to have a game of fetch. I'm going to toss the ball, and you're going to fetch it. If you do a good job, you get a reward. If you do a bad job, you get a whipping. Ready?” He tossed the ball and looked at her. She stood there, arms wrapped around her torso, staring back at him.
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