Slave Wife

by Frances Gaines Bennett

  The camera’s non-judgemental eye clearly discerned the few seconds during which the girl’s face transformed from agonized distortion to sly seduction, during which she raised her skirt and spread her legs.

  Delia had learned more than she could possibly have imagined since coming to Minneapolis. And now she was leaving – moving to Berkeley in California, a state that had previously seemed like an alien planet with its weird people and activities and its warm winters.

  But that, at least, was exactly as she’d planned. Perfect, in fact. Even the business school had cooperated, formalizing their entrepreneurship program in her third year and bringing in executive recruiters from the very cutting edge company she’d targeted for employment. And they had employed her because she’d busted her ass – in this as in so many other ways – and been in her class’ top five percent. Pretty good for a corn-fed farm girl!

  Her bare feet pressed against the smooth, cool wooden dojo floor as she bowed to Sensei, who sat customarily cross legged in the otherwise unpopulated space. Today was her last Saturday and also the day she would qualify for her black belt. She’d busted her ass for this also and it had more often than not hurt far worse than her studies. She began her final kata.

  When she finished Sensei didn’t comment, simply rose and glided silently to where she stood with her fists clenched and head bowed. “Kumite,” he said, stone faced, and he too bowed. He attacked, pushing her but methodically, taking her through every defensive movement he’d taught her then requiring she attack and beginning again. Gradually he stepped up the pace until she struggled to keep up. But it was clear to her he was making certain she was adequately prepared to leave him and she was grateful.

  Over and over he took her through. She was tiring when he abandoned method and came at her like a street villain. “Typical,” she thought as she intensified her focus.

  Then she saw it – a gap in his defences. Or had she? It was gone before she acted. She saw another. Again she let the chance go. She couldn’t believe she was good enough to best him. Or was he giving them to her?

  In that measly thought’s space he kicked her feet out from under her. She would have dropped hard to the floor except he held her in the air by a handful – a handful that filled his huge right hand – of her left breast. “Okay,” she thought, striving not to let the burning pain distract her, “anything goes.” She twisted the lower half of her torso and brought both knees up into his groin, or where his groin had been the instant before. He reached down with his left hand, grabbed her crotch, left exposed by her manoeuvre, and slammed her with head-spinning, bruising force to the floor. She slithered like an eel and managed to break free, again suspecting that he’d let her.

  A quick sinuous flip upwards and she was on her feet. Now stone-faced Sensei had disappeared and a giant black street fighter faced her, pearly white teeth gleaming at her through his vicious smile. Now the Shotokan order and ritual was abandoned. And he was on her, his huge arms squeezing her against his chest’s dense muscles and against the adamantine pole that rose to his ribcage.

  Instead of trying to break his hold, she softened, compressing her muscles, and dropped. As she slithered away like a crab, she saw he approved. But it didn’t stop him.

  She also wondered if he’d want her to run if this was “real” life rather than her final test. Instead, though her head along with every joint ached and she’d begun to pant, she faced him. He came for her and she dropped to the floor and kicked. So inelegant but potentially lethal. She did manage to connect, not with knee or groin but with one iron thigh.

  It was the first kick she’d dared attempt in this mode. He was so fast she’d worried about her vulnerability. Correctly. With a brilliant smile he reached down as effortlessly as picking a bouquet and plucked up one ankle. A simple, excruciating twist and she was on her belly, fighting to protect her face and head from the solid surface.

  His weight on her back was no surprise. She’d known how it was going to end. Her lips twitched into a wry smile. He’d still get a surprise or two.

  “You’ve made excellent progress.” His warm words kissed her ear. One forearm pressed against the base of her skull – so easy to snap her neck – while the other moved down her body in a long, slow caress that ended in the stripping away of her gi bottom.

  Like the first time. She remembered the rape vividly and found herself feeling grateful for it. The aftermath had been worth it. In fact, she’d often wondered if it wasn’t destined.

  The length of his naked penis pressed against her behind’s firm flesh then pressed again, falling neatly into the long crevice between the rondelles. Arousal surged into her belly, engorging her vagina in preparation. As he drew off of her, she wondered if he’d allow her to fuck him back. Then the ramrod was forced into her anus.

  She gasped and for a moment he stopped. She knew why. This was no longer a virgin hole. The big black dildo had preceded him, many times in the past four years. He chuckled softly then lifted her like a rag doll to hands and knees and pulled her deeper onto the thick, far-reaching shaft.

  It hurt at first, hitting nerves and obstructions deep inside her. She let herself go – ended her fortitude and let herself scream and writhe.

  He ran one hand into her short hair and gripped, only momentarily managing to gain a handhold that wrenched her neck backwards until his hand slipped to her shoulder. Fingers strong enough to break boards dug into the soft tissue and held her fast as the other hand explored her body. His much greater height gave him unlimited access even with the slightest forward inclination. Her pendant breasts were his first target, alternately brutal and erotic. He squeezed hard enough to bruise and caressed with warm flat fingertips. Her nipples constricted into rigid, exquisitely painful points.

  Sensations poured over her from uncountable directions. The flattened palm slid across her tensed belly and at last found her vagina. She’d yearned for those thick fingers to manipulate her while his broad cock probed her sensitive anus. Letting his shoulder grip support some of her weight, she lifted one hand from the floor and pressed his fingers against her clit and deeper. When two fingers passed through the receptive portal, every cell convulsed in a violent orgasm. She heard his guttural laugh.

  This final time when she left the dojo, the black belt rolled tight in her backpack, she remembered the past. This time, though, her head was clear and held high and her body felt marvellous. “Time to party.” She slid into her old car and headed for the house.

  Anna, wearing a short, thin summer dress that showed off her lovely legs and pretty bouncing breasts, came running out to greet Delia when she pulled up in front of the brick bungalow. Delia fondly studied the girl and the old house. Both had meant so much to her. A stream of memories – it seemed a day for memories – passed through her mind’s eye. She remembered the first time she’d actually seen the little square structure – when she’d finally emerged late the morning after her rape. She’d stepped onto the porch and seen gravestones and thought she was hallucinating.

  In reality she’d looked out onto the nearly 100 green acres of Calvary Cemetery, the oldest St. Paul Archdiocese Catholic cemetery. The remains of Archbishop John Ireland, the Irish prelate who was the first archbishop in the raw St. Paul territory, several other bishops, several hundred clergy as well as the first Civil War Union Army volunteer sleep in the cemetery’s 100,000 graves. The brick bungalow nestled in old trees right across bordering Chatsworth Street. But like many lesbians the house’s occupants were neither faint-hearted nor superstitious.

  Anna took Delia’s backpack and trailed her up the porch stairs. As soon as they stepped through the front door, Anna set the backpack on a small table and dropped to her knees, ankles crossed, hands behind her back, head bowed to the extent allowed by her high leather collar. Delia touched her rosy cheek. “Remove your dress.”

  Carefully, leaving ankles crossed, Anna wiggled the dress from under her knees, lifted it over her head and resumed her position.
Underneath she was naked.

  “Present yourself.” Delia watched the girl’s cream and pink breasts drop softly beneath her pliant body as she leaned forward and gripped her pale moon posteriors. Delia circled as Anna spread herself open for inspection.

  She touched Anna’s anus and the girl quivered. “Pretty little asshole.” Delia roughly spread the pink puckers, forced two fingers inside and squeezed. A small squeak popped out but the girl remained rigorously immobile.

  Delia smiled. “Oh oh! Bad little doggy.” She pulled the girl’s head upward by the silky hair and pushed dirty fingers between the beguiling lips. Without being told Anna licked them clean. “I’m going to give you some special things to wear to the club.” She caressed the soft breasts with her fingertips then crushed a nipple between iron fingers. Anna winced but this time made no sound. “These need some pretty purple decorations. Go get two big chime balls and a big butt-plug. You may choose your own punishment.” Delia released the nipple. “Go on. Bring them to me.”

  The girl crawled off. Delia watched the tender flesh cross the small, warm, comforting room with both pleasure and sadness. Too soon this would all be far away.

  That first morning played across her mind followed by so many other mornings, afternoons and nights. On that morning she’d discovered her true nature … and begun another dimension of her training.

  Delia had been thunderstruck, carried away, by the revolutionary sensations pouring through her as she raped Anna. To her immense surprise, the other girl’s, M.A. was her name, presence didn’t stop her. Rather she added in ways Delia could never before have imagined.

  M.A. faced Delia, her meaty thighs straddling Anna’s face. She glanced down. “Lick, bitch.” Anna obeyed, straining her mouth against M.A.’s clit. She noisily licked and sucked, bleating incomprehensibly at every thrust of the massive dildo.

  M.A. lifted her t-shirt over her head and crushed her giant, billowing breasts against Delia’s smaller and firmer ones, pressing her lips to Delia’s and her tongue into Delia’s mouth. With astonishment, Delia found her arousal increase. And she felt a powerful instinctive urge to squeeze M.A.’s breasts. So she did, leaning forward and kissing M.A. back while she kneaded voluptuous fistfuls. M.A. moaned lustily and Delia heard Anna gasp for breath under a sea of soft flesh.

  The image was still vivid in Delia’s mind. Three female figures merged into one primal, effluent organism surging and heaving with sound, action and feeling like a carnal rollercoaster ride. Up and down, back and forth, higher and lower, internal and external sensation rolled in an unceasing, congruous torrent through their fused bodies.

  It was M.A. who came first in a wrenching spasm that almost – but clearly not entirely – smothered Anna. In quick succession, Anna screamed, her face buried against M.A.’s pelvis. Delia believed she was too disconcerted to cum but something about the group gestalt pushed her over the edge. The big black rubber dick started the orgasm deep inside her but before she knew it every cell seemed filled with tearing ecstasy. She’d had few orgasms and certainly never one like this.

  The three collapsed together into a large, wet, panting pile. Anna wriggled up between the two other women and M.A. patted her head. “Good dog.” Delia lurched forward in surprise.

  “The pretty little dog’s good with her tongue, isn’t she?” M.A. smiled over at Delia who would have staggered with confusion if she hadn’t been lying down. M.A. lightly reached across Anna and touched the bruises on Delia’s breasts. “So how did a Dominant get such juicy bruises? Do you switch?”

  “Dominant? Switch?” Delia had no idea what she was talking about.

  “You’re Dominant,” M.A.’s expression was quizzical but her words weren’t really a question. She paused. “Right?”

  Delia stuttered a little. “I dddon’t think I’m Dominant. I don’t really know what it is.”

  M.A.’s smile was knowing. “Believe me. You’re Dominant.” Now she reached over and shook Delia’s hand. “Call me Mary Agnes at your own risk.” She smiled mockingly. “Agnes means chaste, by the way. So I’m doubly chaste.” Her laugh was throaty. “Well, you decide for yourself.” She reached out and grabbed haphazardly at Anna. “The bitch calls me Sir and from now on she’ll do the same to you. Won’t you, doggy?”

  With interest Delia observed Anna’s happily tractable response. “Yes Sir.”

  “Sir” explained to Delia that many lesbians and even some bisexual female Dominants deplore the titles “Mistress”, “Lady” and, heaven forbid, “Goddess”.

  Over the next months and years M.A. emerged as a remarkable mentor, educating Delia philosophically as well as with all sorts of striking implements, with needles and with knives. She also proved an exceptional and exceptionally wild and lively friend. Together they’d left massive sexually charged mischief in their joint wakes.

  Anna awkwardly returned, a heavy suede flogger’s handle held carefully between her lips like a well-trained bird dog and her right hand stuffed full. She crawled to Delia’s feet and lifted to her knees, silently offering first the flogger then the silver balls and black rubber plug.

  Delia rolled the flogger in her hand, enjoying its weight and balance. She chuckled. “The doggy wants to play. She wants a long beating and bigger bruises to remember Sir by.” She took the other objects. “But first we need to insert doggie’s jewelry. Turn and spread.”

  Delia rolled the two large metal balls in her palm listening to their soft music. One after the other she pushed them into Anna’s anus then made to force in the black rubber. The rubber ripped at the tissues and the girl silently squirmed. Delia worked it this way and that, pushing and withdrawing, but it wouldn’t budge. Finally she stuck it into Anna’s mouth. “Lick.” The girl sucked it into her mouth and covered it with saliva. And the fat rubber protuberance went in.

  “First I think we’ll make sure that plug stays. Tits on the floor, ass in the air.”

  The girl lowered her torso onto her breasts. “Such a lovely sight,” Delia mused, allowing her eyes to follow the graceful back to the delicately lush derriere. She said, “Spread.”

  The girl reached awkwardly behind and opened the soft twin orbs exposing the plug’s flat black end. Karate and lots of practice had perfected Delia’s aim. After two graceful elliptical sweeps she struck, driving the rubber deeper with a heavy slap that terminated between the tender labia. Anna silently shuddered.

  Several stinging whacks almost knocked the slim girl flat, bringing tears to her eyes and flaming feverish pink to her labia. “Release.” Delia placed a hand over Anna’s vagina, enjoying the heat. “Ready? You may hold yourself steady.” For forty five minutes, until purple rose amidst the deep pink and Anna’s body rippled with racking stimulation, Delia wielded the heavy flogger on back and buttocks.

  “Up to your knees and face me.” Unsteadily, the girl obeyed and Delia turned her attention. “Hold onto your ankles.” Anna bent backwards and gripped an ankle in each hand, arching her spine and exposing her ductile breasts. Now, though, her chin dropped to her sternum and her eyes closed. And she was utterly silent. Subspace.

  Afterwards, Delia helped the quavering girl into a low cut party dress. She painted the ugly purple blotches rising on the white skin with a glitter stick so they pulsed like holograms in all but bright light. The girl sat silently on their bed’s edge, head bowed and eyes glassy, while Delia slipped into black leather – sleeveless, front-buckled vest, matching side-buckled mini that barely covered her muscular thighs, and black, spike-heeled boots.

  “Club time.” Delia hooked a leather lead onto Anna’s collar’s heavy D-ring and preceded her to the little blue car. Five minutes later they were walking under the flat, hotel-sized overhang into the giant grey geometric Club Metro complex and downstairs, past game room and leather store, to the huge Metro Underground dance floor.

  Delia guessed the fog machine must have run about fifteen minutes before because the streaking, flashing multi-coloured light show cut through slowl
y dissolving smoky white whorls. As she strode across the dance floor pulling Anna behind, she strained to recognize the amorphous, undulating shapes, in t-shirts and jeans, leather, some sparkles and even a few business suits, emerging and disappearing into the white to the heavy bass beat.

  “Delia!” A familiar voice floated to her from … somewhere. She turned on her spike heels, several times until a strong fist attached to a naked arm locked onto her shoulder and pulled her to it. Here she didn’t bother to resist. She didn’t need to fight. These were all friends.

  M.A. stood before her, huge tits bulging over a black bra under the customary white t-shirt and jeans. Beside her was a big dike who could have been her sister, except for the natural blond crew cut. The woman also wore a white t-shirt with short sleeves that just grazed pumped triceps, but with leathers – black pants, vest with club insignia and heavy boots. “Delia, let me introduce you to Lex. She rides a Harley with a girl group in San Jose.” M.A. smiled. “Near your new home. I’ve been telling her about you.”

  Lex nodded cordially and shook Delia’s hand, at the same time giving her a discreet once over that Delia acknowledged with a friendly smile. “I wouldn’t mind having some friends out there. Would you believe it, I’ve never been out of Minnesota.”

  “I’d be happy to show you the scene and introduce you to some people.” Lex’s attention strayed over Delia’s shoulder.

  Now M.A. wrapped her arm around Anna throat and pulled her close. She stroked the fluorescent bruises appreciatively and smiled at Lex, who openly ogled the girl. “This is our doggy. Doggie, say hello.”

  Anna’s eyes flicked briefly upward from below lowered lashes. “Hello Sir.”

  Lex’s gaze locked onto the girl, moving from face to breasts to legs. M.A. squeezed Anna affectionately tighter then pushed her roughly toward the other woman. “Doggy, make Sir happy.”

  Lex looked quizzically from M.A. to Delia then took Anna’s lead and led her to the dance floor. “So you don’t think we have a problem here?” Delia asked M.A. as they watched the lust with which Lex drenched Anna as she crushed the delicate girl against her hard body.