The Seller, Buyer, Girl and Her Master

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  While the girl’s pussy was still aching from the awesome pain in her clit, she was removed from the table, and leaned into an angled board at the side of the room. Resting in place, somewhat awkwardly, her back was slightly bowed, leaving a hallow where the ring would set. Since there was little flesh to work with, it took the expert of both Jacob and Gable to have the sizable ring set in place, with plenty of flesh behind it to prevent migration.

  Gable’s mood was deepening. With every new scheme set in place, Evie was more dehumanized and more glorified in his mind. She was becoming his work of art, not a woman, but a painting in the image of his dreams.

  For Evie, the process was far different. Aching, riled, anger boiling from within, she finally exploded that night after the clit ring and the back ring were pierced through her body—in the early hours just before dawn when Gable was about to put her to bed.

  “I can’t sleep on a hard floor with a fresh pierce in my clit and another in my back,” she stated, her voice strangely shrill. “How do you expect me to sleep at all?”

  Gable was at first stunned by the remark, then seething himself beneath his calm reserve. He became cool, resistant as was usual when he was challenged.

  “That’s your business, not mine,” he delivered a clipped retort.

  “But it is your business,” she came right back at him.

  The look in his eyes tore through her like the blade of a knife. “No,” he said calmly. “My business is to do with you whatever I wish, anyway, any time. You are no more to me than the family pet, a piece of property, perhaps as valuable as the antique Grecian vase sitting on the mantle in my parlor. I will keep you in perfect condition because you are valuable to me in that regard, but just as the family pet knows its function, or the Grecian vase, inert and completely accepting of its status as a bauble, remains in place until used, you need to remember your purpose here. My business is not your comfort. I give you a place to sleep, food to keep you alive, but none of that requires me to give you comfortable quarters. So, what you do, little girl, is settle your pretty mind, lay down on that rug and go to sleep. Unless, of course, you’d like to stay awake all night. I can’t make you sleep, but now’s the time, if you—”

  Every word he spoke added more fuel to her anger, and before he could finish his curt remarks, she cut him off, yelling loud enough to wake the entire second floor, “But I want a bed to sleep on!”

  “For crissakes, Gabe,” a weary Alia popped up wearily from bed where she was awakened from a sound sleep by the commotion, “give her the one in the basement, see how she likes that!” She sunk back down into the mattress and covered her head with a blanket.

  Gable, taking the not-so-subtle suggestion to heart, yanked the defiant Evie by the short lead on her collar and marched her two flights down to a small room in the underground of the house. This wasn’t a dungeon, a play cellar, nothing but four blank walls of stone and concrete, cold, damp and uninspiring. The room’s only furnishing was a better than a waist high punishment horse, thinly padded on top with sheepskin.

  “Make another noise, I’ll gag you,” he warned his rebellious princess. Then hoisting her slight body over the rounded frame face down, her arms and legs dangling on either side, he buckled her in at the waist, and fastened her the ankles and wrists. “Bed enough?”

  She was panicked. “Oh, sir, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me here.”

  “I’m perfectly civil with you, Evie, but I don’t tolerate moods like yours. A night here should be enough to cure you.” For good measure, he took the paddle hanging on the wall by the door, and leveled her ass with three strong smacks on each cheek, leaving a bright pink imprint to flower and fade, to grow hot, and then cold long into the following morning, when Gable ordered Tim to untie her and bring the girl upstairs.

  It was a long, brutal night. Both of her new piercings kept her awake, with the flesh around them beating hotly as if they were infected. The clitoral pierce was the most painful; pressing into the rounded bench, making it impossible to avoid the ache. Any small turn, twisted the ring slightly and her body spiked with pain.

  Slightly tattered and sleepy, she stood in the center of the room while her master examined her thoroughly and a few stray friends watched the confrontation on the sidelines. “I’m easy on you, Evie, but you still have to follow the rules,” Gable said. He was in a better mood than he’d been the night before.

  “I didn’t ask to be here,” she said, still surly and hurt.

  He shrugged. “Not my problem.” He strolled around her, wanting to fuck her more than he wanted to take her to task. But then, there would be bigger problems for him, if he didn’t put her in her place. “Have I made my point?” he asked, having come to a halt directly in front of her, staring her down. Damn! He wished this scene were over. He hated being the cruel master.

  Evie shuddered hearing the chilly wind in his voice rip through her, “Yes, sir,” she answered meekly.

  For the next week, Evie slept at the foot of the master’s bed as she had every other night but one in the house. At the end of that week, as the discomfort from the piercing was beginning to fade fast, she was shown to a tiny bedroom at the end of the upstairs hall, with no more than a twin bed and small table. Tim, following Gable orders, attached her collar lead to the chain on the bed, and bound her wrists above—strangely reminiscent of her nightly position in her cell at the ranch. She’d paid a hefty price for that bed, but it was worth it. Her bones stopped aching and she was able to put together a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before she went on display the next day.

  ***

  The night of the final ceremony, Gable was as skittish as a new bride making arrangements, nervous as an old hen. It took him some time to have everything and everyone in place.

  Evie sat on the floor at his feet during the evening meal and later as he sat with friends in the parlor, where the conversation moved around the topics of various training practices for new property, to world news, to the lessons of history on the modern world. Then he told a few tall tales about his past, embellished with anecdotes that awed those that were new to his house. He had the room laughing. The few that knew him better took his exploits with a grain of salt, even while enjoying his long tales for their humor.

  About , as a certain lethargy swam like a fog about the room, he turned to Jacob, who was standing at the door.

  “Shall we begin?” he asked the younger man. He considered it his good fortune to have Jacob there, since the plan he laid out was almost beyond his expertise. Jacob, on the other hand, was experienced with branding women.

  “Anytime you say.”

  “Then take the girl with you, we’ll follow.”

  “My pleasure.” Gable pulled Evie to her feet and pushed her toward Jacob, who’s head was sexily cocked, his lids lowered. His posture was casual, his shoulder resting against the door. His presence radiated a masterful confidence to make any woman’s cunt moisten with anticipation. Evie’s tummy trembled. She was afraid of this new confidence between Gable and her former trainer. But she went with him, feeling his firm grip on her upper arm remind her of the past… a not so distant past. It was just months ago that she was his, just two months since he’d taken her in the master’s study that remarkable night. She suspected that ended his association with his mentor, though the result of that scene was never discussed with her.

  “Why are you here?” she whispered to him as he led her outside, toward the bonfire pit that was glowing with red hot embers.

  “Why would you care?”

  “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just curious.”

  “Then you don’t need to know,” he said flatly.

  She trotted along beside him, jewels gleaming, dangling from her flesh. They were not yet attached with the chains Jacob recommended. She assumed that would happen tonight—even though it was never safe to assume anything about Gable’s world. It was apt to change in an instant. The man was easily diverted, probab
ly the only constant she had come to trust during her short time in his house.

  “But I want to know?” she tried being a little more in character, a little more meek. He would expect that.

  “I was offered a job not too far from here after I left the ranch, and it seemed to be as good a place as any to start over.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “You’re way too nosy.” They’d reached the bonfire, and there was business to be done.

  “Okay, then, just one more question?” She looked at him with flirting eyes.

  “What’s that?” He had a hard time rejecting the desire in him.

  “Did it have anything to do with me?”

  “My being here?” He shrugged as if he didn’t care. “No and yes. If it weren’t for the job, I’d be somewhere else, and you’d be forgotten.”

  She didn’t have time for another question. Jacob stuffed a piece of old driftwood between her teeth to shut her up—it would come in handy later. Then he staked her to a wooden frame—four posts, two on either side of her, one in front and one at her rear. Her arms were stretched overhead, her feet spread wide, leaving her body free to move between the hefty poles beside her—though only as free as the connecting chains allowed. One was drawn through her clit ring and attached to the pole in front. Another was attached to the waist ring and fixed to the pole behind. Others were attached to her nipples rings and drawn out high, thrown over cross pieces of the frame above. From the ends of those, Jacob dangled weights to intensify the stretch, making her breasts ache. The last chain was threaded through her nose ring, and, like a bull, bound on either side of her to the wooden posts. Any real movement in one place affected her entire body. But what was worse was seeing Jacob at the fire before her, at a small stone oven, poking the gleaming embers and setting the branding iron inside.

  By then, Gable and his bevy of dutiful believers trotting in behind him, watched, titillated, as the man approached his property to finalize the decorations.

  “Look at me, Evie,” the man said, as he stood before her. “Don’t take your eyes from me. He held her at the waist, unnecessarily, but for him it was a way of bonding with her. “Don’t flinch, keep steady, and it will all be over in a second.”

  “Yes, sir,” she quietly answered. Her body was swimming with expectation, lust overcoming her fear enough to have her cunt riled and horny. She followed the order, staring at the critical expression of her master, knowing it would be best to relax. Pain passes more quickly through a body at peace, someone told her once, but she didn’t remember who offered the wise advice.

  Even with her gaze fixed on Gable, she could sense Jacob taking the branding iron from the oven. The metal was molten and would need only the few seconds between the exposure to the air and impact to cool.

  “Mmmeeeeeeeeeeeawww!” A stifled scream, bellowing from her gut, hit the air like a clap of thunder, with force as much as sound. She bit down on the wooden gag, while her head fell back, jerking the nose ring, which made her head then snap back upright. Her breathing became labored as her seared flesh ached, then her body attempted to slump, but the weights and chains called her back in position.

  “Oh, ‘ease, sir,” a muffled whimper escaped over the gag.

  “You’re all right Evie, all right.” He stroked her face, her cheek, her breasts, admiring every piece of her, and the willingness that brought her to the immediate moment. “In the morning your ass will be tattooed with the matching insignia of the house, and your adornment will be finished—that is,” he smiled, “unless I decide on something else later.” He thought for a moment, his mind spinning another yarn. “I could have your entire body tattooed, or shave that messy hair of yours.” He ran his fingers through her blonde curls. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He turned to the cowboy. “It looks okay?”

  “I don’t miss, Gable. She’s labeled yours.”

  Gable smiled and looked for himself. A simple ‘G’ had been imprinted on her left ass cheek, now looking like an angry wound. In time, it would become a silvery mark embedded in her flesh as if it had been there at birth.

  One by one, the guests that wanted her, had her, taking turns playing with her riled pussy, and then actually fucking her after she was released from the from the wooden frame. They flopped her over a rickety wood sawhorse and came at her from behind, grabbing her hair, teasing, fucking, coming.

  Jacob sat back he entire time watching, occasionally whispering something to the others in the audience. He didn’t even try to have her himself.

  Afterwards, Evie slept beside Gable’s bed. Despite her discomfort, she fell asleep with little effort. That day had been too long, the night even more endless, unrelenting, and by the time she could set her head on the pillow at dawn, she was too exhausted to care where she was.

  The following day, Evie was tattooed with a simple symbol of Gable’s design:

  G

  The chains connecting her piercings were then installed according to Jacob’s proposal, though he didn’t bother to watch; he was packing to leave.

  ***

  Evie and Jacob met in the hall later that afternoon. She’d raised herself from a drowsy nap, filled with unexplained anxiety. Being left unbound, she took immediate advantage of her freedom and dashed from her room to the parlor, where Gable was giving instructions on rope dressing to a small audience.

  “What is it, dear? I thought I told you to rest.”

  “I couldn’t,” she answered, trying not to sound upset. What could she say to him that wouldn’t displease him? He was not the man on her mind. She tried settling herself, and smiled coyly—in a way that tickled the man’s cock and put a smile on his face. “But I think I’ll try again.” She bowed her head and backed out of the room into the foyer.

  Turning around she saw Jacob by the door. A knapsack was flung over his shoulders; he was walking out. She stared at his boots, remembering how dusty they had been at the bonfire. They gleamed now.

  “Someone must have polished them for you,” she said, the words popping out of her mouth without any reason.

  “Yes. Margery. Did a good job.”

  The instant he answered, Evie was certain they fucked. She could see it in his eyes when he spoke the girl’s name.

  “She looks pretty wimpy to me.”

  “Ah, but she’s a hellion in bed, you get her in the mood, she can take it for hours.”

  Evie didn’t want to know what her competition could ‘take’—a fucking or a beating. He’d likely done both. “Sure. So can I, so can any decent slave.”

  “But, it’s always been an act for you, hasn’t it?” he moved in on her, while taking a moment to look at her newly installed chains, which connected her rings—although the chain to her nose had been left on the bedside in one of Gable’s kinder gestures.

  “What else would it be?” she answered him.

  “Some of the girls want to be here, girls like Margery. And some even walked through the door of their own free will, no one has to chain them to their bed at night.”

  “I wasn’t given the chance to make a choice, remember?”

  “But it is your true calling, and that’s what makes you so appealing, Evie. You tell me you don’t love what you feel, you don’t love the attention, you don’t relish every minute of your captivity—the beatings, the bondage, the pain, the sex, and I’ll say you’re lying. You hardly even fight. If you’d hated it so much, you would have a found a way out by now—and there are always ways of slipping out back doors and getting lost in the shuffle. You’re too smart not to figure it out.” He ran his hand along her body, admiring the handiwork. “It looks good.” He bent down and kissed her lips then backed off. “Have good life, anonymous Evie. Maybe eventually you’ll enjoy yourself.”

  “And what the hell does that mean?” Her bright, beautiful eyes were gleaming and afraid.

  “I’m gone, heading out.”

  “Heading where? I thought you got a job here.
”

  “A better one turned up, just outside of , another ranch.”

  “Training again?”

  “Just horses. I’m done with human ponies.”

  “Done with human ponies and girls like me?”

  “Well, let’s just say I’m done with the men who want to train them.”

  “Aren’t you denying yourself? Huh?” she cocked her head, her lips forming a sassy pout. She wanted another kiss. “You’re a sadist, Jacob. No on this planet knows that more than me. If I can’t hide from myself, you can’t hide who you are either.”

  He shrugged. He smirked, he eyed her with slutty green eyes, and chuckled to himself.

  “Have fun, Evie. And don’t worry about me. There are always more where you came from; that’s one thing I can trust. When I’m ready, I know where I can get one worth having. You take care. Gable will piss you off a lot, but I’m sure he’s exactly what you need.”

  ***

  Gable saw her as the consummate slave, the perfect embodiment of his ideal. One minute, he was in awe of her, the next as calculating as the devil, devising ways to abuse, punish, and display her for the constant traffic of interested friends, masters and sadistic fellows who came to his house.

  She learned to take his punishments with ease, although they were generally much lighter than what she was used to, much easier than the beatings she received at the detention center or the ranch. His preference seemed to be for humiliation, over out-right physical abuse. Any act of dominion was so much better with an audience. He loved the fanfare, anytime he could show her off. He did screw her when his reserve of sexual energy got to be too much for him to take. But they were fairly ordinary fuck-and-sucks, and surprisingly didn’t happen as often as she was fucked by the men he gave her to. The power was his aphrodisiac.

  One night, out of a sound sleep, Gable popped out of bed with a plan intact, something so genius he was sorry it hadn’t come to him years before. Think of all the fun he’d missed!

  But he wasted no time implementing his idea the next weekend. The games could begin once Evie’s piercings, the brand and tattoo were reasonably healed. It could be a game for any of his slaves, but it was only Evie he saw in his imagination.