How was this even possible? She knew herself well. She’d probed, studied, analyzed, and examined her behavior, neuroses and deepest feelings. She’d dealt with sexual repression and had awakened her spirit and body in a long and beautiful relationship, only to now find something unexpected and new arising with unanticipated fervor.
He grabbed her hair when her focus faltered and shoved her head back to his cock. She loved the power behind that move; not to mention the man’s dogged determination to have her give him the pleasure he’d so long denied himself.
She might have hesitated in the past, but there was no hesitation now, just unwavering obedience – of the kind that needed little instruction. She instinctively knew exactly what the moment required. Hearing him gasp with satisfaction as his pleasure magnified, she smiled inwardly. Happy. Happy inside this tiny world of his cock and her zealous adoration of that proud member.
Soon, her mouth was filled with a sweet and familiar taste. The taste of pleasure and cumming as his cock began to ejaculate, and his thick juices flooded into her mouth. She lapped them greedily, savoring the taste and smell of cum. She gulped the thick substance and let it slide down her throat. Meanwhile, in a show of authority, he kept his hand at the back of her head to be certain that she’d remain exactly where she was until he was ready to free her.
His thighs intensified their hold as she came down on him one more time, and the last of his cum shot into her mouth. She swallowed greedily. Her lips were wet and shining when her head finally drew back. She could have gone down on him again, but he was finally spent.
With Jack’s cum drying on her mouth, Jeni sat back and took a long deep breath. Her lips tasted salty and sweet. She couldn’t believe that she’d found so much satisfaction without having cum herself.
She checked his face for a reaction.
Jack’s cool reserve had finally softened, something she discovered in his eyes, and in the gentle smirk that appeared on his face. He didn’t need to tell her that she’d pleased him. A little elaboration on his part might have been nice – a way to soothe any lingering concerns, but he really didn’t need to say anything at all. She knew.
“You’re a slave, Jeni,” were the first words out of his mouth.
The comment caught her off guard. Stunned by the unexpected claim, it took a moment to register. This was not what she expected him to say. “What was that?”
“You’re a slave. You may have thought yourself a sub, but you are a slave.”
He spoke as if he spoke for God. As if he’d brought down the tablet from Mt. Sinai inscribed with the truth of her. Fact, not supposition, speculation or food for thought. He made his pronouncement, and though she initially resisted the claim, she couldn’t quibble with the way that word slave made her feel inside. It seemed to crawl from the first mention of it into every cell of her body, awakening something dormant inside that was calling to her like a long lost friend.
She shook her head, mystified by the idea – and in particular how very certain he was of his claim. “I still don’t know about that,” she finally blurted out because she didn’t know what else to say. But she did know. She was dazed and lightheaded. “How could you come up with this…so, so soon?”
“Soon? It’s been over a month we’ve talked around the subject. You were the one to put the idea back on the table – you said it yourself when you were still in France. I’m just telling you what I know to be true. It’s who you are.”
She was not one to argue, not with a dominant man with his kind of deep conviction. She’d keep her opinions to herself if she disagreed. But at the moment she couldn’t object and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. After witnessing her slavish behavior of the last hour, slave felt as real to her as any description of her sexual character that she ever considered. But how could he see so clearly what had eluded her for so many years – based on one blowjob? The love of her life had not seen it. Suddenly a man who barely knew her figured it out in one meager hour.
A flurry of reasons and explanations overloaded her mind. She’d always been a quick study. When something fit, it felt right and she knew it. Revelation was instantaneous, not something to nitpick or dissect.
And now, as if the heavens had opened up, the truth dawned on her. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Her mind still struggled to believe it. Slave not sub. It had been an intellectual discussion in their emails. But there was nothing intellectual about the way she felt now when it came to submissive vs. slave. She felt the truth in her head and heart and in her bones, making old arguments against Jeni as slave seem foolish now.
Of course, the love of her life couldn’t see it. This wasn’t his kind of kink. He didn’t want a slave, and didn’t expect her to be one. They’d toyed with the idea, and even attempted to take on the roles of Master and slave, but they couldn’t pull it off. Their relationship had its operating manual written in the first years, starting over with a new rule book after ten years together wasn’t a feasible option. Master/slave was her kink not his. Despite his naturally dominant nature, which worked on many levels in the kink world, he wasn’t hardwired the way she was. He wouldn’t see the slave in her.
But Jack did.
With Jeni still trying to sort out his astounding claim, Jack jumped into her thoughts again, “You’ve never been owned, have you?”
This time, her response was immediate. “No! That’s not true. I was owned!” she blurted out. She was nervous, almost shaking, hot and flustered and thinking too fast for her to find any clarity about the matter. It had always been a given, and she went on the defensive now. “He owned me! I never, ever doubted that I was owned – and I mean in a lifestyle manner owned.”
Jack wasn’t convinced. He shook his head, repeating his contention. “I don’t think so, Jeni. I don’t think you were ever really owned.”
She continued to resist, and dug in now to support her belief. “Of course, he owned me. He adored me, took care of me, protected me. I was his and I belonged to him. It was a given, and something we both loved about our life.”
“I’m sure he took care of you,” Jack spoke more gently this time. “But owning is something very different.”
And he knew?
She thought back to the twisted history of her sex life and all the places it had meandered for twenty years. “I don’t know,” she shook her head, “I’m going to have to think about it.”
“Do that. But tell me, do you feel owned now? Did you feel owned the last hour?”
“Yes. Of course, I did.” How could she possibly deny that after the way she obeyed without a moment’s hesitation? The way she worshiped his cock with such a mind-boggling result? Serving him was a want so compelling that she was still stunned by her selfless behavior. At that very moment, he could have commanded of her something else, something that would have pushed the envelope even more than the blowjob, and she would have unthinkingly obeyed.
“This has nothing to do with you and me, with my owning you, or you and I being Master and slave. Time will tell if we get to that. Regardless, you are a slave.” And you might as well accept that because I know what I’m talking about, he might as well have added. That’s what he was thinking. “As far as owning you – that’s something that will come with being your master. It’s good that you already feel my ownership. I think we know where this relationship is headed.”
The last thing she expected of this first sexual meeting was to have assumptions she’d taken for granted about her sexual nature challenged on such a fundamental level.
But maybe he was right. Previous ownership had been about her heart and spirit. Jack was talking about being sexually owned. Her body belonged to him. Her obedience was a given. All of this had been talked about in their emails, but it was real now. Not theory. Not fantasy. A scary, awesome, titillating thought, but one that set her crotch ablaze.
By Jack’s definition, no man had ever owned her. And he was right. She’d always held back. There was always something in reserve she ne
ver freely gave. She’d thought of herself as being owned, but not beyond a dungeon scene, a trip to the cross, or over a spanking bench. During the auction, her obedience had been a temporary gift. A titillating adventure. An evening’s entertainment. But once she emerged from the subspace high a day or two later, being a slave lost its allure. A Master/slave relationship was tough to sustain when neither party was convinced that this could be a 24/7 reality, and they both longed for their easy, but less titillating relationship to return.
With Jack, surrender and obedience were natural – what had driven them into this relationship and fueled it now. Her inhibitions fell away. Being submissively at his feet was where she belonged. This was being owned, and this was what her heart desired.
Jeni had no rational explanation for the feeling she had now. Becoming slave was an act of liberation that made her free to express the private piece of her that could only be realized when she selflessly gave herself to a master. She couldn’t deny what was so clear to her now. She trusted Jack. She felt safe with him. Maybe she was reckless to accept his mastery of her so quickly. But it didn’t seem as if she had a choice. Her own behavior and the beautiful feeling of surrender were proof enough.
Suddenly, Jack was on his feet. “In the bedroom,” he ordered, as he pushed her in that direction and followed closely as she headed off.
She saw his belt curled inside his fist, his muscled forearm flex, the tight grip of his fingers around the end of the leather. She was about to orgasm before he laid on a single smack.
“C’mon, let’s get going,” he urged impatiently. He gave her ass a mean whack to keep her moving. Once in the bedroom, he fired off a crisp, “Over the bed!” and she practically dove to the end of the mattress, and lay against the cool comfort of the flowered quilt, trembling. Not a second later, the leather landed on her pushed out behind with enough force to shake her to her toes and fingertips, and have every nerve ending alive with the sudden thrill of that delicious pain.
“Oh my, yes…” she gasped in awe.
The smacks that followed were rough, and she screamed and squirmed against the bed. “Shit! That’s fucking nasty…”
“This is what you want, slave,” he reminded her.
“Yes, Sir!” she shouted back. She wriggled her reddening derriere, taunting him for more – which he gave her. “Oooo yes.”
“You are fucking nasty!” he exclaimed.
The punishment was relentless, and soon the pain was too much to take. “Ouch! Dammit!” She wished he’d stop – at least for a moment – so the fierce pain would ease.
“Fuck, that hurts!” She determinedly tried not to buckle beneath the intensity of his blows. But each time the belt landed, it was getting harder to do.
Jack finally paused. “Too much?” he asked.
She could have stopped him, but she really didn’t want the scene to end. “No, no, not yet—”
“Good. Perhaps you need this as much as I do.” He started in again, although this time he began with softer blows, slowly building in intensity until pain hardly felt like pain and feelings of pleasure arose from every smack. Like she had at the start, she pushed her ass out to greet the belt, taunting him as she’d done before. “If ever there was a slut who needed this, it’s you,” he declared, and another nasty smack landed on the center of her two smoldering cheeks.
“Oh fuck!” she cried. “That fuckin’ hurt!”
“You love the hurt, you whore.”
And now whore! He called her whore. She winced. She wasn’t a whore, but, oddly, the word worked; whore made her feel sluttier than she already felt. Like, take me to the edge and back, and don’t stop until you do!
The belt rained down until she could take no more. Apparently, Jack sensed this because he laid the leather down.
Jeni sighed, glad for the break and the warm sweet feeling that continued on beyond the pain. If he would only fuck her now. But Jack wasn’t ready yet.
From the pile of kinky toys she’d laid out on the nightstand, he chose a braided leather cat with three two-foot talons that cut viciously into her hot behind. He was careful, methodical and precise with the whipping, spacing each strike so she felt it, from the painful impact to the tingling heat that lingered afterwards. What a lovely way to begin. And so sweet the feeling of surrender. But after the first dozen strikes, he picked up speed and the intensity increased. Her body flinched every time the cat struck. Her anguished cries rose in volume, and he answered with another several hard, hurting cuts – as if she hadn’t had enough.
Suddenly, she shrieked. He’d hit the tender flesh at her side, and at the sound of her dreadful cry he stopped. “You had enough yet?”
No! She hadn’t had enough. The pain was her aphrodisiac.
“More, please,” she pleaded.
But what he delivered next, against her back and shoulders, was not what she expected. The sensation took her into another place – something Old World about being flogged like a naughty penitent. The space in her mind expanded into the feeling as the cat rained down its pain and its beautiful woe. Fixed to the end of her bed, she took the punishment, not even sure now in which century she lived. Driven to her knees in some medieval dungeon. Punished in a 19th century workhouse. Flogged by Roman soldiers against a whipping post. Could have been in any of a hundred lifetimes. But it didn’t matter when. The prettiest feeling in all the world was being that reduced, subdued and surrendered. Surrendered. There wasn’t a word as lovely in the English language as surrendered, never a feeling of bliss as heavenly as being surrendered to the slave inside her soul.
When he aimed for her ass again, he wasn’t kind. The talons hit at the top of her cheeks, and the base of her fleshy bottom where the hurt was harder to bear and she couldn’t help crying out. “Oh fuck, that hurts!” she finally vented. Did he hear that as a plea? Encouragement? One hard strike against the sweet spot in the middle of her behind where it wasn’t so painful was what she needed now, but Jack was done.
He dropped the cat into her bedroom chair and collected her body, pulling it off the mattress and into his arms. He held her cuffed wrists behind her, bound by his steely grip, while her throbbing ass rested against his thighs. He played with her tits, pinching the flesh, squeezing her nipples then twisting them like a heartless sadist. Then his hand dropped lower, and moved deep into her crotch, with his fingers fishing around for the bud hidden inside her labia. He finally found the ring and gave it a sharp yank.
“You nasty bastard!” The bastard word slipped out unexpectedly.
“Bastard?” he spat back.
“Sorry, Sir.”
He yanked down again. “You don’t like the way I yank your clit?”
“Oh, but I do!”
“That’s what I thought, slave.”
He abruptly released her hands and spun her around. “Let me see it again.”
She stood upright as he backed off. He needed to see her clit ring? Breathless. Stunned. Pouting. And overawed by what she’d just suffered. She needed to cum, and cum hard. And still he denied her.
She breathed heavily, attempting to cool down. Then she reached between her thighs and between her plumped-up labia, and pulled out the metal ring – which was no longer a ring at all anymore. The curved bar did not connect at the ends. With small beads screwed onto either end, there was just enough space left to fit a larger captive bead that would turn the hoop into a complete circle. She’s always liked the way it looked. However, with one of the smaller beads lost in a hotel room in Paris, the large captive bead no longer fit. Had losing that bead been a sign that things were changing in her life?
After carefully inspecting the piercing, Jack did what every Dom would be tempted to do. With his eyes drilling into hers, daring her to waver her gaze, he pulled the curved loop down until he saw the pain written in her wincing expression. He kept on tugging with the cold, critical cruelty she loved. He watched her valiant struggle to remain silent, unaffected by her obvious distress.
&nb
sp; Then, at last, he smiled, “Very good, slave,” and he let go. “You need a ring there, so I can hang my ID tag.”
“You think so?” Her face brightened at the thought. “Like you own me?” The tension between them had eased.
“Yes, I own you.”
“So, what kind of tag?”
“I’ll have one engraved. How about Property of Jack Hawking?” He toyed with her clit a little longer, then moved a single finger into her slit and let that finger fuck her slowly.
Property of Jack Hawking. Sounded like the most lovely idea in the world – she was all his. And at that moment captive to the way his fingers worked her pussy.
The building spasms hit her hard, in her belly and all the way down to her toes and everywhere. She hadn’t come – but it wouldn’t take much. “If you could please…” she begged. With every slutty, sexy sway of her hips, and breathy gasp, her body beseeched him. Oh my. He had enslaved her!
She needed to cum.
He looked on her amused, “You horny little wench.”
His smirk was sly when he drew her body close. Their eyes met. Hers yielding. His hard and focused. Their lips crushed together for a kiss that was like no previous kiss – one that cemented his ownership of her. His fingers jammed themselves inside her cunt, and he rocked it with every insistent cock-like thrust. He drove his hand into the juicy hole, again and again and again, enough that somewhere in the midst of the fucking, she began to cum, cum hard and hotly. She twisted inside his grasp, then she threw her head back and cried out, “Gawd yes! Yes, yes yes…” while she clung to him for support. Her face grimaced in pain and her crotch and hips shuddered from the explosion until she could hardly stand. At last she slumped against his chest, exhausted by every fuckingly wonderful thing that had happened in their last hour.
“You are one needy slut,” was his only comment.
She could only nod her head; she had no voice left.
They ate cheese and crackers and drank a full-bodied Cabernet to soothe away the rough edges of the awkward minutes. There had been nothing awkward about their ferocious sex, but being in each other’s company in the sexual aftermath left them grappling for ways to transition from the heated clash to something more normal, more vanilla. Or was that even possible? When did Master/slave end and vanilla begin? Or did they? They’d never considered moments like this one, when dressed again, they sat on at the kitchen counter, searching for something meaningful to say. Jeni didn’t know how to act or what frame of mind to adopt. Slavish? Friendly? Cheery? Yielding…funny…self-revealing? How did new lovers communicate? It was all a mystery to her. All new. All so different from the comfortable ease of the relationship she’d known.
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