by Trent Evans
Her blush darkened at that, as her head drooped, the first tear tracking down her cheek. He snapped his fingers once more and pointed at the tree. For a moment, he wondered if he’d have to spank her, punish her to make her understand that he would not relent. Not this time.
And then haltingly, reluctantly, her now tear-soaked face betraying the deepest of sweet mortification, she crawled to that tree. He could have watched her from a distance from the log, perhaps twenty paces away, but no, he walked to her, crouched down before her. He watched her patiently as she processed it, as she weighed what she might gain from further resistance. As she understood that no matter what she did, he would force this surrender from her too.
With an awkwardness that portrayed how little he’d allowed her into the position, she brought her feet under her and crouched, shuffling her heels wider. He forced her knees apart, batting her hands away from her sex. Her blush deepened still further, a whimper escaping her muzzled mouth. She couldn’t bear to look at him as she did it, fresh tears streaming down her face at the prospect of acceding to his mortifying demand. As a stream of hot liquid splashed onto the grass between her feet, she hid her face from his gaze. He watched the last few golden droplets fall to the ground, her entire body shivering, trembling like a leaf on the breeze, her gaze locked to the wet grass below. She was the picture of sweet, abject misery, a shameful human brought low, reduced to a thing, an object.
Reduced to his.
Then he tapped his collarbone and pressed a long kiss to her forehead, the hard leather of the strap there tickling his chin. “I’m so proud of you, Rose. Such a good pet.”
* * *
The moment his lips touched her head, she froze. It was an epiphany. It was a moment of clarity unlike any she’d experienced in her young life. At that instant, she knew that she’d changed — that he’d changed — and that forevermore they would be linked. What was so shocking was that it was almost a moment of the deepest humiliation she’d ever experienced in her life. It felt like her hair was going to catch on fire she was blushing so hotly.
He had, of course, watched her void her bladder before. Her trips to their version of a toilet were one of the few times where he’d largely left her alone though. But this was a reinforcement of her animal status, of her being simply an accessory — a very sexual one, yes — but an accessory, nonetheless.
The revelation for her, however, was that this no longer discomfited her. To her, it was normal now. This was who she was, and whether she’d be ready to find out or not, he’d force her to confront it. He’d force her to see who she really was. And more than that, she knew that what she was was because she was with him.
But what did that mean? Did that mean that she wouldn’t be this thing, this sexual debased creature if Kosha weren’t there? Perhaps. But more and more, she didn’t want to find out. More and more, she was comfortable with what her existence had become.
Was it happiness in slavery? Was it discovering the reality of a long-held fantasy?
Or was it as simple as the young woman finally finding the man who would allow her to be who she really was? She wanted to tell herself this was much more than simply being vulnerable and exploring these dark desires she’d always had; he forced her to explore them whether she wanted to or not.
But even that made it better, aroused her more — even as that arousal itself humiliated her. It was a complete paradox. The two shouldn’t even exist together… yet, they did.
And they did because of him. Because he understood who she was. He understood what she was.
That knowledge didn’t make it easier however when he clipped the leash to her collar. She knew forevermore that that metallic click would sound in her mind, and it would always be associated with shame, and possession, and lust.
It didn’t make it any easier when he drew her by that same leash back over to that fallen log, its color rendered by the relentless weather into an ashen gray.
For a silent moment, he simply sat and looked at her, those eyes of his at once so wise and so devious, the complexity of who he was so obvious in their depths. He was ruthless and tender, selfish and loving. Hard, and yet, in his own way, forgiving, even patient.
How could he be all those things at once, aspects of him that were complete contradictions? All these things she should never have seen in him.
He was her captor. He kidnapped her from her own planet. He took her virginity. He took everything from her. He took more than her freedom — he took her identity. She no longer even thought of herself as Rose; she thought of herself as her owner’s plaything. More than that, he took her ability to decide what was right or wrong. She was no longer sure that thinking of herself as Kosha’s plaything was wrong. Somewhere deep inside, she still understood in an intellectual sense that it should be wrong. But did she care anymore?
The answer was no.
The muzzle galled her terribly though, the leather straps biting into her chin, the curve of her jaw, her teeth beginning to ache her mouth was held together with such force. She thought she would have done almost anything to have it loosened, to have those straps fall away and allow her the blessed freedom of flexing her jaw — a freedom she never imagined she would be deprived of. Just as she never imagined she’d be deprived of even the most basic level of privacy, of identity, of meaning.
But she was deprived of other things too. Like worry. She no longer wondered about self-actualization, about what she was here for because those were now considerations outside the realm of her narrowly — and strictly — controlled experience, of her concern. Her role was pleasure and pain, lust and denial, and frustration and wonder. Fascination.
In the end, it was becoming one more thing — infatuation.
For more and more, in every waking thought, the direction always led back to him. Always back to her owner. Always to what would make him happy, what would give him pleasure. She no longer questioned the fact that giving him pleasure gave her pleasure.
Again, deep inside, she knew this was classic operant conditioning. She hadn’t slept through psychology, after all. But again, here on this planet, so far from reality, those considerations became academic. They simply no longer applied to her.
And that in itself was freeing — even as she knelt in chains.
Those strong fingers of his worked at the straps at her face, and she could have cooed at him had she had the strength to make the sound. She was already trembling as the muzzle was pulled free and she let her jaw open with a long sigh. He smiled fondly at her as she looked up at him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not realizing he still had the translator on. Not caring. She had to say the words because she truly felt them. Even though he’d done this to her, even though he forced her to wear the muzzle, he’d taken it away too. So, she must thank him.
And then she was drawn quickly over his lap, the hard muscles of his thighs pressed against her belly, her trembling legs dangling above the ground. She gazed down at the grass, the end of her long hair swaying in the wind, the tips tangling in the blades of grass.
His hands stroked her thighs, coaxed them wider. She gave him a soft gasp as they eased her buttocks apart, the tips of his fingers circling the shaming heavy metal of that phallus that still stoppered her rectum. He’d fitted it to her that morning before they had left. She knew them well now. It was the third or fourth — she’d lost track ― each one slightly larger than the last. She didn’t have the courage to look at how big this one had been, but she knew it was much bigger than his finger.
For many minutes, it had ached, insisting on making its presence known in the most uncomfortable of ways. It wasn’t quite pain, but oh, did it want to make her moan with the ache. She didn’t know how long he’d make her wear it. The last one, he’d had it in her for days, only allowing it to come out during bowel movements, or when she’d been washed.
She still grew nervous each time he touched her bottom. She knew what he would do to it eventually. The plugs we
re hard enough to deal with; knowing what was inevitably coming next only made that worse. The anticipation and dread made it both sweeter and more frightening.
That shouldn’t have made sense. Those two things shouldn’t have gone together, but again, like everything else in her life now, those twin opposing forces were like yin and yang. She still wasn’t sure what yin and yang actually referred to, but she’d heard it in school several times, mostly from teachers who appeared to say it as a way of signaling how smart they were.
But she knew somehow that it fit. They were opposites. Her life had become opposites.
Like pleasure and pain.
Love and hate.
“Nice and easy now,” he said above her, his voice that same low, pleasing rumble that she learned to respond to regardless of whether or not she could understand the words. It was almost easier that she didn’t know the actual meaning of his words.
For now, it made her shame ever worse as the tips of his fingers touched and stroked the tortured rim of her anus. She pushed at his urging, and he massaged her buttocks as he pulled them still wider, until the split began to ache itself. She knew he did this to get a better look at her. And though it mortified her to know he was looking at everything she had to offer — at her entire split — she knew as well that he could see her gathering wetness, even as she hoped that the afternoon wind would prevent him from smelling her growing arousal.
And then those fingers touched her there too, a fluttering, playful caress, teasing the inner lips open for the tips to ease inside. He slipped one, then two fingers inside her pussy and she groaned aloud at it, the feeling of tremendous fullness ― with the plug still inside — something she’d never experienced before. And it was something she knew she would do almost anything to feel again, a delicious stretching that had her wanting to open everything to him. If only he would do it again.
“So wet, girl,” he murmured. “So wet. You’d think you enjoy having your ass played with. Is that what this is?”
She’d actually brought her hands to her face to hide herself, though she knew he couldn’t see her in that position.
“No, sir,” she mumbled through her fingers, not sure if he required an answer.
“I wonder.” Then the finger tapped at the exposed end of the phallus still impaling her bottom. “I’m waiting, Rose. Be a good girl and push it out for me.”
With a series of grunts, she obeyed, willing the tender muscle to relax just that little bit more, desperate to allow the metal to be pulled out by his patient fingers. Finally it was free and she exhaled sharply, the feeling of emptiness so alien for a split second she felt as if something was wrong. And then her anus began to contract and spasm.
“So beautiful,” he said, tracing that opening with his fingertip. But before it could close, gel — a shocking ice cold — was spread upon her anus again, and her entire body trembled as if a current had been passed through her muscles.
“No, sir... please, no.”
She knew it was futile, of course, but she had no choice. She had to resist. She had to show him. It would never be easy — and he would never make it easy for her.
That was their dance. That was the reciprocating dynamic that they’d become, the push, the pull; the conquer, the resist. There was not one without the other, and she knew that now. Perhaps that was his plan the entire time.
Now, she understood it.
“This is the last one,” he said, patting her bottom, squeezing her right cheek gently. “This won’t be easy, sweet girl, but you’re going to take every inch of this. We have all afternoon. But I want you to be a good girl and try as hard as you can to swallow this plug for me. Be brave for me now.”
The blunt nose eased its way inside and for a split second she thought she really could go through with it, satisfy him, even in this.
And then it widened still further, and she realized she was dead wrong.
Oh no, I can’t do this! No!
But on it came, wider and wider until she was panting, whining, almost forced to cry out.
“Please, sir. Please! Oh God!”
“It’s okay, Rose. Almost there. You can do this, girl. Be good. Loosen. Relax. Good, good. Relax.”
“Oh, God!”
It stung for one instant, at its widest point, and she felt she would split, on the verge of begging him to stop. She’d do anything. And then, mercifully, wonderfully, it was in. She shuddered as she draped over his legs like a rag doll, the agonized victim succumbing to the exhaustion of her ordeal.
“You’re such a good girl, Rose,” he said.
The praise helped her. In a way, it buoyed her. It was twisted, and wrong, and crazy, but it was the truth. Though her ass ached in a way that made the previous plugs feel like a pleasant diversion, she knew she could do it now. She was positive she could do this for him.
“It’s going to ache for a while, girl. I won’t lie to you. Tonight is not going to be fun for you. But you’ll endure it. You’ll do this for me, because I require it.”
“Do you — do you like this?” The words tumbled from her lips, and she wasn’t even sure why she asked it.
He chuckled softly. “Yes, Rose, I like this very much indeed. I like forcing you to confront who you are. I like making you into this. You’re my pet now. My lovely, subjugated pet.”
His voice took on a serious note, and she tensed with it, knowing what was coming.
“But now we have something else to address.” Incredibly, his fingers grasped her buttocks and tried to close them, even as she pushed back, because closing them now actually increased her discomfort. The reflexive squeezing of her sphincter around a plug that felt as thick as a telephone pole only amplified the aching.
“We have to address your little disobedience earlier, Rose. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she said miserably, knowing a response was required. Knowing that his having a reason for punishing her wasn’t. He could blister her ass because it gave him pleasure. And that in turn gave her pleasure that he could punish her, that he could give her that pain, that humiliation simply because he enjoyed it.
Then his huge hand crashed down, smack after smack, the slaps loud and yet somehow muted by the afternoon breeze. In a way, it was a mercy that they were the only people out there, that they were alone outside, but it was also, in a way she couldn’t truly understand, worse. They were isolated. It was simply a man and his pet on a leash. That pet being punished, making her ashamed for disobeying him, for disappointing him.
Over and over and over that hand came down until she was crying, until the tears were dripping off the end of her nose, wetting the locks of her hair, and still the spanks continued, her entire bottom a flaming mass of heat and hurt.
“Please, sir! Ah! I’m sorry! Please. Please!”
And then his hand stopped and he gripped both buttocks tremendously hard, making her wince. “What do you say when you’ve disappointed me, Rose? What do I expect from you?”
“You expect… obedience, sir,” she said, sniffling.
“And what else, girl?” He smacked her ass hard, and she screeched. “What else do you do when you’ve wronged your owner?”
“Sorry!” she blurted. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“You’re sorry what?”
“Sir! I’m sorry, sir!”
Then his voice held a note of mischievousness she’d never heard from him before. “I’m no longer ‘Sir’, Rose. Not to you. I’m your Master now. Say it. I want to hear it from your lips.”
“Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”
She could hear him smile. She could feel his grin. It was a grin of victory.
“You’re really a very good girl,” he said, caressing her flaming hot bottom, her seething flesh. She could feel his erection against her waist. “But it’s time for you to show me what you do for your Master to make amends, to demonstrate your obedience and your devotion.” With a grip on her hair, he pulled her from his lap, setting her on her
feet. His jaw was hard, his eyes narrowed. “Turn around. Hands and knees, slave girl. And don’t you dare look back at me.”
Her heart was flip-flopping in her chest, but she instantly complied, in a way grateful that she could concentrate on the blades of grass below her, on feeling for the subtle pulls of the leash as he clipped it to her collar once more. “If you dare let your leash go loose, you’ll go back over my lap again, bad girl. And what I just gave you will be only a taste of what you having coming. Now go. Crawl!”
And she did, not knowing where to go, only obeying the pull – left then right, then right again. Right, then right again. Her breasts hurt as they swung wildly below her as she crawled frantically, faster than she ever had before. She no longer looked ahead of her, her vision a crazed fuzzy kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, nearly blinded as she was by her never-ending tears. Her breath came hard and fast as she obeyed, simple obedience, animal response, raw instinct taking over.
When she went the wrong way, he smacked her ass and she cried out, instantly following the correct direction of his leash-driven command. Again and again she failed. It was as if he was testing her, pushing her to her limits of obedience, showing her that he could be a very harsh Master indeed. At the end, she was sobbing, her ass white-hot with hurt.
And then he stopped her and she found that she was kneeling just outside the air car, her crate awaiting her on the ground next to it. She sat back on her heels, keeping her gaze down, hoping that he would simply usher her inside, the darkness of the enclosure like the welcoming arms of a mother at that point.
“I want your head on the ground. If those tits aren’t pressed to the grass, I’ll take a whip to your ass until it’s bleeding.”
She did it instantly, folding her arms under her head, sobbing even harder now, not knowing what she’d done, hoping that her abject obedience to any command he gave her would mollify him, would show how much she wanted to please him.
“Ass up, bad girl. I want that cunt in the air.”
Fingers tapped insistently at the plug. “Open it.”