by Laurie Mann
Rock’s bed beckoned and taunted as I lay on rug, my hands retied, at the foot of his bed. Pussy seemed determined to deny sleep. At least the pins had gone but what of tomorrow? Terms and disobedience to be dealt with. The way Rock snores I’ll never get to sleep.
Showered while still tied, drenched with freezing spray that paralysed my lungs. A rough flannel clumsily rubbed the dried pizza from my face, at last. Floor was cold as I listened to kettle boil. My job to make coffee. Why’s Rock ignoring me? Not good enough? Abused, enjoyed that but now ignored. Rock’s so different from Madam with his new ways to excite. Planned or not? Doesn’t matter.
Followed meekly, no choice really, the collar and lead removed that. Strange how such demeaning behaviour, so opposite to usual, excites like it does. Must get a grip, can’t allow pussy to jeopardise my concentration. Terms and conditions? Must concentrate.
Knelt before his computer on a chair, calves tightly bound to thighs. Like a chicken, trussed and pecking at keys with a pencil clenched between my teeth. Prodding away at my own contract - dictated.
Hair to be grown long and worn free. Trousers and tights forbidden. Stockings when demanded only. Not too bad, journal, especially as only applicable when together.
Peck, peck. Back ached and jaw tired of clutching the pencil. More rules, applicable at all times. Daily report of behaviour, diet, mealtimes, tea-breaks, toilet, even thoughts. Full toilet at 8.00am, urinate only at 1.00pm, 6.00pm and bedtime. No other times. No excuses. What when I’m at Madam’s? Lie in the report and risk being caught? What then? Pussy steamed between my clamped thighs. I now know why he said I didn’t understand. Nothing like Madam’s idea of slavery or, my imaginings, come to that.
“Do you accept these conditions?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then you have just handed control of your private life to me. Your sole reason for existence is for my pleasure. You may, of course walk away at any time. You will only walk away once though, there cannot be a way back if you do. Any questions?”
“Yes, please.”
“Go on then.”
“My toilet, do you really mean at precisely the appointed times and no other?”
“Yes.”
“But....”
“But nothing. You will find in time that your bladder and bowels become accustomed to the timings. The body is really quite good at regularity, given initial training. Anything else?”
“Mealtimes. You want every meal itemised?”
“Yes. I am happy with your shape at present, but should it change then I’ll have to regulate your diet for you. I can’t do that without detailed knowledge of your taste. Anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
“Do you still want to stay?”
“Yes, please. But....”
“No buts. Either stay or go. Which is it?”
“Stay, please.”
Journal, what have I said, done? I can’t possibly keep all the rules, can I? Give my entire life to another. Then there’s the time, the reports with my thoughts all documented. It’s all too much, I can’t possible live up to his expectations. Fantasy is fine, Madam excites better than imagination. Rock, well, Rock means to actually own, really own I mean, totally! Even when he’s away I’ll be doing his bidding. Complete ownership, no respite. Not ready for that, am I? He’s what I’ve always dreamed of, only more so. Can’t let him down - me down. Must try to live up to his expectations. He’ll understand, won’t he? Get used to regular toilet, he said. Maybe, doubt it though. What about meetings and outings? Look forward to days out with Rock. Orgasm only when he says. Not only mustn’t but presumably that means must when he says, as well. Whenever he says. It’s so exciting, so scary. A whole new life to challenge.
It felt strange. I am his totally but we were out as a couple. Just an ordinary couple and after all that’s happened. I say out, but, journal, a collector’s fayre. Antiques, porcelain, collectibles, it all sounded so promising. Should have known, a crowded hall with pushing and shoving. Row upon row of stalls, all with postcards. A few collectibles, pottery and the like but it was the postcards that drew like magnets. Always the same, first transport, then military and industrial, all neatly categorised in little boxes and he ignored the rest. I just followed meekly, the fashion, town and country scenes all looked interesting but Rock was gone before I got the chance to look. Seen what he wanted and he was off to the next.
“What are you looking for, Rock?”
“Lorries, first war mainly and Scammells, but any are worth a look.”
At least now I knew, I could help but at least a dozen stalls and nothing yet.
“What about this one?” I almost shrieked, so pleased to have found what he was looking for, pleased to be of help. Rock inspected the line of lorries with the drivers posed in uniform.
“That’s nice, people alongside, usually they’re in front and hiding the lorry.” He checked the price, then haggled from ten to nine pounds. TEN pounds, for a postcard, can you believe it?
“You really paying that much?”
“Yes, it’s useable and they don’t turn up that often, it’s not expensive for the condition. Well done.” Felt the warm glow then. Rock was pleased with me.
And so it went on, all afternoon. I did my bit, queued for the coffee and helped look without success. Just an ordinary couple. So different. Yesterday I was his slave, now just a friend.
The tables crowded together with noisy chatter about finds and purchases. Rock studied his cards, studied my face.
“Can’t be a slave all the time, Princess.”
Blushed. Wondered about eavesdroppers with the tables so close and crowded.
“You’ll be expected to fetch and carry, dress accordingly and behave yourself, of course. But, slavery only works within a normal relationship. You can think about that while you’re fetching another coffee. Don’t see why I should queue, not when I’ve a slave anyway.”
Couldn’t help speculating about how many people heard and knew why I was waiting, not for the coffee, but really why.
Monday 22nd February
Journal, the time drags. Madam has sent another invitation and, although it’s not for two weeks, pussy’s already purring. A birthday party was all the tape said and I’ll be collected as usual. Madam’s secrecy, as ever, has ignited the imagination and two weeks seems so very long.
Rock’s away, been delayed and won’t be home ‘til after Madam’s assignment. That’s good really as I can’t find a way to tell him yet, but it’s so lonely when he’s not here, especially after finding his return will be late.
My fingers struggled with the overly secure package, delivered by special courier, before hundreds of squashy white granules escaped to all quarters as the box finally broke open. Bits stuck to my arms as I rummaged and found three plastic bags containing beautifully crafted, but grotesque pewter condiments. Huge conical salt and pepper pots with nipples on their peaks and a sauce boat, bulbous and standing on obscenely elongated nipple feet.
The enclosed note from the mad scientist said he’d made one hundred sets, with one for me as thanks. Strange, thinking of all those tables with my breasts on them. Splendid adornments, but not for my table.
Monday 7th March
The wind bit, despite my warm coat, while I waited for the car, which glided to my side as the church bells rang out in the still morning air. Blindfolded, but hands free, the journey seemed short, ending in a modern, luxuriously appointed room. Madam’s clients all seem so rich, but then perhaps only the excessively rich can indulge Madam’s prostitutes. Because, journal, that’s all we are. Blackmail, coercion, free will, however you couch it we’re nothing more than Madam’s unpaid prostitutes. Oh, Rock, despite the excitement, you must rescue me from Madam’s clutches soon.
“Good. You’ve arrived.
Undress, let’s look at you.”
I stripped before the intense eyes of large woman with cropped hair and sallow skin. Always feels worse in front of a woman.
“Shaved, the Master will like that.”
Her stubby fingers with chewed nails pulled my hair into a tight chignon tied with black ribbon.
“A present for his birthday boy,” answered my silent question. I’m too experienced now for other than mute acceptance, but it was nice to know what awaited. A wide and stiff collar was buckled and locked in place. My arms were twisted behind me and folded into a leather bag strapped to my collar. Shoes were buckled at my ankles with heels so high that they forced me precariously onto my toes.
“I’ll collect you when the preparations are complete,” she said as door shut, leaving me to totter, convinced that toppling was inevitable. It seemed like hours, teetering on the brink, hot with effort and unable to relax, or even stand still. Pussy throbbed and begged the release I was unable to provide. Scared but excited, it’s always the same - hate the pain, love the excitement. Like cornered prey to pussy’s lust.
“Ready now.”
The same woman clipped a leash to my collar and I followed the huge swaggering hips, my breasts bouncing self consciously into a large dining hall. A young boy, eighteen maybe, sat at the table dressed in a crimson toga with gold braid. I say table, for want of better description, except possibly human hammock. I could only stare in horror at the poor girl spread face down before me. Feet spread wide to two posts, wrists secured to a third. Stretched so tight her back barely bowed, the strain on her tortured limbs obvious. Hands and feet had turned black, her torso red and soaked while her head hung limply, her agony muffled by the huge rubber brick strapped in her mouth. Snakes writhed beneath her skin as spasm after spasm wracked her rigid body. I could only imagine the feeling of joints being torn apart as gravity took its toll. A young body, lithe and athletic. Even the blindfold and gruesome distortion of her mouth could not hide her beauty. What’s she done to deserve this? Her back was set for dinner like a neatly laid table and the young boy, sat between her legs, fingering her pussy, her buttocks his place mat.
Our collars were linked by my leash and I could only imagine her anguish as my teetering gently tugged her neck, which must have added to her misery. Her nose, protruding between gag and mask, looked familiar. My twin from The Tannery? No, too slender.
The stumpy legs of a steaming tureen dented her skin. A bowl, filled by a pretty waitress, turned the initial flinch into ineffectual writhing as the heat seeped into her taut buttocks. The unmistakable scent of sex, mine and hers, mingled with the chicken soup as the boy continued to finger her pussy while he slurped and dripped onto her wincing moons.
Delicious looking silver salvers of steaming rice, vegetables and meats were placed on her back, causing agonised writhing despite the tightness of her bonds. Who is she? I licked my lips, mouth as dry as my eyes were moist and breathed deep as I savoured the food and arousal, mine - hers. Boy’s? He looked more interested in the dishes.
Fruits, fresh and exotic with prickly skins, provided new torment. I got whipped for losing a race, so what on earth had she done? The coffee pot scalded her clenching buttocks into a barely audible scream and the boy casually unwrapped a cigar. Surely not? Too young. He stroked her engorged pussy before he slid the torpedo into her cauldron, turning her groans into moans as the tobacco leaf absorbed her copious juices.
Teetering, I followed his beckoning until the leash pulled tight, my pussy within his reach. Young, clumsy fingers tormented while I watched and wobbled as he used her as an ashtray. He flicked the ash, studied the end, then rounded the ash to a point on her twitching anus. More puffs and he idly singed her pubes while his fingers still excited me. Can’t cum. Knowing I mustn’t only excited even more.
Dragged to the wall, the boy’s knees roughly spread my thighs before his rampant pole plundered pussy. Hard, fast, youthful eagerness defeated prowess so he quickly spent. Pussy welcomed his gushing juices but thankfully too soon for my own release. Rock said no and he means it. Pussy must learn to live with frustration, but it’s so very hard.
Rejuvenated as only youth can be, he bent me over, his strong hands grasped my hips and pulled me onto his manhood. Hot, pulsating thrusts drove to distraction until I closed my mind. Couldn’t let pussy win or Rock’s sure to find out. Trouble then. Sweat tickled my nose, lungs begged for air with urgent gasps and pussy mocked my efforts at restraint. He took longer this time and my climax neared until a sudden grunt and at last his deep thrust pumped more thick goo just moments before pussy vented frustration. Saved again, though pussy ached and despised my denial.
Stars filled my head as I teetered on aching feet. He calmly re-lit his cigar and the smoke stung my watery eyes while pussy revelled in my misery before he fondled himself stiff. Big, for a young boy, with its purple head swollen again.
My cheeks were forced apart as his hot plum nudged my anus. Pierced then plugged, every thrust tore at my ring. Pussy was enraged, wanted his cock for herself and loved my degradation. Her nose, whose nose? Sure I recognised her nose. Stretched tighter as he neared the end and his juices felt hot inside. Reprieved, but pussy hurt with frustration.
A large man, dark swarthy skin, forties, ape-like legs and chest appeared, his huge pussy filler bobbing and swaying as he walked. He lifted me onto a table and spread my overhanging legs making me cry inside while pussy oozed delight. I tried in vain to deny pussy the thoughts that excited so and to ignore the stifling scent of arousal. Hairy arms hooked under my knees, forcing them to my chest, before I was plugged with hot throbbing flesh. Long slow thrusts penetrated deeply, every thrust stretched and drove towards the inevitable climax. Every stroke that pussy pleaded to be harder, I hoped would be the last.
His balls slapped my buttocks as he drove his rod deep with increasingly urgent stabs. Fingernails dug into me as my legs were pressed hard to my chest and my bruised womb absorbed his juices. My own climax was held on brink, the conflict intense, while pussy craved the release I fought so desperately to deny, to .... obey Rock. Must obey, Rock’s more important, so pussy must learn.
Rolled over, I was prodded from behind. Fought the backward lunge as pussy fought to be filled but every squelching thrust delighted, expelled the air from my lungs. Screwed my eyes tight, the only way as my nails scraped the table. Mustn’t let it happen but couldn’t stop it as my legs trembled, cries trapped in my throat and sweat stung my eyes. It was happening, roller coaster waves aimed for pussy, determined to smash my resolve. NO. NO. NO. Don’t. Can’t. Mustn’t.
His rod hardened, his thrusting quickened and pussy sensed. Suddenly he was gone and my hips involuntarily bucked as pussy fought to impale again. The relief, mine not pussy’s, overwhelmed. I’d survived, only just - but survived. No need to lie to Rock.
Pussy was filled again, slowly, deeply, whispering pleasure awake. More torment, more pleasure, just let it happen, relax, just let the euphoria flow. NO. Concentrate, fight, ignore pussy’s pleading. Take pleasure from denial. Yes - pussy betrays often enough, now it’s my turn.
Trembled deep inside as the earthquake began its destructive passage. Strong hands crushed my nipples to the table. Pain encouraged pussy, sucked the tremors into her grasp. I was finally lost as pussy reined in the quakes and soaked up the pleasure. NO. Buttocks and pussy clenched and tightened around the rampaging flesh that so excited. Idea! Draw the sting, drain his cock and fill pussy before the quake shatters. Deny pussy. Must.
Juice, hot, thick and gushing spattered my womb as pussy sensed disappointment and battled, determined to triumph before the means were drained. Pumping lasted forever but I fought pussy, didn’t allow the pleasure. It was agony while the tide ebbed and frustrated pussy’s venomous intent. But the tide always returns. No matter, I survived this time, be easier next time. Denied pussy and now I know I can, will aga
in.
Tugging awoke me from my sobbing stupor and I blindly followed my leash and was allowed to dress. Had to concentrate to defeat pussy enticing my fingers. Orgasm is Rock’s - not mine. Oh, Rock, why did you impose such constraint! The more I know I can’t have the more I want. Can’t live like this. Not Rock and Madam. Madam, just the thought, creates the need that Rock denies.
Wednesday 9th March
Journal, it’s terrible. Difficult in the office and pussy still begs relief but I’m pleased with my willpower. Can’t concentrate though, not even when Lisa phoned in sick and gave me extra work to do. Phoned Rock but he’s still delayed - weather apparently. So pleased with myself, I almost told him I’d denied pussy.
“A call for you, Frankie. She wouldn’t leave her name.”
“Thank you, I’ll take it.”
“Francesca.”
“Madam?” Panic. Why at work?
“I’m disappointed. You will be collected Saturday morning.”
Gone, click then silence. Saturday? Never Saturday - always Sunday. Disappointed, why? I serviced the boy and his father. What will she do? Torture or use my diary to ruin. Madam’s vindictive so I’m going to suffer for sure and I remembered the girl, strung so tight. Her nose?
Time dragged, work, supermarket, housework. All failed to lift the dark shadow of Saturday. Pussy was permanently excited and constantly lured my fingers to ease the frustration. Sleep was impossible, my mind wouldn’t - dared not - rest lest pussy seized the opportunity and caused yet more trouble. Trouble enough with Madam without pussy causing trouble with Rock as well.
Monday 14th March
Friday night was even more agitated than ever so I was up early, bathed and dressed. A loose woollen top and navy trousers. No panties, despite the cold, Rock says no and I will need to draw strength from him, I’m sure. Need to feel close to him. My heart pounded great lumps into my throat as the car drew near.