Standing by her bed now, he leaned down and shook her shoulder, “brit, up.”
“Humm, sir,” she rolled over sleepily smiling.
“Up, slut.”
“Yes, sir,” she lazily drew herself from the bed, her smile turning into a frown.
“On your knees.”
She’d done this once already today, but he needed more, something fast. Her mouth opened wide for him, so his shaft could move deep down her throat. He grabbed for her raven hair and fucked her mouth, feeling a surge of passion roar through his system. He thought of kari as the tension in him built, but then the pictures changed to Emily. He threw her out of his mind, but she came to him again. Finally he forced his mind blank, as brit worked him with her lips and tongue.
“Yeeeesssss, bitch,” he seethed, and grunting spilled his seed into her mouth. She swallowed all of it and sat back on her heels afterwards looking up—still in her sleepy trance.
“Bind your wrists for the rest of the night, I’ll come get you in the morning.”
He played this game with her—didn’t have the guts to honestly keep her tied up all night alone, so compromise would have to do. The cuffs were simple ones from which she could easily extract her hands in an emergency. But for the purposes of his fantasy, she would keep them on until he told her she could release them—whether he called her in the morning, or came to free her himself. Because she was a good slave, she never deceived him. Though he might spend the night at home, brit also knew that he might be sleeping in the living room just outside her door.
Once she was bound as ordered, Justin tied her hands above her to the headboard. His thoughts became more convoluted. He wanted more. Bringing out his ropes, he cut away the straps of her nightgown with his pocketknife and tore the garment from her body leaving her naked. Her eyes widened with horror, seeing an expression in her master’s eyes she’d not seen in months. His play was often cold, bordering on ruthless, but those times were wrapped in the protection of his office. Though his cruelty could rule behind closed doors, the setting was buffered by the constraints of time and decorum appropriate for business.
When Justin Booker came to the apartment, he usually came for softer things, for moments of tenderness he would not share with her in the office. Now was different. Now he combed the darkness with an attitude she feared. Not in months, not in many months had she seen this kind of unearthly light in his brown eyes. It drove her to surrender, to fix on his cunning, cutting eyes, and follow his lead.
He dressed her torso in ropes, turning her pendulous breasts into two bulbous missiles with her nipple rings dangling from the center tips. He looped more thick hemp between her legs, and drew it tightly into her crotch, where it divided her plump labia exposing the throbbing clit between. Anchoring the ends of the rope at her waist, he drew another rope from the nearby cabinet of toys and tied her legs together at the ankles, attaching the end of this rope behind her at her waist. Her knees would remain bent the night long, her body trussed up and her mouth gagged—this was the last of his schemes: a rubber ballgag forced between her teeth and tied off behind her head so she could not force it out.
“Sleep, pretty one, sleep,” he said, sounding cold and bitter. There was something happening in his life. He never told brit these things, but she knew by the way he treated her. She was his whipping post of a fashion—and this was more chilling than all the times before. She was scared.
***
The computer screen blinked on. It was one a.m. and Dylan Kincaid was searching again. He liked the new one, kari, the one Justin Booker took from Michael Pitts. He never liked Pitts. kari had a good ‘scene’ face, looked a little cocky and cute even when she was playing at submissive? Playing at was a good term for it…. another of many cute ones who could practically tie themselves in knots, surrendering to the nothingness that seemed to absorb their souls. They were good for display… Justin probably knew this. But submissive—really submissive? kari had the core being of a radical woman and radical women weren’t submissive, they were experimenters. Dylan was looking for a woman who rarely graced the pages of the Guild’s website. She would have the look of an angel, an eye that was sharp, speculative and seductive. Her spirit was often withdrawn, although she would have an inner core of steel once finding her truth.
He would be patient. It had been a novelty to be without a personal slave… almost a month now since he dismantled the last relationship. A little lonely. A little lost. No one to vent to. No one to dwell on but this unknown phantom with no face… and yet her spirit was as clear to him as a cerulean sky after a hard rain disappeared. Oh, he always had his nan, but she was more of a domestic than a sexual slave. No, he’d be on the Net again tomorrow, seeking his perfect slave.
***
Justin had plans for kari the next day—probably sooner than she expected—or he originally planned—but he needed her now.
Emailing the message, he made it brief.
‘Your clothes will be ready for you at Trevor’s Tavern, you can dress there. I’ll meet you at nine tonight.’ Master JB
kari read the message, surprised to see one so soon from Justin Booker, though she warmed quickly, feeling a familiar ticklishness between her thighs.
Nine o’clock. That was easy. She had nothing else to do but be there for him. And why not? Why worry that he was already changing his plans; after all, he was the master, she the slave.
Slave. The word was like ice cream she savored on a hot mid-summer afternoon. She wondered about this master, unsure what made him tick. He was a schemer, full of plans, endlessly working hard to take her to the edges of their shared fantasies. She was certain that she wouldn’t be bored with Justin Booker. ‘Your clothes will be ready for you…’ She read the words again wondering what kind of slut he’d make of her tonight.
Trevor’s Tavern was a front for a softcore S&M club…soft core because they didn’t allow overt nudity, sex or heavy sceneing. She liked the place because the people were clean—the upright kinds who were safe players. When she wasn’t collared by a master, she roamed the joint finding good Doms to take her down. She trusted the place and trusted Justin Booker because he was meeting her there. Maybe he’d been a little weird during their last meeting—probably just a mood she’d have to live with if she wanted him.
Trevor Jones was at the bar. kari gave him a big hug and a kiss on the lips, snuggling her hips against his for just a second.
“You have something for me?” she asked. “From Justin Booker?”
“You’re his now?” He raised one eyebrow, leveling her with a wary stare.
“Think so,” she chimed in sweetly. “He’s a little vague yet, and there’s been no formal agreement—no collaring, but we’re very close.”
“If nothing else, he’s inventive,” Trevor acknowledged.
“What do you mean, ‘if nothing else’?”
Trevor shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s like he’s not all there.”
“That’s the mystery I like.” She skewed her nose kittenishly, while the man smirked.
“That’s the truth about all you broads.”
“Submissives, Trevor, submissives.”
“Yeah, submissive, when you want to be.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?” She looked terribly hurt.
“Why shouldn’t I believe you?” His eyes twinkled like Christmas. “I make a lot off you. Here, try this on.” He grabbed a bag from underneath the counter.
“You’re as kinky as the rest of us and you know it,” kari declared.
“Yeah, when I find a good woman.”
kari snatched the bag from him, retreating to the dressing area off the women’s lounge.
Trevor’s Tavern was dark inside, chrome tables lit with candles, and mystical synthetic music playing behind the conversation and drink. It was a little odd for a tavern, but genuine Trevor all the way: his vision, his design, and enough people who liked the mood to keep him in business. The tavern set the stage for
what went on in the private club…which was always interesting to see, varying in character every night he opened the back room to his private paying customers.
Justin Booker’s choice of clothes for kari were meager, but exquisitely designed—a simple catsuit and four inch heels. The black lace stretched tightly over her body as she pulled into the elastic material, showing nearly everything behind a dusky film—her ass cheeks, her breasts, her crotch where her shaved pubes puckered the fabric. Her four rings shined through when they caught the light. This much exposure had to be just shy of too far for Trevor’s backroom… but he’d seen it and he hadn’t complained.
Taking the backdoor out of the ladies room, she entered the chrome filled, strobe lit salon prancing on the four-inch heels, eyes scouting out the company. Infested with swingers tonight was her immediate thought. They were dressed well for the backroom, but nothing except tourists looking for a few lewd thrills. She spotted Sir Malcom, the man who’d almost been her Dom before Michael Pitts. He had too many slaves now to bring her into his fold. How sad. She’d always regretted her first choice of masters—Sir Malcom would have been the best. More than just a master—a master and a spiritual advisor. He liked to love and befriend his slaves as much as he conquered them. He knew how to combine mastery and familiarity in a curious sort of combination that actually worked. Most masters were too one-sided to make arrangements like that function. They needed masks and posturing to hide pieces of themselves… they were too aloof to create mystery. Sir Malcom’s mystery was natural to him. kari thought he had a very deep soul… but when she was just twenty-one her crotch chose for her, the younger, sexier looking master, Michael Pitts.
“You belong in the corner,” Malcom said approaching kari when he spotted her in her catsuit and heels.
“I do, sir?” Everyone called him Sir. “And why is that?”
“Because Justin didn’t want you socializing before he got here, which he knew you would do.”
“You’ve spoken with Sir?”
“I thought you knew we were intimate friends,” he smiled—like this was a joke, but she couldn’t quite tell for sure.
“How would you have me pose, Sir Malcom?”
“How would you pose for this master; you’re his, not mine. Take to the corner…” he turned and pointed to where the back walls joined in a darkened space, “and figure it out.”
A rush of cold thrill darted through her body in a flash. The command would override her own plans to socialize. She missed this crowd of players. Having spotted a half-dozen friends, the disappointment was real. However, the submissive thrill, steadily gaining on her more aggressive nature, was winning out.
She thought Sir Malcolm had left. But then she heard him growl from behind, and she felt his hot breath on her ear. “Don’t make it hard on yourself.” There was something powerful and electric behind the frightening delivery of his message. Taking off for the far corner of the room, kari knelt facing out. Sitting back on her heels, she grabbed for a slave ring above her head… this was a signature slave pose in Trevor’s club. The pose of waiting, adopted by uncollared or unattended slaves until they were given a protecting master for the night, or their own master arrived. She remained yielding while the air was prickly with social jabbering. She let her head fall slightly toward her shoulder and arched her back, which pushed her breasts proudly outward. Her arms would ache before Justin Booker would finally retrieve her, but she was determined to maintain the pose regardless of her discomfort. It would be a sign of her sincerity.
kari remained in place, arms holding the simple stretch while the minutes ticked by so slowly she was sure this interval alone would never end. There were other slaves with her now. One of Malcom’s, tib, and lara, Sir Newton’s girl. kari had heard of her but they’d never met. They wouldn’t meet now, but share similar spaces, breathing the same air, while struggling to maintain the same increasingly grueling pose.
At kari’s right, tib, a statuesque submissive with brick colored bangs and braids, was leather clad in a black halter and hip-hugging skirt. The broad collar around her neck gleamed as the strobe lights pulsed, catching the shiny studs that circled the leather band. To her left Sir Newton’s lara was noticeably barefoot with rings on her toes and slave bells around her ankles. She wore a long velvet dress, which hugged the curves of her generous, full-bodied loveliness. It took some effort for lara to grab the ring above and hold as tightly as her master ordered. However, she affected the pose despite her discomfort, lips trembling softly, eyes moistening. She was being punished, kari concluded. For such a malleable and deferential creature, this could be hell. For kari, it was no more than a simple adherence to the rule. Her new master would come for her soon—so she believed.
After twenty minutes holding the posture, kari fell into a semi-conscious state of letting go. Even the activity taking place before her—the costumes, the unusual pairings of masters and slaves, the conversation—held no interest when her body began to ache. Better that her mind escape for a time. She drifted off, while lara remained vigilant in her sorrow looking for Sir Newton to notice and have pity, and tib became defiant, but vacant too. kari could feel her rebellious energy, and thought that any minute the woman would bolt. This seemed unlikely for a slave belonging to Sir Malcom—though the man was good at besting bitches, a specialty of his: hardcore women who weren’t really submissive at all, but occasionally needed to submit for their mental health. kari suspected that tib was one of these. When she was still with Michael Pitts, she’d seen tib walking through one of the clubs on Sir Malcolm’s leash, hobbled so she could only take tiny steps. She was quite a sight, frustrated and humiliated tottering behind her master desperately trying to keep up with his easygoing pace. The man remained amused while tib’s embarrassment increased as everyone in the club stopped to watch her faltering performance.
Justin Booker’s hand was warm resting on her shoulder. She woke, looking up into his eyes. Taking her hand, he drew her to her feet as though she were a cloud lifting off toward heaven.
“Arms ache?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You need the pain.” He was unusually grim… offering her that odd and vicious expression he’d scared her with the day before.
Justin pulled the weary slave along faster than her feet wanted to move—her mind flashed back to the hobbled tib… this was hardly as bad as her ordeal, yet kari’s feet could hardly work. The heels were much too high, she was lightheaded, almost dizzy and her stomach wanted to wrench. She didn’t understand why.
“Sir, can we stop?” she asked him.
Justin stopped for ten seconds, turned to her, saying coldly, “No,” then tugged her through a door, down a dimly lit hallway, and through another door where a stairway led to the building’s basement. She’d heard of the dungeon in Trevor’s place but thought it was just gossip.
As she descended the stairs, thick smoke and dank odors wafted from the subterranean domain. A creepy feeling starting at the base of her spine tiptoed up her back to her neck, like a spider crawling slowly looking for a kill.
“I’m going to fall,” she said, just before she reached the bottom.
“I have you, slave,” Justin Booker answered, holding one arm tightly in his fingers.
“I don’t want to be here,” kari didn’t even know the sound of her voice when she spoke, or why she blurted out the truth.
Justin stopped, “What was that?”
“Take me out of here.” A sudden panic made her want to run.
“No,” he said. “You agreed to the night, you’ll stay.”
Yes, what was she thinking? Of course, she’d stay. Of course she wanted this, she always did. Didn’t she?
Pushing her to the bare stone wall, his hands were quick to have her wrists in iron manacles. Her ankles came next so she was bound to the wall, pubis pressed into a stone that jutted from the surface and made her ass stick out like a sacrifice.
She yelped when the master st
epped back and swung his whip, laying a first blow across her barely clothed buttocks, immediately tearing through the thin catsuit. She swallowed her cry. Justin backed off the next few blows, delivering these with a delicate artistry to leave a pattern of small welts that might last some hours, if not a day or two. Her body engaged now with her crotch warm and her pubis wriggling on the cold hard stone looking for a way to get off.
There were others in the basement, coming out of the surrounding darkness… men, maybe masters, with single tail whips and floggers. They worked her backside in tandem, never letting her rest, trying her patience and fortitude for submissive silence, finally generating a terrible yelp and a passionate, “Please, sir.”
They did back off. How surprising!
Justin Booker was at her back, his face an inch from hers, his hot breath on her cheek—like Sir Malcolm’s had been. Sir Malcolm’s felt human, Justin Booker’s breath was different… chilling. He grabbed her hair, what he could of it and pulled her head back with the mean force of his eyes hitting hers squarely in the pupils. “If you want me, slave kari, you’ll take this now. I will collar you. I’ll keep you here, tied for the next two weeks. You’ll be beaten every day, fed table scraps, forced to your knees so that they’ll be callused by the time I let you out. I will come here and use you any time in any way I choose. If you want me, that’s the price you pay, the service you render me to prove your merit. Can you live with that, or are you too chicken? You told me you were tough, you were submissive, the truest kind. I trust you. Now’s your chance to prove yourself. What will it be?”
“S-sir, I-I.” He gripped her short blonde hair so tightly in his fist that she felt a painful throbbing in her temples.
“I think you’re a washout…” he jerked her head, let go with a shove, and then began ripping the catsuit from her body. Once he had the lace in shreds and her back and buttocks naked, he moved away and started the punishment again… this time by himself, stinging her thighs, her hips, her tender sides and her shoulders with stunning blows. None were too difficult for her to handle—this was no crueler than what she’d known in other scenes. However, the attitude of the master frightened her. The tempestuous man beneath his comely mask was taking a twisted, frightening form she could not trust.
His Latest Acquisition Page 6