“You’re doing well, Em. I’d suggest that you don’t think now… it will be much easier on you if you simply follow the words. Don’t even consider them commands. Think only of what brings you here and how obedience and trust are at the heart of what you do. Your master understands you, remember that.”
She turned and walked away, leaving Emily to herself.
She called me “em.” Emily wondered why.
Alone and waiting, Justin Booker’s redhead wife looked calm at first glance, though a trembling anticipation kept her wary of every ticking second. She cringed at every movement around her, though for at least five minutes no one in the restaurant saw her sitting with her trench coat open revealing her two proud and naked assets as if exposing her breasts were a natural thing to do.
Feeling a hand resting on her shoulder, she jumped with fright.
“Take it easy, Em, and close your coat.”
Moving into her field of vision, Justin’s presence eased her. She breathed relieved and followed his order as he sat down across the table.
He’d been at the back of the restaurant watching her every fluttering move. Taking an unseen side door, he entered the restaurant from the street so he could approach her from behind as if he were just arriving.
“I’m impressed,” he said with raised eyebrows and a kinder look than he’d given her since she made her stunning announcement. “Or perhaps, you’re ready to back out?”
“No, Sir.”
“Tell me how you feel.”
“How I feel?” She was puzzled, but thoughtful.
“What thoughts have taken over your mind, what fear, what excitement. I need to know.”
“I’m scared, yes,” she finally admitted. “But more aroused than I’ve ever been in my life.”
Justin could feel that in his cock with her energy recklessly leaping out at him.
“What else?”
She hesitated. “I’m not exactly sure how to say this…” she struggled for words, “you took away my clothes, my purse, my identity… you’re calling me em as if that were my name…” She stopped abruptly.
“And?”
“I’m panicked and my body’s going crazy. But at the same time, I feel so bereft—so lost. I can’t describe the feeling.”
“Good. That’s the way you’re supposed to feel. As time goes on, the trappings of your life will fall away, the things you know, your expectations, everything down to the physical forms you count on will disappear. It can be no other way. Slaves own nothing, they are owned, property, and nothing more.”
“I understand that, Sir. And it’s exactly what I want.”
“Yes, you understand with your mind—it was always quick to comprehend. But I need to take you beyond your intellectual understanding and make it real—until you feel your slaveness in your heart of hearts and in your gut and deep within your crotch.”
“You’re feeding a hungry child, sir.”
“Perhaps.” He was still too in awe of her to believe that she could, in so short a time, find a submissive woman inside the façade of a normal life. Her words were right, and the intonation of her voice was perfectly clear. Even her attitude breathed surrender of the most profound kind. He was suspect still, doubt bred after his last experience with the crafty slave kari. Certainly he’d expected too much of that young woman, but he’d also read the signals of surrender and submission incorrectly. She was a slave by choice, but not the submissive woman he’d been tricked into believing she was. “I will ask some difficult things of you. Your obedience is necessary. What you’ve managed tonight has encouraged me.” He considered his plans for her, how much the idea of double penetration persuaded him to continue with her. There could be no greater test for a woman who had once balked so easily. In ten years, he’d tried twice to take her anally without success either time. It was more than failure that made those moments miserable ones. The first time, a shocking pain seemed to rip her ass apart when he tried penetrating the dark channel. The aftermath was hardly better as she lay crying and contorted, bundled up with pain. She escaped the attempt bitter; resolved never to try it again. Two years later, Justin convinced her to attempt another breach after preparing her with lots of soothing cream and his carefully inserted fingers. However, just at the moment of impaling, her body went rigid and she shuddered miserably, never managing to relax.
After that, Justin didn’t try again.
He could imagine how she’d recoil in fear once his plans were known.
“It won’t be pleasant, Em,” was all he could say.
“I understand, sir,” she said.
“No, I don’t think you understand at all, but you will.” He liked seeing her shudder in anticipation. “I’ll be sending you to another master.”
“And who is that?”
“You don’t know him. But you’ll answer to him as you would to me. You’ll obey him as you obey me.”
As they spoke, Philippe brought their meal in five courses: a mushroom appetizer, fish, the entrée—roast duck—salad and dessert. With her stomach too jittery to handle the rich foods, Emily ate sparingly, although she absorbed the flavors as she would the touch of a lover’s hand; and words her husband spoke.
“Yes, sir.” She answered every comment, thought or instruction in the same respectful way.
When he had no more to tell her, they were silent until the meal was over.
“Open your coat now,” Justin ordered as Philippe was taking away their dessert dishes. Emily shivered—afraid and remembering how she was dressed—as if she had time to forget that she was naked underneath the coat. Her memory shocked her back to reality, and to the nervous trembling that began this curious journey.
As she opened the coat, she bowed her head and breathed in sensuously, letting her body feel the gaze of Philippe’s lusty eyes. The aging chef was still a handsome man. Despite the grey hair and wrinkled face, his eyes twinkled like a merry elf. He had the touch of a gentlemen and a passionate lover.
“She is beautiful… and this hair…” He ran his fingers over Emily’s soft red pageboy as if she were a sacred treasure. “And she’s offered herself to you—what an unimaginable thing! I revel in that mystery every time I hear of such a one as this throwing off her liberty to become a slave.”
“You are a romantic, Philippe,” Justin retorted.
“What else is there but the romance and the wonder of what we do?”
“And your little bet?”
“She’s in the kitchen now chopping onions for the love it.” His face shriveled for an instant, his brows knit. “I should beat her ass, though. She dreams too much and screwed up my seafood order. I have not had a decent lobster in two weeks.”
“Then you’d better punish her.”
“Ah!” his face brightened again, as he took another glance at Emily’s bounty of flesh. “In time. Now, I’m lucky to look at this pretty sight.” He sighed. “And I would look more, but alas…” The doorbell tinkled with a party of six entering the restaurant. “And there’s more to come tonight. I’ll leave you now.”
“Cover yourself,” Justin immediately chimed in, seeing one of Philippe’s new patrons make their way to the back of the room.
Emily tied the sash this time… knowing that they would be leaving the restaurant soon. She wasn’t wrong. Justin was anxious to move on with his business finished for the night.
***
Dylan Kincaid sifted through dozens of new pictures, screening the slaves who’d made application to the Guild. Most were acceptable, only a few giving him reason to question their Doms and masters. Keeping an eye out for his perfect slave, he poured through photograph after photograph, many of them grainy reproductions, or poorly scanned images of women in unflattering poses.
He noted the posting from Justin Booker, expecting the lovely, shorthaired blonde to appear on the scene, and surprised to find a few unusual shots of a sensuous redhead.
Justin called her em. A simple name to remember.
It only took one glance at the vague photographs of the woman in a khaki trench coat to understand what he was seeing. Yes, there was that certain look. And she was daring, sitting alone in a restaurant, undoubtedly on command, the coat open, her thighs, her middle and breasts bare to any eye that looked. Dylan’s crotch began to warm and his imagination spring to life. Pulling up his reply screen, he began to draft an email to Justin Booker.
Chapter Six
Three days later
Emily’s day at the institute went easily by until midday when she expected Justin for lunch. She thought they’d eat at Lagerfields, but he had other ideas.
“em,” he nodded like one of the starched professors from the university who came to gather data.
“Yes, sir,” she answered quietly—there were people around.
“Give me your purse.”
She looked at him nonplused, and when he didn’t explain, she reached for her desk drawer and withdrew the black leather bag. The room cleared of people in the interim and he spoke his mind, laying out instructions it took some will to remember well.
“I’ll be keeping this, your identification, your credit cards, and will give you cash when you need it along with appropriate instructions. As long as you’re still employed, I’ll take you to work or drop you at the bus stop. If you like, you can pack your lunch and eat in the commissary.”
“And how will I get home?”
“I’ll swing by if it’s convenient for me, otherwise you can use public transportation. It will serve you well, em, afford you distance from your former life and give you a means to extricate yourself from the rituals that defined your days. That was your former life, the present one you’ve chosen will have a different feel and a different look.
“Yes, sir.”
“Tonight’s the first session with your trainer.” Justin handed her an envelope. “There’s enough for bus fare and an address.”
“Trainer?”
“A dominant master skilled in many areas of the sexual sadomasochistic scene.”
“Yes, I know what a trainer is. But I don’t understand why you won’t train me yourself.”
“Some things are best handled by an impartial party. I’ve asked him to prepare you for certain services to me, where I think his detachment will assist your progress. I know you may not understand now what that means, but you will shortly. Do as he says. Obey him as if you were taking commands from me. Pay attention, em. Every detail, every nuance of the night you spend with him, memorize the moods, remember the feelings and allow yourself to respond physically. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, though she was completely mystified by the last few minutes and this mysterious assignment.
He was gone, leaving Emily alone again in the lonely stacks, physically excited and at the same time filled with dread.
She would have hoped to meet this man with Justin at her side; though she’d come to understand her husband/master as a minimalist in his role. He gave her no more than she needed, and perhaps more than she deserved. After all, she was not his wife now as much as she was his slave. As a master, he was a much more ordered man than he was a husband. His cold side shined like polished ice and his touch was chilling—even as it warmed her sexual insides with a certain fire.
After reading the instructions in Justin’s note, Emily went back to work, though her world seemed blurred and disconnected. Her mind could hardly make sense of the research inventory on her computer screen, of the stack of new entries for the files. She drifted through the next hour or two accomplishing little; and with every stray thought, her mind grabbed at another picture spawned from her fertile imagination. She quit early, deciding to walk half the distance to the address on the card. Her head cleared as her eyes rested on the quiet neighborhoods where she walked, and when it was time to get on with her appointment, she caught the next bus going in that direction.
Though she had calmed in the serene interval between her job and Justin’s orders, her quiet failed as soon as she climbed inside the bright blue and white city bus. Her memory flashed to the day before, in the taxi, riding in nothing but trench coat and red high heels to Philippe’s French Grill. Instantly, her body quickened as she realized what she was doing now, giving herself to another man—a trainer. The name seemed shrill and grim. Her body was no longer hers, her mind no more a function of her desire, but instead a tool for Justin’s use. These truths appeared to her…a knowingness born from placing herself in the odd circumstances of sexual slavery; appearing now as if the knowledge had been waiting in the wings of a stage she finally had the courage to play upon.
Her insides were all askew on the ten minute drive; her calm mind aflutter again with outrageous pictures straight from her imagination, inspired by Internet websites where the crudest and most flagrant fantasies breathed real life, and her own perverse lust.
***
Emily sat in the foyer, on a straight-backed chair, primly waiting to be called. The maid—this master’s servant/slave was as kind as Philippe’s hostess had been the night before. This was encouraging for a woman afraid of her own thoughts and the immediate emerging future.
The unnamed trainer’s brownstone house was elegant and as frightening as her dreams. The dark and polished woodwork, the thick upholstered chairs, and the damask drapery at the formal windows, all augmented a feeling in her of smallness and insignificance in the face of those who controlled her.
Emily’s chair seat was prickly against her bare ass cheeks, as if it were intended to put her at attention. She’d been going naked underneath her skirt since Justin disrobed her in the institute library days before. The decision had been a natural one she did almost without thinking. He’d said that slavery would change how she thought of herself and the way she lived now. The change was happening now in subtle ways that came on her almost without her realizing, affecting every small moment of her day.
They had lived a quiet and apprehensive existence since their marriage changed its substantive form. At home, Justin’s mood seemed unusually brisk, but he asked of her no more than he usually did. She believed he was still responding to the change himself, the change in his thinking and the effect that her slavery had on a marriage that was no longer as important as the way their lives were altering to fit the reality of who they were.
Hearing a door open, Emily’s mind returned to the room, as she watched a handsome, blond-haired man dressed in jeans and a starched white shirt escort several men to his front door.
Spotting Emily, one of the men turned to ask of his host, “You have a new slave?”
Fours pairs of interested eyes looked her way.
“Not mine. I’m training her for Justin Booker. This isn’t his kari, but another property,” the man explained. “Came to him unexpectedly a few days ago.” He seemed to be dancing around the truth, and in no mood to explain more. “We’ll talk soon,” he said, opening the door and the three men left.
“So,” he turned to Emily, “you are Justin’s em.”
“Yes, sir,” she looked up at his face, beginning to flush warm and rosy. Her body was hot with expectation.
“And mine to train,” he commented, appearing quite pleased, even smug.
“Yes, sir,” she answered back respectfully.
“Dylan Kincaid,” he introduced himself. “You’ll call me sir, just as you already have. And you’ll come with me now.”
As Emily followed him into the room beyond, she stared before her at the walls, and the vast open space, which seemed to swallow her inside its masculine beauty. She was stunned, compelled to look everywhere, at more damask and wine colored carpeting, at leather chairs and thick hardwood tables, at a tier of books and a massive antique desk. There was not one sign of this man’s avocation as a slave trainer, which was as unsettling as it would have been if she’d spotted whips, racks, paddles and restraints.
Dylan Kincaid took his seat in a leather chair, while Emily stood before him.
“First t
hing you learn is how to pose. The first is simple. Clasp your hands behind your head and spread your feet. Do it now.”
Emily’s obedience was instantaneous. And while the pose seemed ridiculous, made for another time and place, she kept the desired position waiting for the man to speak again. He was short of words, preferring to inspect her with his eyes. After several seconds, he jumped to his feet and circled her to complete his examination. Standing in front of her, he motioned with his hand for her to turn around. She cautiously moved in baby steps until she had her back to him, and then completed the circle. Since he’d already viewed three-hundred and sixty degrees of her, his reasons for this order made no sense. But it was what he wanted.
Returning to his chair, Dylan Kincaid motioned the novice to the floor, where she knelt before him, sitting on her ankles and resting her hands on her thighs.
“Your knees will ache soon,” he warned, “but I want you to keep the position for as long as you can. I want you to feel the hurt, and like all the other pains you will endure enjoy how it makes you feel. I hope the strain delights you, for it delights me to see you so subservient to a man you don’t even know.”
Dylan paused to let his words sink in, while Emily stared at him in wonder. He was pleasant, interested in her and unexpectedly appealing. Though his blue eyes gripped her with a startling intensity, he spoke without the cool of her husband’s voice when he was speaking masterfully, as if he didn’t need that kind of posturing to have her respect.
“I will be hard on you. Your master has asked a good deal of me and I’m obliged to see his wishes through. I am an excellent trainer as well as a slave owner myself, and I’ll see that you’re thoroughly prepared for what Justin Booker desires. He’s asked me to have you ready for anal penetration—something I believe you’re aware of?”
“No, sir.” She trembled, seeing her old fear jump out at her like some spooky specter she couldn’t shake.
“No?” He witnessed her dread, but refused to let it sway him. “Why do you suppose he didn’t mention the purpose of this training?”
His Latest Acquisition Page 8