Later on the bus…
Emily gazed from the window on city streets that seemed foreign to her now. She imagined herself a distant relative of Emily Booker, a woman unknown and undiscovered by the world that circled around her. A strange sort of melancholy lodged inside her weary bones. Weary was perhaps too negative a word for how she felt. She was tired, her mind perplexed but her body was quite peaceful. Her thoughts wandered toward home where her bed would be waiting and something to eat. For the rest of the evening she could rest. Justin might need her for a while. He might even inspect the dildo in her ass and make crass or condescending remarks about needing to make her wider still—she assumed this was just the talk of masters intended to arouse her disturbing speculations.
The city streets flew by rapidly as the bus hit the expressway for two miles before landing near her neighborhood. By the time it reached her stop, she was anxious to get out and walk the remaining three blocks up the hill and around the corner to home. Even with the enormous dildo in her rear, she needed to stretch out her aching muscles. And though her thighs were still weak and her ass felt tight, sensing the warmth from getting spanked, she thought the evening air would clear her head of the cobwebs knit inside her brain, and perhaps dispel the passionate but puzzling longing that languished inside her heart.
Her slavery was dear to her, but being batted back and forth between two masters confused her.
Walking in the door, Emily was about to take the stairs, but she stopped abruptly, staring at the small balcony above seeing brit moving from one end of the upstairs hallway to the other. Why?
Striding from his study to the foyer, Justin’s eyes leveled her with a cold grimace, “On your knees.”
“Sir, but I…” she remained on her feet too bewildered to even listen to his command.
“em!” His voice rang out.
“Sorry, sir,” she dropped to her knees, feeling tile not carpet thud against her bones.
“I’m having your things moved out of the master bedroom,” he said.
She gazed up at him worriedly.
“You’ll be sleeping in the sewing room until I can have the basement cleared and a room made for you there.”
Her face went blank. She bit her lip as tears began to form in her eyes. Her heart thumped so loudly she was sure that he could hear the tribal beat.
“Have I displeased you, sir?”
“Has nothing to do with my pleasure or your deportment. You’re a slave, em. Not a wife or lover to me now, but my slave. I’ll find it easier to think of you that way throwing off the remnants of our marriage. As long as we dive back into reminders of that other life, we stray away from what we’re working on right now.”
Clothes, knickknacks, perfume, books…were disappearing down the long hall, dutifully delivered elsewhere. They wouldn’t all fit in the sewing room.
“Does this alarm you?” he asked.
Though tears pooled hotly in her eyes, her crotch turned strangely alive. But her emotions bordered on anger and frustration…was this what she wanted? She didn’t know. And yes, she was alarmed!
“You never thought it would come to this?” he questioned her.
“No, sir, I never thought…I-I…” she shuddered. “I-I, please…” She searched for words but there were none that worked, none defined her fear and the maddening anger swirling through her.
“brit should have your room ready in a few minutes. She’s been here most of the afternoon. I’ve also had the studio cleaned out. I was planning to turn it into my study—I’m particularly fond of the light there. The old study will become a toy room, which I’m sure will make all of my slaves happy.”
He seemed delighted. She was not, but words of reply still escaped her. Her beloved studio was no more.
“And brit will be spending the night with me.”
“In our bed?” Emily wondered.
“In my bed, yes.”
“But there is no bed in the sewing room?” She reminded him.
“But there is the floor.”
“We have a guest room,” she suggested.
“And you’ll have the floor,” he answered back, defiance making his proclamation stick. “I shouldn’t have to explain this em. In fact, I won’t. You think about it, get used to it. Understand it, em. Ponder your fate as you settle in. The adjustments don’t stop here, they will continue for some weeks until I have what I want, and you have your slavery complete. It’s what you asked for; it’s what you’ll get. Now how’s your ass?”
Her ass? She’d totally forgotten about her last two hours as if they had never taken place. Though somewhere inside her faltering memory there were images of herself with the trainer. They were too fuzzy now to bring clearly to mind. “I-I guess it’s fine.”
“Let me see,” he said. “Turn around and lift your skirt.”
She needed directions for every move, like a child unsure of everything in her skewed world. Forcing herself to obey each instruction, she turned, bowed and bared her ass, letting her master see the results of her afternoon.
“And you were spanked as well?” he said, noting the few remaining marks, faint but clearly indicating that she’d been punished.
“Yes, sir.”
“You failed to cooperate with your trainer?”
“The result of improper form, sir,” she explained. “And, I believe he was giving his friends the opportunity to enjoy my flesh.”
“Then you’ve taken their cocks?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“That is the next step.”
She had no reply.
That night
A small cot appeared out of nowhere, something Justin resurrected from the basement so she didn’t have to sleep on the floor as he earlier suggested. She might as well have lain on the floor; the cot was nothing but a canvas sling that felt as hard as the sewing room’s hardwood.
In little more than a day, the entire Justin Booker house had been torn through and rearranged to suit the master’s plans that evening. Emily had just one minute to peruse what used to be her bedroom…even in those few short seconds, she sensed that her spirit was gone; the space was now immersed in her husband’s masculine presence. It felt eerie and stark. The rest of the house had the same eerie transformation, as if she’d died. Emily Booker was no more than a ghost inhabiting the few remaining places where Justin Booker allowed her influence to remain. He changed little in the kitchen—he was not a cook and didn’t care. But he had lifted the remains of their personal business, the checkbook, the bills, the social invitations—gone. In the living room, there were the decorations she’d carefully chosen, but none of the family pictures or the mementos of their earlier marriage. The personality that made this home—gone, too.
Her fascination for such deprivation was bizarre. The rooms lived on without her as if she never existed. Strange but pleasingly sexual sensations worked through her prickly nerves as the change produced an unusual transformation, making her more one with the idea of slavery that had so captured her imagination.
She lay in bed, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling—not her ceiling anymore, or her sewing room (all that was gone, too), but the space her master gave her where she would sleep until he told her otherwise.
She heard Justin and brit make love in the bed she once knew as hers. All evening she’d been shunted aside while he demonstrated his power to have any fancy, any whim he chose. She thought some of his show was false, that his affections for brit were not as real as he would lead her to believe. She was, however, awed as she watched him from the corner of the living room, where she’d been told to sit. Justin worked brit first with a flogger while she lay draped over the back of the sofa. Emily listened to the sound of her apparent satisfaction. She reached that same plane of ecstasy that Emily knew just hours earlier as she held the enema and felt the wooden paddle sting her ass. She watched her master and this slave stare each other in the eye, energy flowing back and forth between the two. Their fire… their passion…
could it ever be that way for her and the man she loved?
She couldn’t be jealous of what she didn’t know, though she could wonder.
From her bed in the former sewing room, Emily heard them long into the night making love. Was this for their benefit, or hers? Was he marking territory, setting protocol for the rest of her life? Was he laughing at her expense, making merry to make her hurt? Was he hoping to drive her away from him, or secure her fidelity and devotion?
The following day…
Another day was sure to follow Emily’s long, messy night of wondering. She hadn’t slept a wink. Pulled from bed at the usual hour, she showered in the downstairs bath, and put on the clothes Justin laid out for her. He must have wanted her in make-up and jewelry, as they were the only personal items that appeared in the converted sewing room. Grabbing her quarters for the bus, she left the house on time and went to work, plunging headlong into her quiet, sacred library for eight straight hours—she didn’t even take lunch, a few crackers seemed to take the edge off her hunger. At 5:30, right on time, Emily left for her trainer’s house.
“You’re upset,” Dylan Kincaid said when he opened the door and saw the despondent face appear.
She struggled trying to prevent the tears from flowing.
“Tell me why?” This sounded like an order; his tone of voice was calm but exacting. He had a way of looking inside her, as if he were at that moment climbing through her thoughts to see if she was going to tell the truth. She couldn’t talk. “Out with it!” he demanded. “I can’t train you if you’re sobbing, cold and disconnected. The life is about fulfilling dreams, becoming happy with yourself. It is not about despair.”
She bit her lip, kid-like. This sort of behavior was becoming common now.
“My master has rearranged his life, removing me from his house.”
“So, you’re living elsewhere?”
“In the sewing room.”
He laughed. “Oh, yes, he drummed you right out of there.”
“Please, sir, this is not funny.”
“Is he treating you badly?”
“No, sir.”
“But you didn’t expect that he would exercise his option as master—you the slave.”
“There were things I did not expect, yes.”
“Well, get used to it, em. It’s your life… unless of course you want to give it all up.”
“How could I go back now?”
“Say, no. It’s a perfectly legitimate option. No one can claim you as their slave without your consent.”
“But I can’t go back,” she declared forthrightly.
“Then live with it.”
“You said I had choices.”
“A few.”
“Like what?”
“Like the ones you make to stay or go, to pursue another master, to find what gets you hot.”
“Sometimes it’s very hot with Sir. I think last night was just a shock. He made love to brit while I listened from the other room.”
“And were you aroused?” he asked.
She smiled bashfully. “A little.”
He smiled, too. “I think you’d better sit tight where you are and let your fears settle. You created this scheme; you started dominos falling one by one by one. It’s not time for rash decisions, but waiting. Remember, you surprised Justin with the truth about yourself, now he’s volleyed back showing you more of who he is than you knew was there. It’s your turn to absorb the shock, feel your reactions and let your inner mind have its say. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” The man was pleased, and Emily more at peace than when she first arrived; although her trainer was anxious to put her fears to rest and move on.
“Today’s our last session and time for your test,” he started.
“So soon?” This seemed abrupt, especially since she was prepared to go on for several more weeks under Dylan Kincaid’s tutelage.
“You’ve done remarkably well. If you pass the test, my job is over.”
“Test?”
“It’s one you’ll either love or hate. Regardless, you will prove my point so my report to Justin will be a positive one. I know he’ll be pleased, and that should delight you as well.”
“You report to him?”
“It will be on film.”
On film? He heard her silent question loud and clear.
“Double penetration, em. Fucked in both of your holes at the same time. We’ll see how far you’ve really stretched.”
Her thoughts shrieked loudly, but her voice was silent.
Minutes later, in an upstairs room, Emily stood before the camera, before her trainer and two strange men there to take part. Staring warily from one man to the next, her heart beat hard and frenzied.
“Give them head.” Dylan pushed her forward and to her knees in front of both men. “Get into their jeans. You’ll want them hard or this won’t be any fun at all.”
She worked their zippers down, burrowed into the crotches and removed the swelling members, going back and forth from one to the next, vigorously, passionately, head to head and stalk to stalk, testicles swirling in her palms, erections jacked and swallowed to the back of her throat and out again. She refused to think, setting her mind clearly on the goal of having them—while knowing that the scene would change as soon as their erections were hard and ready.
Indeed the scene did change—the two men well versed in the routine. Their lust inspired, they moved the slave from her kneeling start to the center of the bed nearby, where one lay back to let her climb on and the other came at her from behind. Emily straddled the one man’s hips, and settled on his cock, letting the fat thing nestle deep as she lay against his hefty chest. The impact on her insides was alarming with both holes filled—even though her ass was impaled with plastic not real flesh.
Admiring her body for more than just her steamy cunt, the lover between her legs wanted to see more. Pushing her back, he pulled her tee shirt over her head and tugged her breasts from her brassiere. He kissed both, suckling on skin and nipples; having her so occupied that she didn’t notice what was happening at her behind as the second man unbuckled the dildo harness and withdrew the anal plug. With that discarded on the floor, he played with her ass for a good long while, lubricating it thoroughly as she fucked his friend.
This was a good beginning, a good way to prepare her for the final assault. With her ready, unthinkingly happy, merrily milking the spirited cock in her cunt, the fellow behind, poised himself at her rear, grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and shoved his dick deep until the whole of him was inside. Despite his hefty size, his cock slid like water against water, easily going where she’d denied her husband twice before.
“Ohmygoodgawd,” she screamed as the sudden unexpected surge of sensation went blasting through her ass end like a fire out of control.
But the fire eased and her body steadied as those first exhilarating sensations died off, replaced by a feeling of fullness and completion. There was hardly any fear, just apprehension and finally relief when no pain materialized. She let her body work the cocks—squeezing, pulsing, and harboring them inside her in a gentle competition of sexual spirits. Then as her thoughts fused with both men, her orgasm began to build. Even with the pressure and because of that frenzied pressure, she ached for physical release.
But they forced her harder now, demanding more of her efforts and less for herself.
“Yesyesyesyes, please,” she swooned as flashing colors appeared before her closed eyes.
Concentration. Patience. Trust. She repeated the words without knowing why, knowing only that she’d found another kind of abandonment, and that felt right and reasonable. Nothing mattered but bringing the pair off—both their fat dicks in her grasping chasms, and the final act when both would jet their jism deep inside her belly.
“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeawwwwwwwwww!” she screamed and screamed again.
Dog fucked, cunt fucked, the only orifice remaining was her mouth, now wat
ering for another cock… for Dylan Kincaid’s perhaps, but he wasn’t even in the room that she could see. A piece of her was reserved for him, wanting him because he was the author of the moment and the moment was not quite complete, even in the midst of this astonishing fornication.
The two men seemed to rip her wide, tear her sideways, jerk, tug and demand attention she had no control of. Being in-between, amid two prizefighters, she was the prize—though a battered one by the time the men in her ass and cunt had creamed her insides thoroughly and she was yelling into the steamy air the elated sounds of a satisfied end.
Emily lay sprawled out afterwards, with her defilers slipping into other rooms without saying a word. One slapped her fanny firmly just before he left, like the period at the end of a long sentence there to punctuate the scene. She heard the other one chuckling to himself.
Mindless. Anonymous. Surprisingly effortless, Emily had passed her trainer’s test.
“You did well, em,” Dylan Kincaid told her as he lifted her off the bed. She had no will to stand, and slumped to a submissive position at his feet. Her longing for him had not stopped and she wondered why. Perhaps it was his authority over her, or the way he seemed to know her well; perhaps the way his eyes met hers with desire, and how she sensed some unmet need rising out of his mysterious mood.
“I have your performance on film. I’m sure Justin will be pleased.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And you? How did this feel for you?”
“Overwhelming, sir.”
“Pleasing?”
“Yes, that too,” she admitted.
“You’re scratching the surface of your master’s desires. I think he will hit bottom with you and I wish you well. You could be an exemplary slave by the time the year is out.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but Emily thanked him anyway, staring upwards past his boots, his jeans and his clean, starched shirt.
His handsome eyes were kind and thoughtful, filled with meaning that made her wonder if he thought special things of her. But why would he? He was her trainer, not a friend, lover or confident.
His Latest Acquisition Page 11