Chapter Eight
Time passing…
Emily’s life took on distinct rituals for the next several weeks. Each day Justin established himself more surely as her master. Forms of their previous life disappeared until she could hardly remember how she lived before. Justin chose her clothes, pulled from some unseen closet and laid out on her cot every morning while she was showering or on the toilet. When she was home, she needed his permission for every act no matter how simple: eating, drinking, going to the bathroom were no longer givens but privileges. When he was gone, he left notes instructing her how to spend her time cleaning the house, preparing his meals and doing laundry. Though these had always been her jobs, they were now performed with the submissive devotion of a slave.
brit and Justin’s other ‘slave-on-probation’, kari, would often come in the evening for scenes in the new toy room. While Emily assisted him, he never made her the center of the show. She had yet to feel the fiery impact of a whip or flogger, the sting of a paddle or the heat of punishment from her master.
On one particular occasion, the longing in her for brutal punishment became acute.
kari, Justin’s second slave had been summoned to the house. It was the first time she’d seen the young woman with the short blonde hair and the bounteous body. Though the way Justin talked to her, it might well be the last.
“You disappointed me, kari.”
“I know, sir. And I’m sorry.”
She stood in the center of the toy room, surrounded by the tools of S&M—a horizontal rack, a whipping post, the floggers, crops, whips and devices of tortures, which, for Emily’s first time in the presence of such equipment, was startling. Each piece seduced her naïve eye—she wanted to inspect them more closely, feel the force of the wooden paddles, smell the musky aroma of leather, wrap the sinewy snake whips around her hands and let the sensation fuel the driving physical demand to be punished.
“You understand your failing?” Justin asked his slave.
“I believe so, sir. I understand that I choose slavery every day—and sometimes the terms are not to my liking. When they are not, I find myself rising up—at least internally. That is what you felt from me before, I’m sure. I’ve never given myself to a master who wanted so much of me. Your plans for me had me scared, truly scared.”
“My, I am impressed with your honesty.” He circled her with a whip gripped firmly in his fist, occasionally flicking it against her body, wrapping the long thin end around an ankle, and then backing off.
The tease drove the watching Emily wild with longing. Several times, she wanted to drop to her knees for her master’s his attention. However, she could only wait on the sidelines. Her silence was demanded. Her utter surrender expected.
“Thank you, sir,” kari acknowledged the compliment.
“Let’s not kid ourselves, little one. You are a slave by choice. You submit because some inner demon demands you do… but much of your submissive behavior is an act—a well played act that looks like the personification of submission. You’ve fooled many with your ability to hide who you are. And it took me in, too.” He laughed at himself as he strolled round and round the quivering young woman. “Then I finally figured out your game. It’s a good game, albeit a manipulative one. It’s good.” He stood directly in front of her, assaulted her with two steamy, angered eyes. “And I’ll be happy to play along… as long as you understand one thing.”
“What’s that, sir?” she gulped.
“That I know who you are. You will not manipulate me the way you have your other Doms and Masters. I’ll call your bluff. I’ll take you down when I want, and you will comply with me. Your heart may challenge, but your actions will not. One hesitation, kari, one time balking at my command, you’re gone. You want me, you play by my rules. That clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’d better decide now whether you even want to try… I won’t put up with confusion, or only half a decision. I won’t have you contesting me at every turn, trying to override my decisions with your eyes, your will, or your indecision. You’d better resolve inside yourself to go for what I offer, or leave now.”
“I do want you, sir.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You think you know your own mind now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then show me.”
kari dropped to her knees, bowed in perfect submission, kissed the floor at his feet and waited as Justin’s whip teased its way around her.
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered.
kari scrambled quickly, without rising to her feet, becoming naked in just seconds, her shift and shoes thrown to the side of the room. Unclothed, she bowed again, while Justin continued with his task.
Emily watched the girl’s body jerk with each hit from the whip’s sharp end. He seemed to cut with razor sharp precision, annoying her ass, thighs and hips with strike after strike. Emily felt every blow on her body, enviously.
“Rise to your knees,” Justin gave the command and his slave replied, pulling into the kneeling pose of inspection with her hands clasped behind her neck and her elbows wide, knees a good foot apart.
The punishment continued as Justin worked the single tail with delicate artistry and impeccable aim. His slave remained straight as an arrow, as though frozen in place, body responding with no more than slight twitches in reaction to the punishment. Each strike reddened her flesh, the next colored another spot, until kari’s body was an erratic rash of color.
The sight made Emily shriek inside; and her pussy itched anxiously, though she didn’t dare touch herself. If he would only … these thoughts just fueled her persistent cravings.
In time, the perfectly posed slave was shaken from her stoic posture. Her jerking became more frenetic; her slight gasps more passionate. She seemed poised for cumming, about to burst—her face flushed, breathing heavy and labored while sweet low groans escaped her parted lips.
“Bend over!” Justin ordered to the shock of both slaves. The whip stopped and the room quieted quickly, leaving just the sound of heavy breathing in its wake—Justin’s, kari’s and Emily’s.
The slave was down again, ass high, face pressed to the floor.
“Raise your ass higher!” the master demanded.
kari could not fail him now. Although she knew how horrible the blows would be, she complied with the command and waved her behind as if she were taunting the man to strike.
There was no softness in what followed, no tease, no expectation—nothing but the fierce, blistering smack of wood on skin, on ass cheeks and upper thighs and along kari’s broad hips. Every inch was reddened until the woman was franticly, shrieking with pain. Her master was finally moved to stop.
Emily watched this breathtaking theatre of oddities with excitement pouring through every vein; heart beating as if it would run away; eyes smarting; shoulders clenching as the pain became obvious. Her excitement did not die when the punishment went from pleasure to sheer agony; sensation only magnified in her roused flesh until she was sure that she would orgasm just from viewing the extraordinary punishment.
But how shameful! Her confounded brain would tell her. How could she take pleasure in the agony of a fellow slave! Again and again she shook off her guilty thoughts. It was just atoms and energy exploding that caused her elated response. The wild burst of sensation could be no more than her dark desires having fun at kari’s expense.
And was kari truly distraught?
It had seemed so for a time when Justin harassed her with the paddle and he wouldn’t stop. Though her ass was as bright as a summer rose, there seemed no end to the torment. But when he finished and the stinging heat began to die away and another more enjoyable sensation took its place, kari’s arousal and physical joy became evident.
Justin was kneeling at her ass, his hand pressed underneath so he could fondle the creamy portal he found there.
“S-sir,” she groaned, “please.”
&nb
sp; He pinched her clitoris and she winced with another wave of sensuous pain.
“You want what I have, kari?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And we understand each other?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You seek your own inner demons.”
“I do, sir, please.” She was desperate.
“And I have your trust?”
Her body shivered deep, breathing one slight, hesitant breath and then she was sure, “Yes, sir.”
“Then cum, kari,” he ordered as he thrust four fingers into her pussy and fucked them hard inside her juicy opening the way a cock would.
“Auuuugh!” the sound was passionate and needy. “Yesyesyes, sirrrrrrrrrrrrr!”
Emily had never seen a woman orgasm. She’d never even viewed herself in the mirror at the moment of climax. She’d never witnessed the agonized expression of lust, the look of torment and release, the clenched jaw or the physical throbbing and that shuddering moment when everything diminished to hot but quiet gasps and letting go. All this tension passed through her as if she were the one who’d orgasmed. But she was waiting still.
With the denial of these extremes making her hunger for them—and Justin—even more, her wanting increased every day. The touch of his hand was instant pleasure. A kind word or gesture warmed her heart, tickling her sexual fantasy to life. Her thoughts screamed for scenes like the one with his slave kari, and others she attended with brit the center of her master’s attention.
Emily understood without his saying so that there were other matters that Justin found necessary to resolve with her before he put her on the rack or at the whipping post behind his lash. She knew that she was being carefully reconditioned… the old Emily driven out until there was nothing but ‘em’ remaining.
Six weeks into slavery, Emily Booker was no longer Emily at all but another woman, a slave…. By the Guild’s measurement a second degree slave as the ownership was not complete and her training still in its early stages. It would take some drastic moves before she reached that third degree of honor and perhaps years before she would become a forth degree chattel—if at all.
She wondered at the process, trusting that what Justin wanted would suit her, too. The training seemed to be by some mysterious design—unfathomable, but nonetheless seductive as each day drove her deeper into her master’s amazing domain of tempting pleasure.
And the Guild? The organization was as arcane as any national secret, thriving on whispers and speculation. She had few answers to her myriad of questions—perhaps because she was too afraid to ask them and sure that she’d be rebuffed for being nosy or worse yet out of line, if she did.
Her mind dwelt on the fantasy, obsessively curious, but left deprived of any real facts.
One night, six weeks after her new life began, she was alone with her master in the living room, sitting on the floor, Justin in his chair.
“I have a question, sir,” she declared after many minutes of silence.
He was reading a book. Hearing her question, he looked up over the top of the page.
“Yes?”
Would he want her standing at attention? Or could this question be casual? She would try that.
“I’ve been filmed, sir.”
“Yes. Many times.”
“And why is that?” Her voice was soft, the question nervously offered.
“You are in training with the Guild and its members have a right to know how well you’re progressing. In the organization, masters agree to train their slaves for specific functions and with specific protocol. In some cases the training is only to make slaves better servants of their owner’s needs. In other circumstances, slaves are exchanged, bartered, traded temporarily and sometimes permanently given away… even sold.”
“Sold?” She quavered behind her innocent question.
“There’s a good chance you’ll be sold once I’ve completely prepared you for the life.”
“But…” The shock registered in every bone, muscle and vein.
“But what? That doesn’t suit you?”
“No, sir, it doesn’t. I wanted you as my master.”
“And so I am for now. But master/slave relationships rarely last at this level of intensity. Terminal melt down sets in within a year or two, sometimes sooner. The passion dies, the excitement slips away and everyone gets bored.”
“How could this life be boring?” she wondered.
Justin could stare at her coldly now, realizing that something in him was slowly but certainly dying away. He couldn’t spell it out exactly—affection, courtesy perhaps, love—that was a possibility. But his current experience made him doubt the love he once believed he had for her. Did it ever exist? Or was she just a pleasant habit? A cover for his crimes?
Her eyes were liquid, longing, seeking something from him. But he fell short with her, painfully so. She wanted more than he was able to give. She wanted something he could not quite understand. Even after six weeks, he could still not feel that savage chemical burst of lewd joy when he was in the act of “domming” her.
“Bored, yes,” he stated flatly. He liked being cold with her—liked showing his cruelty. The sudden surge of physical energy made his cock swell. “But selling you? That would revitalize us both. Trust me, em.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand this.”
“Doesn’t matter. What slaves feel doesn’t matter. What they think matters even less. Maybe you’re thinking too much.”
“Yes, maybe so.”
“Of course, you can choose at any moment to opt out of the arrangement…” he snickered, saying so, “up to a certain point.”
“What point is that?”
“You’ll know. As the cliché goes, it’s the “point of no return.” You know you can’t go back, and soon you’re no longer asking the question, the worry just seems to slide away. I’ve seen a few slaves reach that state of surrender. You have that gift, so my fellows tell me. I suppose since we’ve been so close, since there’s been a marriage and lots of shared years, I’ve lost my perspective when it comes to you and me.” He was thoughtful now, not so cold, though his words remained chilling with the meaning so severe. “Of course, there are ways of extricating yourself even when you’ve gone past that point of no return. But a true slave? A true submissive? By the time you get that far, the choice for slavery should be so clear to you that you feel it at the borders of your soul.”
As they had so many times in six weeks, Justin stared her down and her eyes locked onto to his, unwavering but uncertain still. Mesmerized. Afraid and longing.
Two weeks later…
Justin enjoyed tearing his wife away from her job without warning. The fire in him would start to build the minute the picture first appeared in his head.
She was in the library room this time—not the maze of stacks where a scene could be more private—at a worktable, categorizing a series of aerial photographs of contaminated wetlands.
He sat down across from her, smiling, while she looked up at him, instantly afraid. In eight weeks she’d learned to read his moods and this one was frightfully dark.
“Another assignment, em.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, hoping that their conversation would not be noticed by the others in the room.
He pressed a card across the table until it came to rest before her gaze. White with crisp black lettering.
“I’m sending you to a Dom to be whipped.”
Couldn’t he speak a little softer? She looked around wondering if anyone had heard him. Several researchers with heads buried in the their books remained motionless.
“Yes, sir,” she said instead.
“And you’ll need to take a taxi this time—the house is on the outskirts of the city.”
Emily took his word for that since she didn’t recognize the street or the district:
9235 Chathom Court
“I should wear what I have on?”
He nodded.
“But hee
ls.” He handed her a box with the requested item. “Christopher will redress you in higher ones, but the first impression remains important, especially with this master. He’s doing me a special favor, don’t mess it up getting scared.”
“I’ve wanted to be whipped, sir. But by you.”
He shook his head negatively. “You can’t do that, em. You can’t get fixated on me. It will only frustrate you and piss me off.”
Why? She wondered. Why, too, did she care if he whipped her when he was now so very distant and more self-absorbed than ever?
Justin could feel a beautiful trickle of power move through him as he watched her cautious and slightly pained reaction. Hummm… he shuddered deeply. This would be hard on her and grand for him. He didn’t need to be present at the event; his imagination would suffice.
***
Emily wore the spike heels her master provided, listening to them click on the marble floor as she walked gingerly down the corridor, ass swaying slightly in a natural rhythm. Her fear urged her forward—though it was the good kind of fear that she’d come to thrive on.
9235 Chathom Court was a massive city house that had been converted into apartments nearly fifty years before, leaving only faint remnants of the original single-family dwelling. As though someone were whispering behind her ear, ‘hush’, her beingness quieted the moment she entered. She was excited, thinking about the whip that would sting her flesh, but reluctant and meek as she followed the woman who answered the door at number 9235.
The large apartment was entirely floored in marble. In some places there were carpets to soften the look and quiet the sound of footsteps; but not in the hallway where every click of her heels resonated ominously through the air.
She peered into rooms—simple old rooms with old and innocuous furnishings—no racks or crosses or possible signs of what was to take place.
Leading her to the end of the corridor, the maid opened the door and stepped aside.
“He’ll see you now,” her only words. She communicated through an odd sign language of facial gestures, the shifting of her eyes and the grim set of her square jaw. In one quick glance she’d inspected Emily head to toe, decided that she was the expected, about-to-be-punished slave and had motioned her onward with just the simple command in her eyes. Now, the woman paled into the background, looking like little more than an apparition against the hardwood and dark papered walls.
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