Though slaves are allowed no demands, he could excuse her this one. This was his triumph, and he would relish it until his cum erupted, bathing the passageway with a hot jet of liquid.
“I need your trust, em,” he said as he stroked the hair from her sweat-soaked brow. She felt like little more than a dishrag inside his powerful arms. “I need you to bear with me, even when you find what I require of you shocking. You are my prize, far beyond what I ever expected to have.”
“You have my trust, sir. I know you would never do anything to harm me. I know that you’ve seen my great need and wish to satisfy it. I will always love you, even though I don’t always understand the reasoning behind your choices for me.”
Justin was appalled by her unshakable resolve and the degree of her loyalty. But was she ready for the extremes he had in mind? He wasn’t so sure.
“I know you feel that way now; just remember this conversation once you feel abandoned.”
“Abandoned?”
He nodded. Such a curious innocence in her guise he’d never seen before. No more reservations, no uncertainty of the future he’d create for them. He should be glad. With all that clear in his mind, he was ready to proceed with her—without guilt or shame. Flinging off the past and its pointless expectations, he could now do with her as his desires dictated and enjoy the thrill, witnessing her focused and complete surrender.
He would not have her long, but in that time he’d train her well and use her hard. She would make a fine gift for the Guild.
***
Dylan Kincaid brought up his email, suddenly roused by the message from Justin Booker. He smiled self-satisfied as he read the simple words. His friend was succinct, if nothing else.
“Proceeding forward as planned. Next available date—at your convenience.”
Booker
Dylan opened the em files, breathing this slave in to him as though she were a rare red wine. The cheek length hair, the glint in her green/hazel eyes, surprising youth in the face of a thirty-year-old woman, and immeasurable desire reeking from each pose they’d captured of her naked beauty. How had submission escaped her all these years? He shook his head in wonder, as he marveled at how time manipulated life’s elements, now bringing them to this new beginning. He had to credit the slave for this one—she had been determined, so ardently flinging herself into an unknown world. She came up the conqueror and the conquered. He couldn’t wait to enjoy the essence of her once again.
Chapter Nine
Some weeks later…
In the days that followed, Emily signed several documents, authorizations and power of attorney forms that put all of the decisions for her life out of her hands and into her husband’s. All this was in preparation for the impending divorce. The thought of it ripped her wide with emotion—brutally, at the same time her physical desire peaked with fire as she realized what this kind of move would mean.
After the first flurry of activity surrounding the dissolution of her marriage, there was a pervading quiet, a time of peace when there was little said. She lived with her husband as his servant and slave, sleeping with him only when he desired her. The rest of the time, he joyously entertained his other slaves—or better said, they entertained him. Emily learned that her duty was simply to obey, to be em, the slave, her master’s lowly and degraded property. He often bound her to her bed at night, or forced her to wear devices in her pussy and ass during her day at work. She was reminded at every turn of her new position. Even with her unknowing friends, her master’s inventive contraptions wooed the prurient physical lust, giving her a sultry almost earthy look at times. At the same time, she remained coy and vague about the reasons.
“Are you okay?” her friend Kate asked one day at lunch. It had been weeks since she’d been out of the institute during the day.
“I think I may be moving,” she said evenly, wondering how Kate would reply.
“Really?”
“I believe Justin and I are getting a divorce.”
“You’re what!”
She didn’t reply.
“When did this happen?”
“Recently. Though I’m not surprised. Life does change.”
The astonished Kate leaned over the table, spilling her coffee, hardly able to touch the fresh piece of Boston Cream Pie just placed in front of her. “What’s gotten into you? You’re taking this so-so passively!”
Emily ate her pie smiling, as she as wriggled on the dildo currently impaling her ass, grateful for the gentle reassurance the device provided her.
“If you knew everything, Kate, you’d understand,” she replied sweetly.
“But you won’t tell me everything. I can see that evasive look in your eye.”
“I needed a change, hon. I’m not the person I thought I was. I wish I could explain it all. But I wanted to warn you. Even my job might change…” her intuition spoke here. The rapid transformation of her life only pointed to this possibility.
Kate saw the change, so did everyone else when they found a sexual flower blooming where there had been just unadorned foliage. As she bloomed, the passion in her surfaced. No one could escape seeing the alteration in her character and behavior, though no one would understand the full reason why.
“You’re quitting?” Kate asked.
“Humm, maybe.”
“You’re talking in riddles, Emily.”
“Kind of the way life is, don’t you think?” The smile broadening on her face was almost impish and delightfully cloying. Unlike her, and yet the new Emily seemed as real as rain.
***
Justin called this time…in the middle of her workday, just after she’d eaten crackers, cheese and her apple.
“There will be a car waiting for you on the street. I’m sure the driver will recognize you. Be there at three o’clock.”
“How do I explain to Dr. Ferguson?”
“Tell him you have an appointment with your husband. He’ll let you leave.”
That’s all the explanation she would need? Seemed curious, as if the institute director were in on the scheme, aware of who she was and what she’d become. Spine tingling, nerve-wracking…she didn’t know how to proceed except on faith and following orders.
When Dr. Ferguson passed by her desk a half hour later, she stopped him.
“I have an appointment with my husband this afternoon at three. Sorry for the short notice.”
“No problem. It’s slow this week, perfect timing.” He was a man often lost in his thoughts, easygoing, never offended and too preoccupied to care if he was. This day, however, there was a curious expression on his face that made Emily blush, as if he understood why she was leaving work early, even though she did not.
***
Emily watched the clock tick off the minutes until 3:00 p.m. Waiting proved the perfect avenue for hysteria. Why should she find these moments so relentlessly difficult, except by her uncanny intuition, which now seemed capable of discerning when she was about to enter a simple scene or something more alarming. It was the more alarming she was sure of this time.
Divorce. Like a sugar candy before the outstretched hand of a child. She could taste the feelings behind the strange desire and love them. There’d been a long, lingering waiting period from the moment of Justin’s first announcement of his plans, but now she sensed some movement in the process, although Justin did not keep her informed. She signed papers and that was all.
He dressed her that day more formally—perhaps that was her first clue. The powder blue business suit was the finest in her wardrobe, sexier than most of her non-slave clothes, with a long slit up the left side of her knee-length skirt and a deep ‘V’ in the neckline of her jacket. She’d picked it out just a month before she hit Justin with her surprise discovery and had only worn it twice. There had been a white silk blouse to go underneath the jacket, but that had been replaced by a short-sleeved see-though blouse with brocade designs strategically placed over each breast. Thankfully, she had no need to remove her jacket
at work; though once she was under her master’s direct supervision, she could not be as confident that she wouldn’t be baring herself before a rapt audience.
Unlike many mornings, there was no harness and dildo laid out, but a pair of beautiful white silk stockings and a pair of new high heels.
At three o’clock sharp she was on the street, met by a navy blue Lincoln with tan leather seats. She’d remember the smell inside the car forever, the trace of cigar smoke and sex seemed to well up into her nostrils. She could swear someone had just had sex in the Lincoln’s back seat.
It might have been prudent to pay attention as the driver wound about the city streets, so she could retrace her steps if things got ugly. But the idea didn’t cross her mind until she was some distance from the institute, in an unfamiliar but very lovely part of town. Mature trees lined streets of elegant brick row houses, each embellished with window boxes of flowers or graceful pedestals at the side of polished wood and brass-trimmed front doors. Mixed between small apartments and large family homes were a few upscale offices, mainly at the busier intersections. When the Lincoln pulled in front of an attorney’s office, Emily was hardly surprised. Although her heart still leapt anxiously as the nature of this trip became clearer. The attorney’s office was housed in one of the larger buildings at the perimeter of the neighborhood, at least five stories high with a parking garage in the basement.
When the driver opened the car door, she pulled her feet around, peering out and upwards in awe of both the imposing brick edifice and her accompanying feelings. She was used to arousal now, having it appear to her in so many different shapes and circumstances—from well-planned events such as this one obviously was, to more spontaneous adventures, or even surprise attacks when her husband out-of-the-blue demanded instantaneous gratification. Two nights before, after screwing the very vocal kari in his bedroom, while Emily listened from the lonely sewing room with her hand between her legs, Justin showed up in her room, cock erect again. He used her ass as he’d used it nearly every day in the last few weeks. Her cunt had been so completely liquid that he didn’t bother to grease her rear. A few fingers full of her lavish nectar was enough to make his entry easy and the fucking what he needed.
Today had all the signs of something extraordinary written between the lines of every posture, every move, every carefully thought out decision made by her master.
Emily moved with poise, carefully, breathing deeply, trying to act like an experienced slave, not the scared and flustered novice she was inside the outward trappings of calm.
Evanston, Marshall & Associates.
The firm had been around forever, though Mr. Evanston and Mr. Marshall had been dead many years. Their law practice was low-key, efficient and principled, if not the richest of partnerships. Why Justin picked them to handle their divorce wasn’t clear, at least not until Emily reached the fifth floor and was finally ushered into the attorney’s office. She only waited a few minutes for the double doors to open. Either Justin was already in the building or he’d not yet arrived. Her nervousness was apparent, but she remained at ease as the secretary called on the intercom.
“They are waiting for you, em,” the woman said in a quiet monotone. Her eyes were deep-pooled, steeped with affection drawn from that same source she’d seen in nan’s when Dylan Kincaid was training her. And she called her em? How odd.
Blue brocade. And chestnut-colored cabinets. Books. And eyes—four pairs. Justin’s, those of two strangers, and, inexplicably, Dylan Kincaid’s. Her former trainer sat behind a mahogany desk as if he were a fixture in the room, as if the room belonged to him—which apparently it did. The four walls had his signature décor. The feel of the man was everywhere. Once finding his eyes, Emily couldn’t take hers from him. It had been many weeks since their last meeting—the day she was whipped by Justin’s hired master. Yet, in that time, he’d not lost his power to command, frighten and arouse her sex. Paired with her husband, who looked as menacing as his friend, they unsettled every settled thing in her scared being—like a wind stirs autumn leaves on a brusque day. Her tummy fluttered anxiously.
Justin was sitting in one of two chairs in front of Kincaid’s desk, while the two strange gentlemen sat off to one side, silently observing. Their presence in the office was a curious mystery to Emily, though what was more astounding was Dylan Kincaid.
“Emily, please, have a seat,” he good-naturedly motioned to the empty chair before him.
“Thank you,” she mouthed so quietly that no one heard.
“As you have probably guessed, Justin has hired me to handle your divorce.”
She nodded, while a knot the size of a grapefruit seemed to lodge itself in her throat. She squirmed in the chair, casting a sidelong glance at her husband, and then nervously smoothed her skirt with the palm of her hand.
“I understand you’re in agreement with the action being taken?”
“The divorce? Yes, yes I am.” Her voice was soft, but surprisingly clear.
“Very good.” He thumbed through a sheaf of papers. “I think Justin has your signature on all of the pertinent documents. Since the preliminary work has been done, all we need to do is finalize a few matters regarding the distribution of property. That agreed on, the dissolution of the marriage will be complete.” He pulled several papers from the large stack in front of him and pushed them across the desk. “I need a few more signatures.” He smiled broadly, as if they’d just met, as if there had never been any contact between them, certainly nothing of the intimate kind that now fueled such splendid emotions.
“Yes, sir.” She bit her lip, plainly shaken by every unexpected turn the afternoon was taking. Yes, she wanted the divorce, but only so she could capture that piece of her husband that kari and brit as slaves seemed to capture so thoroughly.
“This,” Dylan said of the first document, “divides your property as you have agreed. In light of your continuing relationship with Justin Booker, which we will get to next, you are giving up the right to all of your joint and personal property. Is that as you expected?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“Then sign right here, and initial all of the above items.”
The house, the two cars, the furniture, the furnishings, even her personal property—including inherited items from her family—were listed in detail. Emily read each one with the same sort of dread that greeted her the day she was moved out of her master’s bedroom.
“I know this is just a formality since you’ve already acted on this shift of assets,” Dylan Kincaid added, perhaps seeing her falter, “but it needs to be legally drawn up and filed with your divorce papers.”
She cleared her throat with a little cough. Yes, certainly, she thought to herself as she watched her life and every possession taken from her piece by piece.
“Let me make this clear. In the event that your continuing relationship does not work out, you walk away an unmarried woman with no more than the clothes on your back. Credit cards in your name have been transferred to Justin, your name removed from any personal business records and your driver’s license has been returned to the State. You put yourself in a profoundly vulnerable position, but, as I understand, that is what you desire. Am I correct?”
“Yes, it is, sir.”
Emily had not clearly understood the forms her future submission would take; Justin explained little. Had he feared she’d object? Was this to take her off guard now, so she’d sign off without giving the matter any reasonable thought? When she thought of this divorce, she imagined a radical stripping away of possessions. Based on her idea of slavery she expected no less. She’d imagined it in her daydreams with such vividness that she dreamed of it at night. Reality was like swimming in that fantasy dreamland now, fragmented and disconnected from what she’d known before. Was this even happening? And what would it mean to the rest of her life?
“Once these papers have been signed, you can consider yourself free of the legal bonds you have to this man. All that remains are th
e ties you choose to establish now.”
Emily signed the papers as he instructed and handed them across the desk.
“Thank you,” he nodded as he took one careful look at the documents, and then raised his head, staring her in the eye. “Since your divorce is all but complete, Justin thought the timing was right to formalize the new arrangement between the two of you. I have here a contract of ownership for your signature. Are you prepared for this?”
She’d seen this in her imagination, but the startling truth of it was so much different than she expected. This would make her Justin Booker’s property.
She answered him politely, voice shaking, hands shaking, insides quaking with desire and fear. “Yes, sir. I want to be my husband’s… Justin’s, excuse me, my master’s slave.”
Dylan smiled and pushed the document across the desk.
“This contract is not legal, and it’s unenforceable under current law. However, it does spell out the nature of the relationship that your master requires of you. Accepting it, you will be honor bound to abide by its provision. Justin Booker will be your owner, you his personal property. The contract gives him the right to use you in any way he chooses—sexually or otherwise. He has the right to discipline and punish you as he sees fit. The only restraints on him regard your physical safety and your health. Any demand that endangers you, you are allowed, even obligated to ignore. Is that clear to you?”
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“Review it carefully,” he advised as Emily picked it up and began to read each clause. The words seemed to run together and her mind blanked out for several seconds until she finally forced herself to focus. Slavery, ownership, property, abdication of human rights, sexual servitude, punishment, discipline…words, words and more… revived her half-petrified body and began to make it hot again, as hot as when she walked in the office and Dylan Kincaid stunned her. Hot—the opposite of the chilling cold that swept her through when reality dug its sharp nails into her being and stilled her sexual juices. Her body raged on now, vibrantly; her mind roared, too, realizing that what she was about to sign was taken as seriously by these two men, and most likely by the other unnamed ones, whose purpose at the meeting was still a mystery.
His Latest Acquisition Page 14