Off Duty

by Ellie Masters

  “Remember me telling you that to rule you, to own you, I had to learn you?” I asked. “You just taught me a bit of Laura 101.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “But I don’t know how well you take the cane,” I went on. “My objective is to break you of your bad behavior, but not to have you hunkered in a corner, hollow-eyed and blowing spit-bubbles, utterly destroyed.”

  “Permission to speak, Sir?” Laura asked.

  “Go ahead,” I told her.

  “Sir, write up a document of enslavement, a title of ownership, whatever you want in it, and I’ll sign it and even have it notarized,” she said. “I know it doesn’t really have legal standing, but it can be waved under my nose when I rebel, to remind me of my honor and promises made, Sir. We’re both working on this, on improving not only my behavior, but improving me into someone we’ll both admire, someone worthy of your ownership. You need no permission to lash me, Master. Please … just own me and give me what we know I deserve. I appreciate your caution, but … I’m made of flesh and not glass, right? I’ll learn and heal, Sir.”

  “Fifty, then, and I’ll decide if more is indicated,” I decided on the spot.

  “I deserve at least that, Sir,” Laura said.

  “Tell me, why did I order you to eat as I did?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter, Master,” she said. “That it was your order should have been enough. I hate myself for that and I guess you hate me too, and I deserve it.. But I suppose it was for humiliation, to teach me my place, a lesson I obviously have yet to learn. I … I’m trying, Master, but I’ve told a hundred interns that trying is still failing.”

  “A good answer,” I said. She … it was like she’d swim into her arrogance, get scared, and flounder back to shallow waters of submission and safety.

  Figuring we’d talked this to death, I laid the first lash of the cane into her ass, still colorful from the paddling. Laura shuddered, but seemed determined to hold her tongue. Maybe it was pride. Maybe she felt like I might be guilted into lenience. One way or another, I lashed again, upper arm glued to my side, using only my forearm, as I’d learned long ago, that the cane was a weapon of speed and not force. The lashing continued.

  I showed her not one whit of mercy, not for my benefit, or hers, but ours. I’m a rightie, so the right side of her ass was a purple mess at the end of the caning, the left a bit less so, all the way to midpoint of her thighs. Three of these, overlaid on recent stripes from the quirt, opened, one leaking more blood than expected.

  Throughout all fifty lashes, she struggled, but never once gave an outcry or begged for my mercy. Her ass was mostly a purple mess on the right, and not much better on the left. She’d hurt for a while from this. Her upper thighs were no better. I irrigated the wounds with sterile saline, then dried them, put on ointment, and deftly taped gauze over them.

  Even if she hadn’t endured enough, I decided I had. I undid her bonds and helped her off the bench. “Our supper is cold, but will you eat now?” I asked.

  “I . yes, I … I … will eat as ordered, Sir,” she said in a faint voice. "Master ... please ... I know I need to be humbled, but I'm not a dog." I looked at her, then nodded. Sometimes what seems a good idea in my head isn't so much a good idea in my hands. I had wanted to break her down some but not shatter her, and for whatever her reasons, she found such abasement harmful, and I wasn’t here to harm Laura. I reached down, picked up her plate, and fed her with her fork while she knelt up with my assistance. I went inside and fetched a straw, then let her drink Gatorade from a bottle.

  “Good girl,” I said.

  I uncuffed her, then told her to take the dishes to the kitchen. She obeyed, walking with stiffness and soreness, but without protest. In the kitchen, she rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, before kneeling at my feet.

  “May I wash my face, Sir?” she asked. I’m afraid we didn’t coordinate as well as hoped, and she picked up stains on cheek and chin, as well as a dab of sour cream on her nose when she had an inopportune hiccup. “Sir, thank you for according my request. In a way, being hand-fed like that was sexy.”

  “You may not wash your face,” I decided. “Meet me in the parlor.”

  “I want you to look at this,” I said a few minutes later in the parlor, and showed her my idea, while her eyes widened.

  “Oh, my God, I love it, having a dungeon and being owned in my own house,” Laura said. “With Master’s permission, I can take this to a contractor and begin work immediately. We could soundproof it and have it walled in steel, so the contractor thinks it’s a safe room. I’m not so high-profile that I’m paranoid, but … circumspection, you know?”

  “So ordered,” I said, sensing Laura’s enthusiasm. I made a mental note that we would need to stock and furnish her dungeon similarly to mine. But then my mind took a turn and I found myself confronting an array of worries about where this was going, and I knew we’d need to talk about that too. I filed that all aside, too needful of Laura.

  The lube from earlier was still in the back pocket of my shorts, and damn if I wasn’t horny as an old goat all over again. I shed my shorts then put her face-down-ass-up on the floor. I lubricated my cock as she wept while she spread her swollen ass-cheeks again for my access.

  I thrust into her tight ass while she groaned, then fucked her hard, hips slapping into her ass again as she shivered at each thrust, my hands grasping her as I impaled her over and again, pumping it to her until I exploded once more deeply into her. This time, I sensed she was aroused, but fought back her climax. I was pleased. I liked denying her climax until she earned it.

  I stood, winded from more marathon sex, wryly looking forward to the week after this, when I could grow fresh skin down south. I smirked, realizing this was the first time ever that my cock had been actually sore from fucking. I desired Laura that much.

  “Follow me,” I said as I stood. Laura followed on all fours, nipples on the floor, then on the ground in the back yard. “You’re to sleep out here tonight, slave, in the cage. You’ll maybe be let inside my house in the morning.”

  Her eyes flashed at me, but she bit back whatever acid retort was loaded into her muzzle and ready to fire. “Thanks, Master,” she said instead, deflating from whatever it was she actually wanted to say.

  I went inside and fetched two bottles of Gatorade, then took them to the dungeon, pointing her into the cage. She crawled in, seeming humbled again, but I knew we were a long way from having her fully enslaved and non-rebellious.

  Another fiery flash from Laura’s eyes was followed by a humbled nod, and I locked her in the cage. I woke around 3:00 in the morning to the sounds of a violent thunderstorm, peed, then returned to bed. It briefly flitted across my mind to let my slave indoors, but she was warm and dry in the cage. With a spot of luck, she was afraid of thunder and lightning, but the dungeon was well-built and I’d paid a ton of money two years before to have it re-roofed along with the house, so she’d stay dry as a bone. I drifted back to sleep, knowing how loud rain was in that dungeon. It was a sound that lulled me. Her? I guess I’d learn that when I woke her to cook breakfast, hoping this time wouldn’t be another burnt offering.

  CHAPTER 37

  It’s amazing what can happen in a short span of time. I found myself locked again in the cage, an unusual place for anyone to find respite. It both angered and soothed me. Odd, how I could feel such conflicting emotions. To say my thoughts drifted far and wide would be an understatement during that long night.

  My anger was a beast I needed to analyze and understand. Did I like being tossed in a cage? Not at all. I hated the objectification. Did it turn me on? Most definitely. I rocked and squeezed my legs together, hornier than I’d ever been in my life.

  It may have been the result of Keith denying me those orgasms. Both the almost one in the shower by his hand, and the other last night with his cock in my ass. I hated to say it, but for an ass virgin, I was quickly enjoying him taking me there. It hurt, and
stung a bit, but I liked it. First off, it felt good, different good, but damn, it felt great. Second, the position turned me on. There was no other position more dominant than a man rutting from behind.

  This cage kept me separated from Keith. That gave me anxiety, because I was coming to understand how much I needed him in my life, overseeing me as the case may be. To be physically separated from him felt like a knife slicing open my chest. I craved him on a level I didn’t understand. Not to mention, being separated meant he couldn’t slake this incessant hunger I had for him. I loved his hands, his mouth, and that ever-loving cock. His hands on me, his mouth kissing, licking, and sucking, and his cock sliding in and out with that agonizing slide, all of it made me hunger for the rapture he brought to my mind.

  In this too, my mind went for a spin. The pleasure he dispensed chased away the agony of my day. The incessant demands for life and death decisions which had to be on point or someone died, that pressure to perform with perfection built up an explosive level of stress inside. When he drowned in the ecstasy of the orgasms he gave me... Well, all that stress simply melted away. Pain served the same purpose, although in a different way.

  That was the funny thing, or weird thing, the thing I didn’t understand. Keith didn’t withhold pleasure. Hell, we’d hit double digits with my orgasms in the span of a day. He’d cum only a handful of times. I really think he enjoyed watching the pleasure he could draw from my body. It was a control thing, something I understood but was only really beginning to feel in my heart. He withheld to ensure our roles remained true. The giver and the receiver, and by his grace, and his alone, I received pleasure. I think that was the message.

  He was becoming my center.

  Which brought me back to why I hated this cage. I was a bright, intelligent woman with a complicated, but successful life. To be caged like this? I couldn’t help but think of it as wrong. So why did it soothe me? I didn’t have that answer, except that in an odd way, I felt safe.

  My need for pain didn’t confuse me nearly as much as how I could find confinement a nearly blissful escape. In the pain department, Keith didn’t disappoint. He had a strong arm and no problem using it. Sometimes, I wished I could crawl inside his head to understand what drove him. Why did he need to hurt me? Did it excite him? Get him off? Or did he merely do it for me? I hoped it was some combination, but didn’t really know.

  For me, pain worked the same as pleasure. Sometimes, I simply needed the world to shut-the-fuck-up. There was more. I needed the fog of pain to obliterate the racing thoughts in my head. Sometimes, my thoughts spun so fast, there was no way for me to reach pleasure without pain. I needed to feel that sharp edge where pain obliterated me. Most definitely, I was a pain slut. Pain to achieve pleasure.

  But I needed discipline too. I’d tried for years to accomplish that with self-flagellation, but it only took off the harsh edges of all the recriminations, self doubt, and general frustration and irritation a single day brought.

  I sat through the night, my mind and heart wrestling with each other about what everything might mean, and that’s when I realized the cage soothed me too. At first, I’d sat angry and annoyed. Then the rain began, pounding on the roof. It sounded like elephants dancing on the ceiling, and I wondered if it might be hail. There was no way for me to know. There were no windows to see outside.

  Something else had happened too, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I’d mouthed off to him. Nothing like the previous missteps. I’d disrespected him, dropped his title, and cursed at him. I think I’d found a limit I didn’t know I had. I’d wanted to be his everything, to give all of myself up to him, but he’d surprised me with that plate of food. I’d reacted on some gut level, and it hadn’t been something I could control.

  He’d done things over the past couple days I didn’t like. Each time, I’d been able to tackle my resistance and embrace my submission to please him. I hadn’t been able to control that request, finding a limit where’d I’d hoped to have none.

  While I’d paid dearly for the transgression, Keith had listened. My punishment hadn’t been withheld. I received that in spades, but I think he understood.

  I curled my legs to my chest, then whimpered against the pain. Most of the evening, and through the night, I rested on my belly because of the pain. There were still welts over my legs, and I was certain stripes of purple and blue would remain there for days. It was a good reminder for me. The price I paid for disobedience would be steep with him.

  As I sat, absorbed in my thoughts, I yawned against incredible fatigue not having slept a wink during the long, lonely night. The lock sounded and I glanced up, watching a sliver of light spread against the floor. I moved into position, kneeling in place, and placed my forehead on the backs of my hands.

  “Good morning, slave,” he said. “How was your night?” He crossed the distance to the far corner of the dungeon where I knelt in the cage, and ran his fingers across the bars.

  Without looking up, I gave my answer. “Lonely.”

  “Lonely?”

  “Yes, Master, and enlightening.”

  “How is that?”

  “I spent the night thinking about us.”

  “And…” The barest hint of hesitation fluttered in his voice, almost as if he feared what I might say.

  “Permission to sit, Master.”

  “Granted.”

  I leaned back on my heels, and placed my hands on my knees. “I want to thank you for last night.”

  “Can you be more specific?” He sounded a bit relieved.

  “First, for the discipline. What I said...it was wrong, and disrespectful. I’m thankful for a master who’s not afraid to punish me when deserved. But there’s more.”

  “I sense that.”

  “Second, thank you for allowing me to voice my concerns. I’d wished for there to be no limits between us, and stumbled with that one. I’d like to say I can move past it, but I’m not sure I can. It made me feel like you didn’t care about me.”

  He crouched before me, still on the other side of that cage. I desperately needed to feel the reassurance of his touch. I needed to know he could still love me, even if I couldn’t...well, eat like a dog. Even now, that thought made me shudder.

  “Go on,” he encouraged.

  “Thank you for putting me in the cage. In truth, I don’t like what it represents. I hate being separated from you, but I understand it’s purpose.”

  “I’m well aware of that. The cage remains.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said with regret. What more could I say? I glanced at the bars and faced an uncomfortable truth. He knew what I needed, perhaps more than I did myself. I would have to trust him, and perhaps pray he reserved the cage for special moments.

  “Did you sleep?” he asked.

  “No, Master. The rain kept me up, and the thunder shook the roof.”

  “That’s unfortunate for you,” he said. “We have a long day.”

  My gaze cut to the spanking bench and the Saint Andrew’s cross, fondly nicknamed St. Andy. I didn’t think my body could withstand much more. What I needed was my Master’s touch, and for him to soothe the ache between my legs. He’d never said I couldn’t ask for what I needed, and I certainly wasn’t above begging.

  “May I ask another question, Master?”

  “Yes, my beautiful slave?”

  “I need you. Your mouth, your fingers, or even your cock, but I ache to be filled by you. Please, I’m begging, how much longer must I stay in this cage? I’ve thought of a lot of things through the night, but I’m dying to be used. And before you ask, I didn’t touch myself. I know that belongs to you, but please, Master, I’m begging you. Please fuck me and allow me to cum.”

  He unlocked the cage and opened the door. “Such privilege is something which must be earned. You’re master is hungry, slave. I suggest you make my breakfast. Perhaps, if you don’t burn the shit out of it, I might just give you that reward.”

  I whimpered at his denial, but accepted
his right to direct me, even when ignoring my needs. With my clit throbbing, and needing his touch, I headed to make his meal.

  CHAPTER 38

  She blushed, and I permitted her to march to the kitchen, surreptitiously examining her. I decided she'd had enough of the lash, unless she seriously misbehaved, and hoped she wouldn't. I wondered when she'd get the biggest point of being caged. It wasn't for the kink. No, that wasn't entirely true, but kink wasn't the main thrust of it, and while the solitude ideally made her ponder, neither was that the main objective. No, it was as simple as grounding a kid.

  Laura hadn't said she loved me. I think she did, but wasn’t ready to put a voice to it. I figured the punishment was in the separation from me, that knowledge she had disappointed me so much that I didn't want her in my presence. Maybe I'd need to tell her Dick-and-Jane, I considered. She was highly intelligent, even brilliant, but a by-product of that brilliance, in my experience, was the tendency to overthink things while overlooking the obvious. I didn't hold it against her. She's a physician, often hearing the thundering hooves and thinking of zebras.

  Breakfast was simple but good, no burnt offerings, and I had her sit on a hard chair and eat.

  “We need to go to your house,” I said after she rinsed the dishes. “I want you to call the contractor about our plans, and set that appointment, and we should inventory your toy chest and see what needs purchased, then maybe shopping and lunch. After that, why not go fishing?”

  “Fishing?” She parroted, in obvious surprise.

  “Laura, I’m your master, owner, lawgiver, and all the rest,” I pointed out. “But I'm still your boyfriend. I want you to face that wall, lace your fingers behind your head.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said dubiously. I took a photo with my phone.