The House Book One: Pet Lucy

by Madison Barry

  Glasses led me past the table to the corner. He pointed to a mat on the floor. “Kneel at Rest there, Pet.”

  Slaves didn’t sit at a table with their masters, apparently. Or at least not slaves in training. Let go of your pride. I knelt, eyes to the floor, on the verge of tears again. Last night had been dreamlike, surreal, new. But now, waking up in the same situation, the reality was beginning to sink in. I had chosen this, but I couldn't have known what it would be like!

  No one spoke to me or, as far as I knew, even looked at me, for several minutes. I let the tears fall, certain I wasn’t expected to hold in my emotions. I wondered, briefly, if they’d meant it that I couldn't leave for thirty days, no matter what. Surely if I begged, insisted this wasn’t for me?

  Tara had said it would help me, but I didn’t see how. Thirty days… like rehab. Thirty days to change how I saw myself.

  “Pet!” Deep Voice’s shout interrupted my train of thought. “You will eat everything you are served. You will not drop one crumb to the floor. You have ten minutes to finish your breakfast.” He didn’t comment on my tears. Someone scurried up to me, and I saw bare feet and legs. So there were other women here! She set a plate of scrambled eggs, one slice of buttered toast, and one strip of bacon in front of me, along with a glass of water, and scurried away again. I wondered if I would be serving breakfast to other new slaves at some point in the future.

  I would have no trouble finishing this much food. I was famished. Really, it didn’t seem like enough. What if I was still hungry? Also, to my dismay, there was no coffee. I started eating, leaning over the plate carefully so as not to drop any food on the floor.

  As if sensing my thoughts, Deep Voice spoke again. “Coffee is an earned privilege. Do you take cream and sugar in your coffee, Pet?”

  I was in the middle of taking a bite of bacon and swallowed hurriedly so I could respond. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Those, too, are earned. Perform well, and you may find coffee with your breakfast later this week.”

  I cursed my caffeine addiction. Maybe I’d be okay. They’d ensured I got eight hours of sleep. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually gotten enough sleep!

  I finished the food and guzzled down my water. Perform well? At what? I waited in the resting pose again while the men finished their meals.

  “Presentation Pose, Slave!” a voice barked. I sprang to my feet and assumed that horrid position. Standing like this, I was far more aware of my nudity, and more ashamed. The sixth man, the only one I hadn’t interacted much with yet, had given the order. He appeared in front of me. He was tall, definitely over six feet, broad-shouldered but lean, with dark brown eyes and black hair, looking vaguely Middle Eastern. He was at least as good-looking as Deep Voice. He stared at me, eyes surveying me from head to toe. “Follow me,” he said.

  He led me straight across the hall and into another room. A large, four-poster bed dominated the room. At the end of the bed was a large, standing X, and the head and footboards were both constructed of a series of vertical bars and appeared quite sturdy. I also had time to register some kind of bench against the wall and a low cabinet before I heard, “Stand at Rest, Slave!”

  Oh, right. Oops.

  “You will be punished for that lapse. But first, I will teach you three new positions: Sitting at Rest, Lying at Rest, and Flogging Pose.”

  Flogging Pose?!

  “If you are granted the privilege of sitting in a chair, on a bench, or at the edge of a bed, which may happen on occasion, you will sit in a position similar to Kneeling at Rest. Sit with your feet flat on the floor, if possible, back straight, hands on thighs, palms up, and eyes slightly downcast. Go Sit at Rest on that bench against the wall.”

  I followed his instructions as best I could. He kicked my ankles apart so that my knees were spread to approximately shoulder width.

  “Good, Slave. Now Stand at Rest.”

  I rose.

  “Sit at Rest.”

  I sat.

  “When told to lie down, if not given a specific pose, assume we mean you should Lie at Rest. Lie on your back, arms relaxed at your sides, eyes to the ceiling, feet shoulder width apart, much like Standing at Rest. Go Lie at Rest on the bed.”

  I lay down as he described, staring up at the ceiling, shaking. Why was lying down so much harder than standing or sitting? The Teacher—apparently I’d named him that in my subconscious—loomed over me, and my shaking intensified. The faces of former boyfriends flashed before my eyes, all the failed relationships, all the times I’d panicked when things got intimate. My vision blurred, and my breath grew fast and shallow.

  “Stand at Rest, Slave!” I heard through a dense fog. My relief was almost immediate, and I scrambled off the bed. The trembling hadn’t stopped completely, but I regained some control of myself. “Flogging Pose is used when you have earned a small punishment,” he continued, as if nothing had happened. Surely he’d noticed! “You will bend over a specified piece of furniture, such as the edge of a bed, an ottoman as you did last night, the arm of a sofa, or a bench like the one over there, so that your ass is accessible. You will stretch your arms out above your head and place either your knees or your feet shoulder-width apart on the floor, depending on the height of the chosen location. You will maintain that position throughout the flogging. Assume the Flogging Pose at the edge of the bed,” he directed.

  I turned around and bent over the bed, placed my feet flat and slightly parted, and stretched out my arms. If I’d thought Presentation Pose made me vulnerable, then this one was positively terrifying.

  “Good, Slave. I will administer ten lashes for your failure to assume Standing at Rest when we entered this room. Maintain your position.” I stayed as I was, dreading what was to come. Ten lashes because I’d looked around a little? That seemed harsh, but I wasn’t likely to make that mistake again.

  I waited while he retrieved whatever he needed from the cabinet against the wall. “You will count, Slave,” he said.

  The first bite of the whip against my butt was as awful as I remembered, and I shrieked, then called out, “One!” The second was, if possible, worse than the first, and I was shocked enough that I forgot the count.

  “Again,” he barked. Another lash, just as bad, and now I knew I had earned an extra one. I wouldn't miss again!

  “Two!” I shouted. If I could scream out the number as part of my cry of pain, then I wouldn't forget.

  The next struck my upper thigh, and my knees gave way. I locked my knees, hoping the slip hadn’t been noticed, as I cried out, “Three!”

  “Maintain your position, Slave!” the Teacher scolded. Of course he’d noticed.

  When I finally called out “Ten!” on what was actually the eleventh lash, I was sobbing again, sweating, my butt feeling as though he had tried to skin me alive.

  “Good, Slave,” he said. I felt his hand on my back, a very gentle touch. “Thank your master for the punishment,” he reminded me.

  Right. Thanks a lot. I looked over my shoulder at him. “Thank you for the punishment, Sir,” I managed.

  He nodded. “Now Lie at Rest.”

  My arms wouldn't work. My legs wouldn't bend. Frozen, like when they’d ordered me to take off my bra, a new panic arose with the knowledge that I’d likely earned myself yet another whipping.

  But I couldn't move. The mere act of lying down naked was too much for me, and no one had so much as touched me in any kind of intimate way!

  He didn’t repeat his order, just administered five more lashes in quick succession to my already throbbing backside. I shrieked and scrambled up onto the bed to escape the whip. Oh. Once in motion, I was able to roll to my back and settle into the correct pose.

  I held myself that way by a hair, shivering and sweating, praying for him to let me stand up again. He left me lying there and returned to the cabinet. I heard the doors open and close, but I didn’t know what he was doing. As time passed with nothing more happening, I started to calm down. I was just l
ying in bed, that’s all. Just lying here. Nice and relaxed.

  Then hands on my leg. I tensed and watched out of the corner of my eye in fascination as he buckled a sturdy leather cuff around my ankle. He rounded the bed and did the same to my other leg. He waited, watching me.

  The panic rose again. What was he doing? Why? Was he going to touch me?

  He fastened cuffs around my wrists as well, then waited again. I couldn't calm myself this time. I wanted to get up. I wanted to run and hide somewhere. I was breathing too fast. My fingers and toes tingled, my heart pounded, hands twitched. My conscious, rational mind said I was safe and that if I moved, I’d get whipped again. But the panic started to win out.

  “Stand at Rest, Slave,” the Teacher ordered.

  I needed no further invitation. As soon as I was on my feet, my head cleared.

  “Interesting,” he commented. “We were informed of your particular needs.”

  Informed? Who had informed them? Tara, maybe.

  “Come over here,” he said. He had me stand in front of the large X. “Presentation Pose,” he ordered. He connected my ankle cuffs to hooks near the base of each leg of the X. My eyes widened, and I nearly asked what was going on, even though I’d had no urge to speak since they’d told me not to. He took my forearm in a gentle grip and guided my hand up and out, then hooked the cuff on that wrist to a ring near the top of the X. He did the same with my other arm. Well, I certainly wasn’t going anywhere now.

  He stepped back and watched me carefully. I was nervous, but not panicky like before.

  “Interesting,” he said again. “As you may or may not know, Slave, your primary purpose is to serve the sexual needs of your master and anyone else he chooses. You will be available at any time for any type of sexual activity your master or his proxies desire. It was to be my honor to be the first to use you.”

  Use me. I swallowed hard. I had known, or at least suspected, that that’s why I was here. But I hadn’t expected the mere act of lying down to send me spiraling like that.

  “However, it seems you require a slower introduction. When is the last time you experienced orgasm, Slave?”

  They’d asked that on the questionnaire, and I hadn’t had a good answer. That’s because I wasn’t entirely sure I had ever actually had an orgasm. “I don’t—um, this Slave doesn’t know, Sir.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, Sir.”

  He returned to the cabinet yet again and retrieved a few items. The first was a blindfold, which he secured around my eyes, so I had no idea what else he might have collected. “You must allow yourself to feel, Slave,” he said. “Just as you let go of your pride, you must let go of your inhibitions.”

  Let go. I wasn’t sure I could.

  * * *

  Saturday, July 10, 1999, 12:38 a.m.

  16 years ago

  I giggled and turned the page. “Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed.

  “It looks so weird!” Beth giggled. “Why would you shave off all the hair like that?”

  I shrugged. I’d only just started growing hair there, and I wore it like a badge of honor. “Hey, Beth, did you and Peyton ever, you know…?”

  Beth, a full six months older and years wiser than me, turned beet red. “He touched me down there once. But we mostly just kiss.”

  I turned to the next page and then slammed the magazine closed with a shriek of laughter. “Oh my God, they’re actually doing it!” I said.

  “Lucy, you’re gonna get in so much trouble if he finds out we were looking at this!”

  “But, I mean, aren’t you curious?”

  “Yeah, of course. Okay, one more page.” She took the magazine from me and opened it to a random page near the middle. “Whoa.”

  I snatched it from her. The woman had her mouth on the guy’s thing. It was huge, or so it seemed compared to the woman’s hand and mouth. “I wonder what that feels like,” I mused.

  “Peyton wants to try it,” Beth said quietly. “I’ve touched it a few times.” She grinned like she’d gotten away with something naughty.

  I wanted a boyfriend, I decided right then. If we were going to be sophomores, then I wanted a boyfriend to try out kissing and touching and all of this mysterious stuff they tried to warn us away from in health class. This was far from the first porn magazine I’d stolen from my older brother’s room to page through under my covers late at night. “If you guys do it, you have to tell me!” I said.

  “Luce, you’re my best friend!”

  I wasn’t sure if that meant she would tell me or that she didn’t want me to know.

  * * *

  Sunday, November 8, 2015, 9:09 a.m.

  Day 2

  I could hear the Teacher breathing, sense his warmth. He was standing very close to me. My skin pebbled, and my nipples hardened as a draft of cool air wafted over me. “I’m going to touch you now, Slave,” he murmured.

  I bit my lip, fought back my rising dread. I’d never been touched by a stranger, not like that. I’d never been naked in front of a bunch of strangers before last night, either, but that had been different somehow. No one had done anything remotely sexual beyond telling me to remove my clothes. Now it was explicitly sexual, and I became very aware of how accessible and exposed my breasts and pussy were. I jerked my wrists, testing the strength of the cuffs. They didn’t budge.

  His fingertips on my arms, just below the cuffs, surprised me. He drew his fingers down my forearms, along my biceps, over my shoulders, and stopped. I could feel every patch of skin he’d touched and knew exactly where he’d missed.

  “One of your other masters is here now, Slave, and he will take over,” the Teacher said. That must have been the source of the sudden draft—someone had opened the door. Who was it now? Why were they switching? The Teacher was supposed to have sex with me today. Maybe he was handing me off to someone else to get me warmed up?

  “Hello, Pet,” someone said in my ear. Glasses. He’d comforted me last night when I’d started crying. I had a feeling that his presence now was no accident. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed my forehead. “You will take deep breaths, Pet. Five of them.”

  Five deep breaths. That sounded like excellent advice. I did as I was told. It was easier just doing what they told me to, not trying to guess what would happen next, not trying to figure out what they wanted from me. All they wanted was for me to do what they said. Is that what Glasses had meant by freedom? Freedom from worry, from making decisions?

  The breaths, and the revelation, were calming.

  “Good, Pet. Remember what you were told last night. We will not harm you. Keep that in your mind.” Did “harm” also mean emotional harm? The Teacher had obviously changed his approach when he saw how much distress I was in.

  He pressed his palm to my stomach, then my sternum. I quivered, preparing to panic again.

  “Five deep breaths, Pet,” he ordered again, his hand still resting lightly between my breasts.

  Five deep breaths. In the middle of my fifth breath, Glasses put both hands directly on my breasts. My lungs emptied and the panic rose again. My arms shook, rattling the cuffs. I didn’t even know why I was reacting this way. I never knew why I reacted this way. That’s why I’d come here! But once the fear started, I couldn't stop it.

  He lifted his hands, took off the blindfold, released me from the X. “Kneel at Rest, Pet,” he said. I fell to my knees in relief, blinking in the relatively bright light after so long behind the blindfold. Glasses left.

  After some time, maybe five or ten minutes, all six of my masters entered the room and stood in a loose semicircle in front of me. Deep Voice spoke, of course. He seemed to take the lead when they were all assembled. “We find ourselves in an unusual situation, Pet. You have been very obedient, and we anticipated a very successful vetting week. However, your surprising and unpredictable panic reaction is a concern. In the interests of avoiding further trauma, we have decided to offer you a choice. You may leave now and go home, as if you
were never here. Or, we will continue in our usual manner and you will accept the risk. I will suggest that it’s possible that pushing through the panic will result in healing. We are not mental health professionals, hence our hesitation on this front. But we will leave the choice to you, Pet.”

  I stared at the floor and watched teardrops dot the carpet between my knees. A failure. Again. Rejected even by people who could make me do anything they wanted. I wished I hadn’t filled out the paperwork to begin with, that I’d never come here only to find out that I was beyond help.

  “Pet?” Deep Voice prompted.

  Someone crouched in front of me, put his finger under my chin and tilted my face up. Glasses. Like he’d done before. I really liked Glasses. I wanted him to choose me. He had a gentleness about him, true kindness. I looked into his eyes. Five deep breaths. “Th- This Pet wants to stay,” I said. He smiled and backed away.

  “And we are pleased to have you, Pet,” Deep Voice replied.

  I knelt, wondering what would happen now. I’d relieved them of the responsibility of managing my anxiety. Did that mean they’d proceed as they usually did, as they’d originally intended? I watched as five of the six sets of feet left the room.

  “Lie at Rest on the bed, Slave,” the Teacher ordered.

  Five deep breaths. On the fifth breath, I rose smoothly to my feet, blanked my mind, and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Five deep breaths. Tightness in my chest, heart pounding, but I lay there, jaw clenched, trying not to think.

  “Good, Slave,” the Teacher said. “I’ll return in five minutes. Remain as you are.”

  As soon as he left the room, the bands around my ribs loosened. Lying on the bed wasn’t the problem—I’d done that just fine last night when I went to sleep. It was lying on a bed in a room with a man who intended to have sex with me that started the fear spiral.

  But how to keep from panicking again as soon as he returned? I had no answers. I’d always given up at this point, and so had everyone else. Deep Voice had said to push through the panic. Was that even possible?