The House Book One: Pet Lucy

by Madison Barry

  If I was going to make it through this week, let alone the month, I was going to have to learn to enjoy myself as much as I could. I had to start somewhere, and apparently having sex with the Teacher and Glasses hadn’t been the right place.

  They had taken me in as I was. They believed I could become what they wanted me to be, so shouldn't I believe it, too?

  What did they want me to be, though? Did they want me to orgasm? With the Teacher, it had seemed like he mostly just wanted a nice, warm place to stick his cock. But with Glasses… he had tried. He wanted a partner. He’d insinuated as much. “Not until you’re ready to be here with me,” he’d said.

  Five deep breaths.

  I touched my clit with a fingertip, rubbed tentatively. I adjusted the angle until a jolt ran through me. There. I concentrated on that spot, a long, slow buildup, just sliding my finger up and down. The tightening and the warmth were familiar and comforting. I wasn’t completely broken. Thirty minutes. Plenty of time. I relaxed. I was safe and alone, or at least I could pretend I was. Just me and my fingers and this vibrator, when I was ready.

  My hips moved, and my pussy grew damp. I closed my eyes, tilted my head back. My pussy felt empty. When I did masturbate, rarely, I always used a dildo, but Glasses hadn’t given me one. The wand was way too wide to insert. I clenched around nothing. My eyes fluttered open, and I glanced around the room. My gaze fell on my hairbrush.

  No. I couldn't.

  That nice, rounded handle, a little textured.

  I hopped off the bed and grabbed it, then resumed my comfortable position on the bed and brought myself back to that point of emptiness, of needing more. I moaned, picked up the hairbrush, and inserted it.

  “Oh fuck,” I breathed.

  My clit was hard, almost painful to the touch, so sensitive. I switched on the wand, on the lowest setting I could find, which was not very low at all. My pussy walls hugged the hairbrush handle, pulsing, waves passing through me. I touched the wand to my clit.

  My thighs slammed closed around my hand and a cry bubbled up from deep in my chest. My body contracted, balled up around that point between my legs. The bristles of the hairbrush dug painfully into the soft flesh of my inner thigh, and I simultaneously froze in place and tried to yank the wand away, overwhelmed.

  I shifted the vibrator so that it didn’t rest directly on my clit. It touched part of the hairbrush, and the vibrations traveled up along the handle. I waited as the stimulation inside and out mounted. I screamed, and the wand shifted again, landed on my throbbing clit, bordering on the line between unbearable pain and intense pleasure. I convulsed, arms and legs shaking, screamed again, and flung the wand away so that it landed on the floor with a thud.

  “No!” I shouted. “Damn it!” That almost-there feeling would kill me one day. I lay there panting, shuddering. The hairbrush slipped out of me to rest on the bed between my legs. I rolled to my side and drew my knees in, trying to stop the tremors.

  Oh, shit, had it been thirty minutes? The clock read 4:21. I was eight minutes short. But I was done. I couldn't go anymore. I didn’t know if he’d meant “no more than thirty minutes” or “exactly thirty minutes no matter what.” I couldn't. I couldn't even move.

  I was supposed to practice my poses and learn three more. That wasn’t going to happen. I’d probably lose my reward, too. I lay as I was, terrified of what they’d do to me, but even that fear wasn’t enough to convince me to forge ahead.

  I rested for another ten minutes or so, and then the anxiety got to be too much. Maybe if I at least tried to learn another few poses, I could mitigate whatever punishment I was certain they would mete out.

  I uncurled myself and Lay at Rest. “Laying at Rest,” I said aloud, so they would see I was practicing. I rolled over to Prone, then pushed myself up to my knees to Kneel at Rest. From there to Presentation Pose Kneeling, then off the bed to my feet for Presentation Pose Standing, then Standing at Rest. Then Sitting at Rest on the edge of the bed, Flogging Pose, Table Pose. Was there another? Two others? Shit. I couldn't think.

  I thought about the Teacher and Glasses, and that reminded me of the other three I’d learned today. I folded myself into Supplication and then Supplication with Knees Spread, then finally lay back down in Missionary.

  Did I know that many already? Wow. Twelve poses. I’d counted thirty in the book. Three more, and I’d know half of them.

  I retrieved the book from the top drawer of my dresser and opened to the first page. I knew these three, so I browsed until I saw an unfamiliar one. This one looked even worse than Presentation Pose. But I had to learn them all. I studied it, read the description. Inspection Pose. This one had three variants: standing, kneeling, and lying down. Three birds with one stone?

  Inspection. I could only imagine how that would be used. My stomach churned at the idea of being “inspected.”

  The “standing” version wasn’t so much standing as squatting. This was not a restful pose. “Stand with feet flat, toes pointed out, legs as wide as possible without losing your balance. Bend the knees to as close to a 90-degree angle as you can. Spread your pussy lips and tuck in your bottom so that your master’s view of your pussy is maximized.”

  “Ugh,” I said, even as I attempted it. Definitely worse than Presentation.

  The kneeling version was even worse than that. “Begin in Kneeling at Rest. Open your knees past shoulder-width, arch your back and lean on your elbows, forearms on the floor behind your feet, eyes to the ceiling.” I wasn’t flexible enough for this, and my back protested. I held it as long as I could, just a few seconds.

  And finally, lying down. “Lie on your back with your knees bent. Hook your hands under your knees and draw your legs toward your chest and spread your knees as wide as you can. Your master should have unobstructed access to your pussy and ass.”

  It was while I was maintaining this obscene position for as long as I could that my door opened and the Punisher entered. I hadn’t had any interaction with him since the flogging he’d administered. I wasn’t sure if I should stay as I was or transition to Kneeling at Rest.

  “Excellent Inspection Pose, Slave,” the Punisher said. “Maintain that.”

  Well, I had my answer anyway. I could feel my cheeks heating as the Punisher took a good, long look.

  “Lie at Rest,” he said, mercifully. I dropped my legs and relaxed, at least until he spoke again. “You are to be punished, Slave,” he said. “Bring your hairbrush and follow me.”

  Bring my hairbrush?

  It still lay on the bed, and I picked it up and heeled the Punisher back downstairs, past the dining room, and into another room I hadn’t seen before, directly across the hall from the living room.

  I stopped dead just inside and looked around, mouth agape. A large X similar to the one on the bed in the other room stood at the center of what I could only label a “dungeon.” A cage in one corner looked just big enough for one poor slave to curl up in. Several benches of various sizes and shapes, all with leather straps attached, were arranged in a circle around the X. And hanging on one wall were cuffs, floggers, riding crops, and other instruments for which I had no name, none of which looked like they were meant for fun. I had fallen into Standing at Rest Pose naturally, so the Punisher didn’t reprimand me for my quick and horrified survey of the room.

  “You were instructed to masturbate for thirty minutes, and you did so for only twenty-two. You will be punished for the eight-minute lapse. You rested for ten minutes when you were to be practicing your poses. However, as you did practice all twelve poses and learned three new ones, that punishment has been reduced, but not eliminated. Finally, you used an unapproved tool to aid your masturbation.”

  The hairbrush. I wasn’t supposed to use it that way, apparently. I didn’t know that, but I should have realized. I awaited my sentencing.

  “Give me the hairbrush,” he said. I handed it to him. He directed me by a hand on my shoulder to one of the mysterious benches. This looked like nothi
ng other than a modified sawhorse, padded on top, with a platform on either side set lower than the top. “Up,” he said. My knees and elbows settled onto the platforms, with my torso supported by the padded top. The leather straps served an obvious purpose, securing me at the wrists, elbows, ankles, knees, and waist.

  I whimpered. What was he going to do to me, that I needed to be restrained so securely?!

  “Silence, Slave,” the Punisher said.

  He caressed my ass, and then inserted something into my vagina. The hairbrush.

  “That will remain in your pussy for the duration of your punishment. If you expel it or fail to hold it in, you will suffer additional punishment.”

  Hold it in? I squirmed.

  “Be still, Slave.”

  I stopped squirming. The Punisher was mean. No, he wasn’t. I remembered his kind eyes from last night. Harsh wasn’t the same as mean. Not that that comforted me now.

  “For eighteen minutes of misused time, twenty lashes while wearing a butt plug. That has been reduced from thirty-six lashes—two for each minute.”

  I didn’t know what a butt plug was, but it certainly didn’t sound like something I’d enjoy. I clenched against the hairbrush, sweating, terrified. I hadn’t actually wasted eighteen minutes. I’d only wasted ten! This wasn’t fair! Protesting would surely not help my cause, however.

  Bending over for a flogging required self control, but being tied up gave the experience a different flavor. This wasn’t about me obeying, submitting. This was about them controlling me. I had to take whatever the Punisher chose to inflict upon me, which meant I was completely at the mercy of his self-control.

  “This punishment will also serve to begin your anal training,” he said. “Because you’ve never been penetrated anally, I will use a relatively small plug. However, because it is a punishment, it is not the smallest we have. It will not be comfortable.”

  Anal training?

  He stood beside me where I could see what he held. He showed me three similar items. They were all cone-shaped, made of what looked to be high-quality silicone, much like a good dildo. The smallest was less than an inch wide at its widest point and maybe two inches long. The next was clearly wider than an inch and longer than the smallest one as well. And the largest was at least an inch and a half wide and three inches long. “These are butt plugs,” the Punisher said. “We will use progressively larger plugs to train your anus to accept a cock without difficulty. Ordinarily, we would start with the smallest.” He placed the smallest one beside my hand. “The pain with the smallest is minimal and the discomfort fades quickly. Instead, I will start with the next size up. The pain will likely persist throughout the flogging. You will continue to wear it for two full hours.” He held up the third plug. “We will save this next size for later in the week.”

  Next size implied there were plugs that were larger still. How could something like that fit in my asshole? He’d said it would be painful. Just how painful were we talking, here?

  Something cold and viscous dripped into my butt crack. Lube. The Punisher used his finger to spread the lube down to my anus, then pressed that finger against my unwilling hole. I sucked in, resistant, frightened.

  “You must not fight me,” he said. “You have earned this punishment.”

  Earned it. But I’d done what they told me! And a few things they hadn’t. Do exactly as you’re told and only as you’re told, Deep Voice had said. The Punisher’s finger continued to probe and finally slipped inside. I jerked, but though foreign and strange, the intrusion of his finger was not painful. He held the finger inside me as I contracted and relaxed my sphincter. When the involuntary pulsing stopped, he began to move his finger in and out.

  “Good, Slave. Relax the muscles.”

  The hairbrush handle wasn’t especially wide, but when combined with his finger in my anus, my nether regions felt quite full. The urge to scoot forward, to escape, was strong, but the leather straps held me in place quite effectively.

  The finger slipped out, and something new pressed against my anus. Hard and smooth, it must be the butt plug. I’d seen it. It was considerably wider than his finger. The tip forged a path.

  “While I do intend this to be painful, I suggest you relax as much as possible and breathe deeply,” the Punisher said. “There is a difference between punishment and torture.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. His words did not exactly soothe me. Five deep breaths. It wasn’t like I had a choice.

  He pushed the plug in farther, stretching me. My hands furled into tight fists and a sharp pain followed by a burning ring just inside my anus squeezed tears from my eyes and a wail from my throat. A narrower groove rested just behind the widest part of the cone, and my anus tried to close around it. I writhed as much as my restraints would allow, desperate to soothe the ache that still radiated through my pelvic floor. The hard tip of the plug pressed against the hairbrush handle through the thin membrane separating my asshole from my pussy, and only his promise that my punishment would be worse if I expelled the hairbrush kept me from trying to force it out.

  I tossed my head, tried to arch my back, then resorted to pleading. “Please take it out, sir. Please, it hurts so much!”

  “Silence, Slave,” he replied. “Twenty lashes now.”

  This punishment was so much harsher than the others they’d administered. Was what I’d done really that much worse? Or could I expect punishments to increase in severity as time went on?

  Do exactly as you’re told and only as you’re told.

  The slap of the flogger tails against my ass caused me to contract all of the muscles in my pelvis, clenching my butt and thighs, trying to move away from the source of the pain.

  The hairbrush thumped to the floor.

  I couldn't have been expected to hold that in with all the pain, all the distraction! The Punisher didn’t say anything, just continued on with the flogging. I screamed until my throat was raw, though the flogging couldn't have lasted more than a minute or two, but even after the sting of the flogger had faded to manageable, the butt plug continued its passive stretching, a bright, biting ache that I couldn't ignore. The Punisher didn’t release me from my restraints. He placed a hand on my lower back and crouched to pick up the hairbrush.

  He held it in front of my face. “Open your mouth,” he said.

  I did as he said, bewildered. He forced the handle of the hairbrush into my mouth far enough to make me gag and cough, then pulled it out.

  “Your pussy will be filled along with your ass,” he said after a moment. “Two hours.” He disappeared out of my line of sight, then stepped up behind me. A smallish dildo was worked into my pussy, and then he cinched a belt of sorts around my waist. A strap between my butt cheeks pressed uncomfortably against the plug, which I was finally starting to get used to. He opened the straps securing me to the sawhorse. “Back up, Slave. Feet on the floor.”

  I scooted backward. The strap against my ass was affixed to the belt in back, and he felt under me for a strap in front, to attach it there as well. The dildo was held in place quite effectively… and quite uncomfortably.

  “Presentation Pose,” the Punisher ordered.

  I assumed the humiliating stance, and the Punisher examined his handiwork.

  “Stand at Rest, Slave.”

  I relaxed as much as possible with foreign objects invading my orifices.

  “Good, Slave,” he said, his voice much more gentle. “Go rest, now. Lie on your bed for at least thirty minutes. Do not masturbate. Do not remove the dildo or butt plug. You will not be able to use the toilet until they are removed. After thirty minutes, you may sit or stand as desired, or remain lying down. You may sleep. Drink a full bottle of water at 6:00. You will be retrieved at 6:30 to have the dildo and plug removed and to come downstairs for dinner.”

  * * *

  Saturday, June 19, 2004, 11:31 p.m.

  11 years ago

  I retrieved the box from under my bed and opened it eagerly. Time to
prove once and for all that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. “Fuck you, Derek,” I said.

  Beth had sent it to me, as an early birthday present, when I told her Derek and I broke up, and why.

  “He was mad because you don’t come when you have sex? What the fuck?” she’d said.

  My sentiments exactly. “He said maybe it’s because I don’t really like him.”

  “It’s because he doesn’t fucking do what you ask him to!” Beth had responded. “Asshole!”

  Again, my sentiments exactly. “The thing is, Beth,” I’d said, “maybe it is me, a little. What if I just can’t… you know?”

  “Bullshit.”

  I smiled, remembering the conversation, and tore open the box. A “personal massager” and a dildo. I would never in a million years have had the guts to buy these for myself, but Beth had no such compunctions. As always, my older, wiser friend.

  And now to set the mood. I turned on my TV. Saturday night Cinemax ought to do the trick. I stripped off my clothes, double checked that my door was locked, turned the volume on the TV very low, lay on my bed, and waited.

  Yes. “Skinemax” coming through for me again.

  I studied the dildo. It was actually a little bigger than Derek’s dick. Beth was optimistic. I watched the ridiculous softcore porn for a bit, and when I started to feel a little something going on down below, I found my clit with two fingers and rubbed slowly.

  All he had to do was suck on my nipples a little more, maybe go down on me. He’d done that once but stopped way too soon. As usual.

  No. Stop thinking about him. He’s over and done with. You’ll find someone better. Someone who actually cares about you having a good time, too.

  My fingers were having an effect. My clit hardened, my breath quickened, and a sort of overall warmth started in my abdomen and expanded outward. I’d done this a few times and hadn’t managed to climax. Maybe this time.

  I picked up the dildo and worked it into my pussy. “Oh, God,” I murmured. It was definitely bigger than Derek’s pathetic excuse for a cock. Okay, maybe that was harsh, but I was angry, and this felt so, so good. I held it in with one hand and continued massaging my clit with the other, only half paying attention to the TV now.