The House Book One: Pet Lucy

by Madison Barry

  “Deep breaths now, Pet,” I heard.

  “Please take it out, Sir!” I cried. A sharp slap to my butt cut off that avenue of relief, but it also shocked me out of hyperventilating. I coughed, then took as deep a breath as I could.

  “Again,” he ordered.

  I clenched my thighs, rocked back and forth, but I also took another breath. And another. The pain started to fade.

  “I’ll overlook the outburst this time, Pet, but such pleading is unacceptable. A pet accepts what her master chooses to do.” He unhooked me from the table and removed the cuffs. “Follow me,” he said. He crossed the room to where a mirror hung on the wall. I studied myself, red, tear-streaked face, hardened nipples poking out from rounded breasts, chest heaving with the effort of ignoring the pain between my legs. “Turn, Pet.”

  I turned and saw the tail hanging down from my butt.

  “Pet” had taken on a whole new meaning.

  “Do you like it, Pet?” he asked.

  I had a feeling however I answered would earn me a punishment. If I said I liked it, I’d be lying. If I said I didn’t, I’d seem ungrateful. “This Pet isn’t sure, Sir,” I tried.

  “You’re not sure? Perhaps you need ears after all.”

  “This Pet is embarrassed, Sir,” I said.

  “Embarrassed? Because of a tail? You are an unusual creature, Pet. Clean the Flogging Table, and then it’s time for dinner.”

  I wiped down the table and cuffs as Lustful Guy had explained this morning, then accompanied Blue Eyes to the dining room. The table was set with two places. My mat was in the corner, as usual. Apparently the other master and slave hadn’t arrived yet. I went to my mat automatically and Knelt at Rest, which put uncomfortable pressure on the butt plug. The tail was soft against my legs, but I still hadn’t completely adjusted to the larger plug. I shifted, trying to find a more pleasant angle.

  “Be still, Pet,” Blue Eyes said. I didn’t even know he’d been looking in my direction! I bit my lip and held my position unhappily.

  The dining room door swung open, and I raised my eyes just enough to see who had entered. This master wore the same black jacket, black slacks, and white button-down shirt as the other six masters I’d met. He was Asian, average height and thin. He had a leash in his hand, which led to a collar around the neck of a woman crawling on all fours just behind his right heel. She wore a black bra and black thong, and had short, light brown hair. It was hard to tell from her posture, but she gave me an overall impression of “small,” short and thin, but lithe. I could see the definition of her biceps and calves under pale skin. Her face was pointed at the floor.

  I watched with interest when no one told me not to, willing to risk punishment to understand what was going on.

  “Supplication, Slave!” her master barked. She folded herself into the pose I’d recently learned. I could see her hands shaking and caught the sharp intake of breath that suggested a suppressed sob. This was not a happy woman. And no wonder, if she was being severely punished. But what could she possibly have done?

  Blue Eyes shook the other master’s hand in greeting and inclined his head toward me. “Our newest pet,” he said. “Joined us on Saturday.”

  The new arrival squatted in front of me. “Presentation, Slave,” he said, in the same harsh tone he’d used with his own slave. I sprang to my feet and assumed the hated posture, staring straight ahead. They’d told me to obey all masters equally, but I was unnerved by the sudden appearance of someone new. He looked me up and down, ran his hands along my arms and down my sides, caressed my breasts, then moved around behind me and noted my tail with a chuckle. “A fox?” he said. “She strikes me more like a frightened rabbit.”

  Blue Eyes laughed. “She has a wily streak,” he said. “She’s been very obedient, an excellent start. She needs work, though. She’s never climaxed and is overcoming a fear of sex.”

  The embarrassment of the tail dangling between my legs was nothing compared to being talked about in such a frank way with a complete stranger, not to mention that the other woman was obviously listening. To tell him I’d never had an orgasm! What did that matter?

  “Never? Interesting,” the other master said. “But she feels pleasure?” He was still standing behind me. “Stand at Rest,” he ordered. I dropped my arms in relief. He stroked the back of my neck with two fingers. I shivered.

  “Yes. She’s come a long way in a short time. She’s had several small breakthroughs already, and I sense a larger one coming. An excellent Pet,” he concluded, with the affection I’d come to associate with him.

  The new arrival finally moved away from me and tugged on his slave’s leash. “Presentation Kneeling,” he ordered. She complied immediately. Her deep brown eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, and a trail of freckles across the bridge of her petite nose made her more cute than beautiful. The set of her mouth suggested an insolent streak, like a rebellious teenager. She was definitely much younger than me, possibly in her early twenties.

  “Slave, tell this master and this slave why you are here,” her master demanded.

  He wasn’t going to release her from that pose? My shoulders ached in sympathy, though she didn’t seem overly uncomfortable. Maybe she was used to it.

  Her eyes darted toward me, then toward Blue Eyes, and she hesitated just long enough to make it clear she did not want to do this, and with the resigned expression of someone who figured things couldn't get any worse anyway. Just how “severe” was this punishment?

  “This Slave attended a social event her Master forbade her from attending. This Slave did not accompany her Master to his community meeting because the social event conflicted with the meeting.” She delivered the report in a monotone.

  “And what was the result, Slave?” His tone had softened. He was angry, but in a way similar to Blue Eyes, like a parent to a recalcitrant child, rather than an owner toward a defective purchase.

  “This Slave’s Master was accused of being unable to control his Slave,” she said. “This Slave’s Master risked having his Slave reassigned.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and her eyes shone with regret. There was something deeper going on here. Also, how could she attend any event without him? The rules must be much looser in phase three!

  Blue Eyes grunted in understanding. I didn’t suppose someone would explain any of this to me.

  “You must be reminded of your place, little Slave,” her master said, without a trace of anger now. “You will spend 24 hours at the House, humiliated in front of a fellow slave and her masters the way your master was humiliated in front of his fellow masters and their slaves. Remove your clothes. Slaves must be nude in the House.”

  More tears, but she rose gracefully to her feet and shed her underwear without delay. Her pubic hair had been completely removed, and her breasts were petite, with large nipples.

  “Kneel beside my chair,” he commanded. He sat at the table, and his slave crawled over to him and Knelt at Rest, like a dog hoping for a morsel during dinner. He stroked her head and cupped her cheek.

  “Pet,” Blue Eyes said, “serve.”

  Oh, right. My mind was racing, trying to understand what I’d witnessed, but I went to the kitchen and saw two salad plates. The chef didn’t even look at me. I served the two masters and then knelt on my mat. The masters ate without talking, the other slave’s master occasionally feeding her bits of his salad. I collected the empty plates and found only three entree plates waiting upon my return to the kitchen. What about the other slave?

  One of the plates had a bit more food than the other two. Oh my God, he was going to feed her dinner, too! I served the larger plate to the correct master and earned a smile from Blue Eyes. I placed his plate in front of him and took mine to my mat. Some kind of fish today, over rice, with asparagus on the side. Delicious.

  Sure enough, the master would offer forkfuls of food to his slave throughout the meal. He spoke suddenly, addressing Blue Eyes. “May I use your slave?” he asked.

  Use m
e? For what?

  Blue Eyes appeared to consider the request, though his lack of surprise suggested he’d either known or expected it was coming. “She’s quite new,” he responded.

  I tried to keep my attention on my food, but I watched out of the corner of my eye. So did the other slave.

  “She’s the only one here?”

  “Yes, at the moment.”

  “Then she’ll do.”

  His slave was trembling again. What was going on? I was completely befuddled.

  There was no further conversation, and both masters declined dessert, so that ended the meal. I took the plates to the kitchen and returned. I’d finally become used to the butt plug at some point during dinner and wondered if that would play a part at all in whatever was coming next.

  “Come, Pet,” Blue Eyes said. I followed him to the bedroom across the hall. He turned to the other master. “She’s all yours.” He left.

  Wait, what? I Stood at Rest, not the least bit relaxed. He was leaving me here with this guy? And the other slave? Why?

  The master walked a full circle around me. “My Slave, kneel in the corner and watch. New Slave, Flogging Pose at the bed.”

  The other woman went to Kneel at Rest where her master indicated, head lowered in shame. I didn’t have much time to observe her, because I had to bend over the side of the bed, hoping he wasn’t planning to actually flog me.

  “I like your tail, Slave. I’ll leave it.” He ran his hands over my ass, fingered me, crouched to examine my pussy. “They should have you waxed,” he said, tugging on my pubic hair. I stifled a protest. My bikini line was shaved! That was plenty. Then I remembered that his slave was completely bald down there. I cringed at the thought.

  His slave was crying openly now, though I still didn’t understand why. Her master straightened, lowered his pants, and put his hands on my hips. “Arch your back, Slave,” he said. I did so, and he shoved his cock into me.

  I grunted in surprise. Obviously that’s what he’d meant by “use me,” but I was wholly unprepared for him to simply take me like that.

  “Your pussy is tight, Slave. Very nice.” He braced himself with a hand on my shoulder and pumped hard and fast, his thighs slapping against mine with every stroke. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes. His penis was no more than average in size, and the action wasn’t painful, just so impersonal. Why?

  He slowed, stopped, and withdrew, though he clearly hadn’t finished. “Little Slave, would you prefer to have your Master’s cock in your pussy?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she sniffled.

  “Do you enjoy watching your Master fuck another, little Slave?”

  “No, Master,” she answered.

  I listened in fascination. He was using me to punish her, to make her jealous and ashamed that he wasn’t using her. This was more than simply a sexual arrangement. There was more there, love, or at least some kind of connection beyond the physical.

  “Do you think your Master enjoys thinking of you with another, little Slave?”

  “No, Master.” She burst into tears again.

  Could I expect this kind of treatment if I stayed? Only if I screwed up, but screw-ups were beginning to seem inevitable, at least sometimes, considering the random and minor things I’d already been punished for. And there must be advantages, some kind of appeal, or she wouldn't have chosen to stay with him to begin with.

  Right?

  “New Slave, stand. What room are you in?” he asked.

  It took me a moment to figure out what he was asking—the change of subject was so swift. I stood and turned to face him. “Uh, room four, Sir.”

  “Room four, Master,” he corrected.

  Deep Voice had said I could use either title, but it seemed this guy had a preference. “Sorry, Master. Room four, Master,” I said, the word unfamiliar on my tongue. “Sir” rolled across my lips so easily now, I didn’t even have to think about it, but “master” felt funny.

  “Fine. Little Slave, go to room three and wait for me,” he instructed. His slave leapt to her feet and took off at a dead run, carrying her leash.

  I waited, still bent over the bed.

  “Your Master gives you high praise, Slave,” the Master said. “Good luck with your vetting. Perhaps I’ll see you again.” And he was gone, striding out of the room and up the stairs after his little slave.

  Blue Eyes returned almost immediately upon the other Master’s exit. “An unexpected interlude,” he said. “Does the butt plug still hurt, Pet?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “You’re troubled,” he said, studying me. “You don’t understand what happened.”

  I waited. Those weren’t questions. Blue Eyes had a tendency to have these one-sided conversations.

  “I won’t explain now. It’s too much information for someone still in her vetting week.”

  Kept in the dark. I should have known. I’d have to spend some time picking apart what I’d heard and witnessed once I was left alone.

  “You did well, Pet,” he added. “Let’s move on. I’ll remove the butt plug for now. I don’t want to cause you any damage. Bend over the bed.” I did as he said. I hissed as the widest part of the plug passed back through, but relief was immediate once it was out. “Heel me, Pet.” I followed him to the living room. He’d said something about oral training, and I had no idea what that might mean. “Your previous master said your oral skills are rudimentary but that you have some natural inclination. Meeting your master’s needs will often involve oral satisfaction, especially when vaginal or anal penetration is not practical. It is possible to take even a large penis deep into your mouth with some training. We will help you tame your gag reflex so that you can properly please us.”

  I Stood at Rest just inside the doorway. I did not like the sound of this oral training.

  “Do you gag easily, Pet?” he asked.

  “Sometimes, Sir.” I hated gagging. Hated it. Like, not just a little uncomfortable, not just, gee, I’d rather not, but I would go to great lengths to avoid anything that might even threaten to provoke gagging. I trembled, imagining the punishments I was about to earn.

  “Then we’ll start small. Kneel beside the chair.”

  I Knelt at Rest where he pointed. He left the room, then returned with something in his hand. I couldn't see what it was. He knelt in front of me.

  “Open your mouth.”

  I did, warily.

  I must have grimaced or flinched back from him, because he added, “I hope we can do this without restraining you, Pet, but I will if I have to.” He showed me what he held: a short, relatively thin dildo attached to a harness of some kind. “Keep your mouth open.”

  He put the dildo in my mouth. It was just long enough that it hit near the back of my tongue, barely in front of where I would start gagging uncontrollably. He fastened the harness around my head to hold it in place. “Uncomfortable” was not a strong enough word to describe the unpleasantness of having this dildo sitting on my tongue. Tears pooled in my eyes, and I couldn't swallow. My throat convulsed, and drool gathered in the corners of my mouth.

  “Breathe through your nose, Pet. The more you fight it, the worse it will be.”

  I tried. He was right. When I managed a calm breath through my nose, the desperate need to swallow eased. I couldn't do anything about the spit, but he didn’t seem to mind as some of it dribbled down my chin. I resisted the urge to wipe it away. I understood now why he’d mentioned the possibility of restraints.

  I lost control of my breathing again, coughed, gagged, then sobbed, shaking my head and whimpering. Panicked, I reached up to unfasten the harness, only to find my wrists in a vise-like grip. My stomach heaved. I tried to cry out, beg him to remove it, but he simply dragged me by the wrists to my feet and hauled me to the Training Room.

  “That’s too bad, Pet. I thought you had better self-control.” The disappointed parent. “Breathe through your nose. Calm yourself.” He wrestled me into the chair I’d noticed earlier, that loo
ked like it was straight out of a dentist’s office. A strap around my ankles, then one around each wrist, a belt at my waist, and finally one across my forehead held me firmly in place. I struggled, writhed, tried to scream.

  “You must learn, Pet,” he said. And then he did a most unexpected thing. He knelt by my feet and massaged them. “Deep breaths, Pet.” His hands traveled up my calves, kneading the muscles there, then my thighs. I stopped struggling, slowed my breath. My heart stopped pounding and my stomach settled. “Better,” he said. “Ten minutes, Pet.”

  Ten minutes for what? Oh, fuck, he was leaving me here. Panic again. What if I threw up and choked on my own vomit? What if I couldn't stop gagging and coughing and suffocated myself? I had to calm myself, or one of those things might actually happen!

  When he returned after the longest ten minutes of my life, I was sweating, sobbing, the taste of bile was strong in the back of my tongue from a barely controlled need to vomit, drool coated my chin, my neck, my chest, and I’d decided I hated Blue Eyes as much as I hated gagging. He removed the harness and the dildo, and I worked my jaw gratefully, swallowing, licking my lips and coughing, and managing to shoot him a death glare while I was at it. He didn’t release me from the chair, but he did wipe my face and chest with a warm, wet cloth.

  “This is not an optional part of your training, Pet, but how you react is entirely up to you,” he said. “We’ll try again later this evening. I hope we can do it without the restraints next time.”

  I struggled, tried to shake my head. “Sir, please,” I whispered. “Not again.”

  “You’ll be punished, Pet, for fighting me, for your disrespectful expression, and for speaking out of turn. I suggest you consider whether the training is more unpleasant than the punishment.”