The House Book One: Pet Lucy

by Madison Barry

  The thing was, I wasn’t actually averse to the idea. I wanted to have sex with him, in theory, but I was afraid to try. It had been so long and there had been so many failures that I’d rarely gotten a fourth, or even a third, date in the past few years.

  Beth insisted I needed to take care of myself a few times, get back into the groove, but even when I lay in bed with my vibrator and some porn, I never really got anywhere. Which had prompted me to search “how to orgasm” on Google.

  What a ridiculous thing to have to look up! “Don’t stress about it too much.” Right. “Try relaxing first. Take a warm bath and play relaxing music.” Uh-huh. “If direct clitoral stimulation is too much, try indirect stimulation, or a different method such as the running water in the bath.”

  Baths again.

  I’d tried all those things and then some. I had all but resigned myself to being unable to come. The magazines all said it was very rare, but, hey, very rare didn’t mean zero.

  And now that I was blaming myself, on the verge of declaring myself broken, it was impossible to have sex, because if I was broken, what was the point?

  I liked Gabe, though, and he apparently liked me. Maybe next time. Or the time after that. We were doing pizza and beer and a movie next Saturday, at his place. My suggestion.

  I glanced at my bedside table, where the vibrator was stored under trial-size bottles of lotion, nail clippers, and a half-finished crossword puzzle book in the drawer.

  Don’t stress about it, the websites said. How could I not?

  * * *

  Wednesday, November 11, 2015, 6:00 p.m.

  Day 5

  I’d cleaned my bathroom. Again. It was completely absurd to clean the bathroom every single day, top to bottom, especially when I was the only one using it. I had a feeling it was less about the cleaning and more about the structure, though. I’d made my bed, cleaned my rug with the electric broom someone had left for me, and taken a nap. I’d journaled. I had plenty to say about the events of the morning, and plenty of worry about what was to come.

  And I’d run through all thirty poses.

  I’d caught a glimpse of my backside a few times in the bathroom mirror. At first, I had clear red hatch marks. By the time 6:00 rolled around, I’d definitely bruised, and sitting was painful. Some of the poses that required me to sit or put my bottom on my heels were decidedly uncomfortable.

  Deep Voice must have known that would happen. That must be part of the punishment.

  “You really fucked up, Lucy,” I said to myself, as I waited, gingerly Kneeling at Rest, for someone to come get me for dinner.

  The door swung open to reveal the Punisher. Not Glasses.

  “Come, Slave,” he said.

  I followed him down to the dining room, where, in addition to my six masters, three other men sat at the table. One had a slave kneeling beside his chair, but it was not the same master and slave pair who had been here on Monday. Just how many of these guys were there?

  I didn’t have time to be self-conscious, naked in front of three more strange men. I was instructed to begin serving food immediately and then sent to my mat.

  “Nice marks,” one of the newcomers commented, having surveyed my ass. “Whose work is it?” He had a British accent.

  “Mine,” Glasses answered quietly.

  “She’ll have more later,” Deep Voice added.

  “That bad?” That was one of the other of the three, the one who’d brought his slave. He was older than the others, with graying hair and beard. His slave looked to be in her early thirties, like me, with piercing blue eyes and long, straight blonde hair. She wore a black corset that did not hide her ample breasts, a black thong, and a garter belt holding up fishnet stockings. A simple black collar around her neck enhanced the outfit. She was unbelievably sexy. Her master patted her head, and she smiled and leaned into his touch.

  Deep Voice grunted, but didn’t elaborate.

  This was the first time since Sunday that all six of my masters were at a meal, not to mention the additional men. I wondered what was going on. When they’d finished discussing my bruises, they ignored me while they ate. Low murmurs of conversation about mundane items were of little interest to me.

  They made the other slave collect the used dishes and bring out dessert, and then they sent both of us to the living room.

  The other woman shut the living room door and smiled at me. I’d been told I wasn’t to talk to any other women I encountered here in the House, but I smiled back, shrugged, and, unsure of what to do next, I Knelt at Rest in the middle of the room. The other woman giggled and made herself comfortable on one of the couches.

  “I know you’re not allowed to talk during vetting week, but once you get to phase three, there’s a lot more freedom,” she said. “Don’t worry, I won’t bait you. You’re bruised enough. Ouch. The cane?”

  I nodded. I didn’t know what to make of her.

  “So, Wednesday,” she continued. “I assume you started on Saturday. Hey, you’re halfway there. Do you have someone in mind you’re hoping for? I think two or three of your guys vetted me, too. You’ve got some great options.”

  I nodded. She said she wouldn't bait me, but she seemed intent on attempting a lopsided conversation nonetheless.

  “I don’t know what’s going on. My master just told me we were coming to the House for dinner. I didn’t expect so many others! For a minute, I thought I was here to be punished, but apparently it’s not about us.”

  I shook my head and shrugged. I felt ridiculous.

  She slid off the couch and knelt in front of me. “I know it’s really hard at first, but it’s worth it. It’s… I don’t know. Freeing, you know?” She patted my thigh. “I’ve only got two months left. I want to stay with my master, but I don’t know if he’ll keep me.”

  I frowned, trying to express empathy.

  “The past ten months have been amazing.” She just would not stop talking! But I listened, fascinated. “When I came here, I had been with so many men who were just so wrong for me. I needed a change. I needed someone to take charge of me and put me on a better path. I’ve quit smoking and drinking—my master won’t let me near alcohol or cigarettes. He says he doesn’t like the smell. He doesn’t let me curse, either, and I had quite the potty mouth before. That was so hard, but when the choice is between having a cigarette or being caned, well…” She laughed. “I’m sorry. I keep yammering at you. You’re so good! Not a peep. I’ll tell your masters how good you were. Maybe you’ll get a treat. Dang, I’d love to hear your story. Maybe we’ll meet again.” She rubbed my shoulder and resumed her lounging pose on the couch.

  She’d both enlightened me and brought up more questions. What kind of place was this? She hadn’t come here for sex therapy, clearly, but for some other kind of healing. I wondered if Tara had sent her here too or if she’d found the House some other way.

  Ten minutes or so passed in silence, and I realized she’d fallen asleep. Lucky. Finally, the Punisher entered the room, glanced at the other slave, and grunted. “Her master will be engaged for quite some time still,” he said. “He instructed me to let her sleep. We will work in the Training Room. Come, Slave.”

  It was so hard to keep my mouth shut, not to ask what was happening in the dining room, why all these men were here. But I heeled the Punisher to the Training Room, rather apprehensive. Though he’d been the one to finally authorize coffee for me, he was also one of the most frightening and stern of the six. The nickname I’d created for him fit him all too well. “Go sit in the chair, Slave,” he said.

  I reclined in the dentist chair—they hadn’t given me any other name for it, and that’s still what it felt like to me, so that’s how I continued to think of it.

  “You did well last night. By the end of this evening, you will take my cock down your throat.”

  Oh. I gulped. I couldn't do it this morning with Deep Voice. What made the Punisher think I could do it now?

  He produced another harness and
dildo contraption. This dildo was the size of an average penis, at least five or six inches long, more than an inch wide.

  “Remember to breathe,” he said. “Open.”

  I opened my mouth, gripping the armrests of the chair, white-knuckled. I took five slow, deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Panicking wouldn't help, I knew.

  He slid the dildo along my tongue. I tried to relax my throat, but when the dildo hit the back of my tongue, the gagging and retching started. The Punisher didn’t back off, just let me gag around the dildo, forcing it farther in, until the base of the dildo was against my lips. I thrashed, fought for breath, tried to back away, but he simply waited. I finally drew in a breath, calmed the retching, and he quickly fastened the harness around my head.

  “Ten minutes, Slave,” he said, and left the room.

  He hadn’t restrained me. My butt hurt just thinking of what they’d do to me if I got up, or removed the dildo, or anything else I desperately wanted to do. I lost concentration and gagged again, coughing, heaving, sweating and crying. My feet scrabbled against the chair, but I wouldn't allow myself let go of the armrests.

  Breathe, Lucy! I screamed in my head. Air flooded my lungs, and the gagging calmed again. I could do this. I had to do this! Maybe he’d give me another reward if I managed to deep throat him. That thought kept me going for another minute. I finally regulated my breathing, but by the time the Punisher returned, I was hanging on by a hair, holding the dry heaves back by sheer force of will.

  He removed the harness immediately. They’d never made me go longer than ten minutes. “Very good, Slave.”

  I swallowed several times, and he cleaned the drool from my chin and chest with a towel. I did it. Barely.

  “I must return to the meeting, Slave. You will go into the bedroom and masturbate for at least fifteen minutes or until you orgasm. Then practice your poses until I return for you.”

  Meeting? Well, it was obviously a meeting!

  He led me to the bedroom and gave me a dildo and a vibrator, then left me alone. No further instructions. I stood in the middle of the room, holding the two toys, afraid to move. The Punisher (and all the others) was clearly distracted by whatever this “meeting” was, but their instructions were usually much more specific than this.

  I was also, admittedly, afraid to masturbate again. I hadn’t had much time to process this morning’s orgasm right away, and by the time I sat down to journal during my downtime in the afternoon, some of the intensity of the experience had faded from memory, overshadowed by the confusion and pain that had followed.

  What had been different from all the other times, when I’d been overcome or overwhelmed or simply burst into tears?

  Well, obviously, it was anal sex, but I didn’t really think that was all there was to it. The vibrator against my clit had been on a very low setting, and he’d warmed me up in advance with other low-level stimulation.

  But what had I done differently? I didn’t know.

  I lay down on the bed, switched the vibrator on, then off, then on. This one was much more powerful than the one Deep Voice had used.

  They wouldn't know if I didn’t do this. I could just say I had.

  They’d know. Somehow, they would. And I was in deep enough shit as it was.

  I studied the dildo, smiled, and turned over to my stomach. I tried lying on top of the vibrator so that it just touched the hood of my clit. The vibrations coursed through me, and I allowed myself to moan, then cry out. Just before it became too much, I lifted my hips and pulled my knees in so I could reach under myself and work the dildo into my pussy, then lowered myself carefully back down.

  “Oh, holy fuck!” I shrieked when my clit touched the vibrator again. The walls of my vagina contracted around the dildo, my thighs tightened, and I sucked in, trying to keep control of myself as the vibrations threatened to sweep me away. A deep breath, another shout, and I tried to imagine—to remember—how Deep Voice’s cock had felt inside me.

  You have to stop fighting it, Pet. Let go.

  Stop fighting.

  I lifted my hips, trying to regain some coherence.

  Stop fighting it. I’d had to relax to accept Deep Voice’s entrance or it would have been too painful.

  Let go.

  My hips dropped, my eyes rolled back in my head, and I let myself ride the wave that rolled through my abdomen, my butt, my thighs.

  Stop fighting it.

  Another wave, and I didn’t even know where I was or what was happening.

  That tension built. And built. And then I had to release it or explode. Somehow, I did both. The dildo flew out of me as I bore down instead of pulling in, the pressure drained as though a valve had been opened, and sweet relief followed. I lay in a wet, twitching puddle, my face buried in the mattress. I moved forward enough that the vibrator didn’t touch me anymore.

  Someone switched it off and then drew a finger along my spine. My head came up, eyes snapped open.

  Glasses. I smiled at him.

  “Hello, Pet,” he said. He sat on the edge of the bed and combed my hair with his fingers. “That was beautiful. You’ve come a long way in just a few days.”

  I was mildly embarrassed to know that he’d seen at least some of that, but I was also proud. And glad it had been him, specifically, who’d been watching. His soothing touch had me melting into the bed.

  “I was to have you this evening, but the meeting disrupted the schedule. I’ll have sex with you now, and then another will come to test your oral skills.” He sighed, obviously upset about something. “Missionary, Pet,” he said.

  I rolled over and assumed the position while he undressed. The brief break gave me the time I needed to come down from the orgasm. Glasses knelt between my legs, eyes unfocused, as though he wanted to say more. He leaned over me, supporting his weight on his hands, and kissed me, a sweet, gentle kiss loaded with all of the words he wasn’t allowed to say. “Stay with me, Pet,” he murmured as his cock slipped easily into me.

  He moved slowly, filling me, then backing off, gazing into my eyes. Even after the beating he’d given me earlier, I still desperately wanted him to choose me. I knew he’d only done it because Deep Voice had told him to. I wondered now if the meeting was related to the conversation I’d overheard. And if it was, did that mean they weren’t going to allow Glasses to have me?

  So many questions.

  He kissed me again, then thrust faster, harder, until I moaned and rose to meet him. He smiled down at me, dropped to his elbows, and kissed me again, passionate and possessive. Something in his expression had changed when he broke free. “Good, Pet,” he said, more distant now. He came, then left the room without a word. As he exited, the Punisher entered, staring after Glasses as he strode away. Had Glasses changed his mind, or was it all a show, an attempt to convince them that he should still be allowed to participate in my training?

  The Punisher shut the door. “Did you come, Slave?” he asked.

  “What?” I said. “I mean, sorry. Oh, God. Sir. Yes, Sir, this Slave came,” I corrected.

  “Good, Slave. Praying Pose.”

  Right, I had to deep throat him now. I was almost certain I wouldn't be able to. And add that to suddenly forgetting how to speak properly, and I was in for a painful night. Well, an even more painful night than I had already earned. I sat up, slid off the bed, and knelt in the Praying Pose in front of the Punisher.

  “Blow job to completion,” he instructed. He opened his fly and pulled out his cock.

  I got to work. They’d said I had good instincts, and none of the masters I’d done this for had had any complaints, which served to boost my confidence. I found I could take him fairly deep now, more than I expected, after all the training, but I was too timid to go farther than the back of my tongue. I worked his cock with my lips and tongue, gratified by his groans of satisfaction, and was wholly unprepared for him to seize me by the hair on either side of my head and yank me forward on my next downstroke. I braced myself against his th
ighs as his cock slipped past my gag reflex and into my throat, squeezing tears from my eyes. I hadn’t had time to relax my throat or psyche myself up, and I coughed and retched, struggling against his hold. He let me go, and I resumed my usual technique, trembling. After another minute, his hands went to my hair again. I managed a deep breath just before he pulled me forward, fought down my fear, and took him down my throat properly.

  “Good, Slave!” he said, apparently surprised. “Now do it yourself.”

  Still shaking, tears coursing down my cheeks, I backed up, took several breaths, hesitated. It’s the same as the dildo, I said to myself. The head of his cock bumped the back of my throat. I resisted the urge to gag, opened my throat, breathed through my nose. Go. My nose touched his pubic hair, and I grunted in triumph. That’d show him! I held it for a few seconds, then backed up again, a warm sense of accomplishment overtaking my fear.

  “Again,” he said.

  I did it again, and again, and on the last time he seized my hair and held me in place as he came, shooting cum straight down my throat. My eyes widened, and I tried to fling myself backward, but he didn’t let go until he was finished. I coughed and panted, swallowing the last drops that hovered at the back of my mouth.

  “At Ease, Slave,” he said. I had only used that one in practice so far, but I stood gracefully and assumed the pose. He pressed his palm to my cheek and kissed my forehead. “Well done, Slave.” The kindness in his eyes belied his stern tone. He smiled, just a brief upward curve of his lips. “Go use the toilet, Slave, and then report to the Training Room for your punishment.”

  My punishment. My ass cheeks clenched in anticipation. I went to the bathroom beside the bedroom, then crossed the hall. Glasses, Deep Voice, and the master with the British accent had assembled in the Training Room. The Punisher was not there.

  My stomach dropped, my knees wobbled, and I waited for an instruction.