“Oh, my God!” I cried, as a stab of electricity shot through me. I was caught off guard by the intensity of my reaction. He didn’t let me come, or really even bring me close, but he chuckled as though he’d just proven something, either to himself or to me.
“Good, Slave,” he said. He kissed my shoulder and released me from the table. “Would you like another soak in the tub?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, unable to hide my excitement. All week I’d been dreaming of getting into that hot tub again.
“Go. You may have 45 minutes, and then you must go to bed.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice! And 45 minutes!
* * *
Saturday, April 12, 2014, 9:57 p.m.
2.5 years ago
I almost fell over in shock when I opened my door to reveal Cory on the other side. After he and Jen had divorced, he’d moved out of town and Jen had resumed her relationship with Patrick, which often took her out of town in another direction. I hadn’t heard from Cory since, and I’d seen Jen only sporadically when she came back to visit.
But here he was in my apartment.
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
“Uh,” I said. “What are you doing here, Cory?”
“I should have called. I would have, but I didn’t have your number, but I thought I remembered you live here. And you do. I’m in town for my brother’s wedding and I thought maybe we could get a drink.”
“Get a drink? I haven’t seen you in years! What’s going on?” He was quite ill-at-ease, raking his fingers through his hair and leaning against the door jamb, his other hand in his pocket. I wasn’t afraid, just confused.
“After that day, I couldn't stop thinking about you,” he said. “You were right to run away. I shouldn't have touched you. I’m sorry.”
Truth was, I’d thought of him occasionally over the years, too. He’d always been under the “good guy” category in my mind, as Jen’s boyfriend and then husband, and knowing it was Jen’s actions that had ended their marriage had kept him firmly in that column as well. And he was attractive and reasonably well off. I wondered idly how much alimony he paid Jen. She’d never said anything about it, and it would have been rude to ask.
But he was my best friend’s ex-husband.
“Come on in,” I said, relenting a little.
He smiled. “I won’t try anything. Sorry. I’m really nervous. I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
That explained the furtiveness. “You’re not. Come in. I’ll get you a beer.”
One beer became three, and we eventually polished off a six-pack and half of another, chatting comfortably. I realized after a while that we were sitting so close that our hips touched, and a tingle of anticipation bubbled out from that point of contact. I scooted closer still, aware that I was drunk but not caring.
Cory took my movement as an invitation, as I’d meant it to be. He put his hand on my thigh, twisted so he could face me, and kissed me. When I didn’t resist—I hadn’t planned to resist!—he shoved his tongue into my mouth and slipped one hand up under my shirt, as though he intended to pick up where he’d left off at that barbecue. His hand brushed across my nipple, and I looped my arms around his neck and leaned into him. I had every intention of taking this all the way. I’d only been dreaming about it for three years.
He unbuttoned my blouse and pushed it off my shoulders, freed my breasts from my bra, and bent to suck on my nipple. I lay back and looked up at him, his eyes mirroring the smoldering lust in mine. Oh, fuck, it had been so long.
He took off his shirt and pants and was back on top of me on the couch, one knee between my legs, kneading my breasts and kissing me. His lips traveled along my cheekbone, down the side of my neck, my collarbone, then down to my nipples, sucking hard. Here was a man who knew what he was doing! My nipples throbbed, and my clit hardened. I ground my pussy into his knee and clutched at his head.
He stopped and sat up. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I can’t. I shouldn't. You’re…” He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
I’m what? “What the fuck? Why did you come here?” I snatched up my shirt from the floor and held it to my chest.
“I wanted to, but… it’s not your fault. I shouldn't have come.” He picked up his clothes and shoved his legs into his jeans, pulled his t-shirt over his head. “I’m sorry.” He dashed out the door.
I stared at the closed door of my apartment in sheer bewilderment. And then I burst into tears. “Fuck you!” I shrieked.
* * *
Friday, November 13, 2015, noon
Day 7
I’d been left alone the whole morning with the tasks I normally did in the quiet midday hours. Deep Voice retrieved me at lunchtime and took me downstairs, where three men I hadn’t seen before were seated around the table. None had a slave with him.
“Be good, Pet,” Deep Voice said, kissed me on the forehead, and left me alone with them. I was grateful he’d informed me this would happen. Still, they were an unknown element, and I didn’t have the rapport with them that I’d developed with the other six. Butterflies danced in my stomach, and I Stood at Rest, waiting to be acknowledged.
“Serve, Slave,” one of the men said finally. He had an accent that I couldn’t place, maybe German. He sure looked German, with blond hair and blue eyes, clean shaven, with a strong jaw. I immediately trotted to the kitchen, comfortable with the meal service routine now.
I served the German first, since he was the one who’d spoken. They had Cobb salad today, and there was a plate for me, too, to my relief. The man seated beside the German was short and bald, somewhat ferrety, but he smiled warmly at me and said, “Thank you, Slave,” when I set his plate down in front of him. The third man, with dark hair and eyes and a deep tan, caressed my breasts and butt when I came within arm’s reach. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he had a charisma about him, the same kind of dominant aura that I’d noticed in Blue Eyes. My skin tingled where he’d touched me. All three wore the same black slacks, black jacket, and white shirt as my six masters always did, and the other four I’d encountered as well.
I took my plate to my mat, wondering if I’d ever get to sit at a table again.
The men carried on a quiet conversation while they ate. I caught snatches of it. At times, they seemed to be talking about me, mostly discussing what my masters had told them. “Obedient,” I heard, and “fear of sex.” My cheeks burned with the knowledge that possibly every one of the members of this peculiar club knew these intimate details about me. Their utensils clattered as they moved their plates away, but no one told me to clear the table. Then one of them reached into a briefcase beside his chair and pulled out a book. I flicked my eyes up in time to see the familiar cover of my journal.
“No!” I burst out without thinking. It was one thing for the six who were vetting me to read it. They already knew what they’d done and how I’d reacted. But for these strangers to read the most intimate workings of my mind was too much for me.
All three heads swiveled in my direction, and the dark-haired, tanned one’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem, Slave?”
I shrank back from his gaze, as though he’d delivered a physical blow. “No, Sir,” I whispered.
As if to taunt me, he opened to a random page and read aloud. “Counting lashes is worse than not. When I don’t have to count, I don’t have to concentrate, either, and letting my mind drift helps me handle the pain. I’m sure they know this.” He chuckled. “We do, Slave.” He flipped to another page, more toward the middle of the journal. “I didn’t expect it to feel so good. I knew people did that, but I’d never wanted to try it before. Now I’m even more curious what it will feel like with a penis instead of a plug.” He read it in a mocking tone, high-pitched and breathy. What a cruel man.
“Enough,” the bald one said quietly. He’d been watching me as the dark-haired one read, and he could see my increasing discomfort. I liked him even mo
re now. He took the journal and shut it. “You must know that your masters have read your journal, Slave,” he said to me.
“Yes, Sir.” I did. Or I assumed they did.
“But you didn’t know they’d give it to others to read.”
“No, Sir.”
He nodded. “And even knowing your words were not private, you wrote out your thoughts in detail. That’s good, Slave.” He left the book where it was and rose. “Come, Slave. Leave the dishes.” He strode out of the room without glancing back. He knew I’d follow. As I turned to shut the door behind me, I saw the dark-haired one opening the book again. At least the bald one was saving me from having to watch them read it.
Bald Guy, as I’d already named him, led me to the bedroom. “Table Pose, on the bed, Slave,” he instructed.
I steadied myself on all fours, knees sinking slightly into the mattress, wondering what they were going to do.
“Our presence here today is a test of obedience, not stamina,” Bald Guy explained. “Your masters want to make sure you’ll follow instructions from any master who gives them, without hesitation. You will be punished for your outburst just now, but serve us well and you won’t suffer today.”
Suffer. I hadn’t really expected to suffer. Until he said I might!
“We’ll each take one of your holes. I happen to be quite fond of anal, so I’ll start there.”
Each of my holes. How romantic. I wondered if there was going to be more to it than that. Maybe the journal was a test. Which I’d failed. I could handle being fucked by strange men. I’d been doing it all week.
And I didn’t exactly hate it.
Cold lube dripped into my ass crack, and Bald Guy gently slid a finger into my anus. This had long since ceased to be uncomfortable, and the more anal stimulation I got, the more I wanted. Sometimes, as I lay in bed (or in the cage) with nothing to do but think, I fought back shame at my own depravity. But I’d come here to get over my hang-ups, and I was doing exactly that. And more.
A second finger joined the first. I appreciated the care he was taking. He was clearly not one who got off on causing excessive pain. I was just as glad it was he taking my ass and not that dark-haired sadist. Well, I didn’t know for sure he was a sadist, but he’d been awfully malicious to someone who had no choice. And Bald Guy had stopped him. What would happen when he was alone with me? What if he had my mouth and entertained himself by cutting off my air and making me gag?
Bald Guy must have felt me tense—likely, since his fingers were in my asshole! He put a soothing hand on my back. He probably thought he’d hurt me.
The bed dipped between my feet as he moved closer. He positioned his knees outside mine and put his hands on my hips. The head of his cock opened me, not overly large, and he sank into me in one slow, smooth motion. My breath caught, but the burning pain receded quickly, and his sure, even strokes allowed me to adjust to him easily.
One hand slithered around my hip and up my stomach to cup my breast, and he plied my nipple expertly, pinching hard enough that an answering zap in my clit stoked my ardor but without causing pain. I groaned. The hand traveled across my chest to give the other nipple the same treatment, rolling, pinching. A moan this time, and a throbbing need grew between my legs. Fuck he was good!
“You will come on my cock, Slave,” he ordered, his tone still kind but with a stern undertone that said this wasn’t a suggestion or a wish.
He didn’t leave me hanging, continuing his long, controlled thrusts, but now I had to stress about whether I’d be able to orgasm. I was more than certain this was all planned, and I took no pride in having been right that there would be more to this strange day.
My mind raced, trying to remember what I’d done to make myself come, what it had been like with Deep Voice, but the stress brought my arousal down to a low buzz.
Relax! Let go!
His steady manipulation of my nipples and the constant stimulation from his cock in my ass broke through my spinning thoughts. His other hand found my clit, and his lazy circles there enhanced the back-and-forth of his cock. He thrust faster when I moaned again, and the now-familiar pressure built in my pussy. I focused on it, trying to make it grow, expand into a bubble or wave, but that only increased my anxiety.
Let go, Pet. I heard Deep Voice in my head and refocused my attention on those skilled fingers on my nipples and clit. I closed my eyes and took a risk, breaking position to drop to my elbows to relieve some of the strain on my wrists and shoulders. Bald Guy didn’t say anything, so I decided it would do. Possibly, the punishment for breaking position wouldn't be as bad as the punishment for not coming, and, besides, I wanted to orgasm. Needed to.
Bald Guy rubbed my clit faster and with more purpose, fucked harder, overwhelming my senses and reducing my awareness to the pulsing of my clit and the friction in my anus, the stretching of my pelvic floor that, more than anything else he was doing, sent waves of ecstasy rushing through me.
The world dropped out from under me and I didn’t try to hold on. A sensation in my stomach, as though I were falling, brought panic and then euphoria, and suddenly I arched my back, pushing up on my hands and bearing down on Bald Guy’s cock.
“Oh FUCK!” I shrieked as wave after wave of release threatened to sweep me away entirely. I collapsed onto my face, gasping for breath, every muscle quivering, shining with sweat.
“Good, Slave,” I heard, and Bald Guy fell into the rhythm he wanted, bringing himself to his own climax and letting his cock flop out of me. I couldn't move. Didn’t want to. He massaged my shoulders for a moment, until I lifted my head. “Another will come for your mouth now,” he said, and left. No comment on the orgasm, or anything else. I was disappointed, for some reason.
He hadn’t told me to move, so I waited for the next man to enter, praying it would be the German. The relief when the German indeed entered the room was almost as satiating as the orgasm had been, which illustrated just how scared I was of the dark-haired one. The Sadist. Clearly, he’d be fucking my pussy, but somehow that didn’t seem as bad as if I had to give him a blow job. I wasn’t even sure why.
“On your knees, Slave,” the German demanded. He didn’t even use a pose name, just brought me scrambling to the floor with the authoritarian bite of his order. I knelt in front of him, and he opened his fly and pulled out his cock. It was completely soft. I was expected to bring him to full hardness, too.
But though his words were harsh, made more so by his accent, he simply stood there as I got to work, teasing with my fingers and then my tongue. Blue-Eyes and the Teacher had both spent time with me developing this skill, and both had said I was a natural. My complacency faded as his cock grew to an impressive length and thickness. I wasn’t entirely sure I could open my mouth wide enough to take him in, much less deep throat him! No wonder he’d been chosen for this test!
Fuck.
My success at swallowing cocks was still uneven at best, and now I was on edge before I’d even tried, seeing just how big the German was. I lapped at the head, pleased to taste precum already. At least I knew I was doing a good job so far.
I took several breaths through my nose as I slid forward along his shaft a couple of inches. I forced myself to keep going, but despair washed over me when I saw how much farther I had to go even when the head bumped the back of my throat.
I couldn't do it. There was no way.
I did my best, managing to let him into my throat at least partway, but my nose came nowhere near touching his crinkly nest of blond curls, and that started up the retching and heaving so that I had to back off or vomit.
I tried again, made a valiant effort, but now I doubted myself, and with that doubt came a loss of concentration. I forgot to breathe through my nose and gagged around the head of his cock. He groaned in pleasure at the spasms of my throat, but I started to panic when I couldn't stop the unpleasant clenching of my stomach. I pulled back far enough that his cock sprang away from my lips and sucked in the sweet, sweet air.
&
nbsp; I returned to his cock immediately, giving him my best work, except without the deep throating that I knew was expected of me. He came after another couple of minutes, thick, hot cum shooting into the back of my mouth and pooling on my tongue. My jaw ached with the effort of holding it open, and I closed my lips and swallowed his cum, hoping to at least ameliorate whatever punishment I’d just earned by doing the rest of my job well.
The German didn’t comment on my performance, as Bald Guy hadn’t. He simply tucked himself back into his pants, patted my head, and informed me that another would be coming in to take my pussy.
While I waited, kneeling in the middle of the bedroom floor, I tallied up the errors I’d made so far. My outburst regarding the journal, breaking position, failure to deep throat. What else? Nothing, as far as I knew.
The Sadist entered the room. Just the look in his eyes had me cowering, his gaze predatory and calculating. He’d read my journal. He knew how to press my buttons, and he planned to see just how far he could push me. That I could read all of that in his expression terrified me.
He undressed, eyes locked on mine. Shoes and socks, his jacket, then his shirt, one button at a time. His pants dropped to the floor, and then his underwear. His cock poked straight out from his body, hard, thick, though not unusually long.
The way he stared at me, like he disliked me personally, unnerved me even more. He’d never met me before this afternoon. How could he have any kind of feeling about me at all? None of the other masters I’d met had frightened me the way the Sadist did. They’d all been controlled, mostly kind, and certainly never cruel. Never cruel. Why was this guy even allowed in their group?
“Inspection Pose, Lying. On the bed,” he said. “Lie near the edge, with your ass toward me.” He stood beside the bed.
My least favorite of all the poses, not because it was physically uncomfortable but because of how vulnerable and exposed I felt. Which he knew from my journal. I followed his order, lying on my back and drawing my knees up and out.
The House Book One: Pet Lucy Page 15