“Do not break position, Slave,” he said. He inserted two fingers into my pussy. I flinched, though it didn’t hurt. Something about the way the corners of his mouth curved up as he held my gaze sent a chill down my spine. Of the 13 men I’d encountered in the House, he was the first to actually make me feel less than.
His fingers probed, fingertips skidding along the top wall of my vagina. He watched my face as he explored. My eyes widened and my body jerked when he found what he was looking for. He pressed upward on that spot. A strange burning need built in my urethra, though I didn’t think I had to pee, and the experience was simultaneously painful and good. Despite my fear of him, I let down my guard enough to examine the new sensations.
“Do you squirt, Slave?” he asked suddenly, maintaining the upward pressure.
“This Slave doesn’t know, Sir,” I said, my voice hoarse and tremulous.
“You will squirt for me.” That wasn’t so much an order as a promise. I wasn’t even sure what squirting was. He withdrew his fingers and left me lying as I was to retrieve some things from the cabinet. He returned with a bottle of lube and rope. Meticulous and patient, he looped the rope around my wrists and ankles. “Missionary, Slave!” he snapped. I lowered my legs and stretched my arms above my head. He reached up for my right arm, guided it down beside my right leg, and tied my right wrist and ankle together with the loose ends of the rope. He did the same to my left arm and leg. I’d been restrained in the Training Room plenty of times, and the total helplessness was both freeing and frightening. The intimacy of using rope and my own limbs as restraints enhanced the vulnerability he’d already stoked with his use of the Inspection pose. He wanted to mess with my mind as much as with my body.
When he was satisfied with his work, he slathered lube on his hand and reinserted the two fingers into my pussy. He worked the fingers in and out, very deliberately passing over that spot he’d found. Was that the G-spot?
He tapped my clit with his thumb, and I realized that, despite my anxiety, his careful ministrations had put me on a low simmer. That small smile reappeared when his touch elicited a low moan. If I’d thought Bald Guy was good with his hands, then the Sadist’s skills were off the charts.
He pulled his fingers out and showed them to me, shiny with lube and my own juices. Then he unfolded his ring finger, holding the three fingers up for me to contemplate.
Was he going to…? At my sharp intake of breath, he lowered his hand between my legs and worked the three fingers into me. His knuckles pressed down as his fingertips pressed up and I threw my head back and groaned at the onslaught of burning pain interlaced with spikes of sheer, carnal pleasure.
The buildup in my urethra continued and I struggled to hold in what I was certain was pee. But I hadn’t needed to use the bathroom before he got there. What would he do to me if I peed on him? My distress must have shown on my face, and my tight fists surely gave away my terror.
He wiggled his fingers and then removed them from my vagina. As before, he held up his hand and showed me the three fingers he’d used, then raised his fourth finger to join the others. My mouth dropped open and a protest formed on my tongue.
Obedience. When I’d thought he was just going to fuck me, obedience was easy. But the way he’d tied me didn’t completely limit my movement. I could still close my legs, push myself backward.
But then I’d surely be punished. And I knew he’d make sure the punishment was worse than whatever he was about to do with those four fingers.
He didn’t move until the cascade of emotions had crashed through me. I closed my mouth and gritted my teeth.
Bring it on. I would pass this test.
His hand went between my legs, four fingers stretching my pussy in every direction, burning, stabbing, stinging. I whimpered, unable to process the pain-pleasure-invasion-violation. “Oh, God!” I screamed, a wail that tapered off into mewling gasps. He rotated his hand and pushed in even farther so that his knuckles squeezed into my overfull channel.
“No! No, stop! Please stop,” I gasped. I dug my heels into the bed and lifted my hips, trying to escape.
His smile this time was one of triumph. He twisted his wrist, dragging his knuckles around the tender entrance of my pussy. I had no idea what I was feeling anymore. My pulse roared in my ears, and I wasn’t sure if my desperate pleas for him to stop were verbal or just echoing in my head. I instinctively bore down on his hand, resisting the intrusion.
“Now,” the Sadist said. The immense pressure inside somehow increased further, and I lost what control I had of the muscles in my pelvis. I groaned low and deep as liquid spurted out of me. The sudden release, shocking in its intensity, left me breathless and lightheaded, and then the shuddering, shivering pulsing of my muscles that I’d come to associate with orgasm left me limp. My knees fell outward, and he finally retracted his hand with a squelch, a most satisfied expression on his face.
My pussy was so battered, and I was so drained, that I almost didn’t notice when he pulled me closer to the edge of the bed and entered me with his cock. He pounded me hard, renewing my awareness, but I couldn't do more than lie there and take it. He came, then left me alone while he got dressed.
Strength trickled back into me, and he untied the ropes and helped me stand. I clung to the bed until I was sure my thighs would support me.
“Look, Slave,” the Sadist said, pointing at the spot where I had been lying. A noticeable wet patch had spread out where my butt had been.
Heat rose in my face, remembering the feeling of needing to pee, and then the relief. He was silent, allowing me to become completely horrified before speaking again. “That was a magnificent squirt.”
A what? But he was clearly pleased, not angry, so I decided not to be bothered by it anymore. I was still quite shaken by what he’d done to me, and I had not a shred of affection for him. His aim had been to break me, to exert his will over me, and he’d succeeded.
“Come to the Training Room for your punishment, Slave,” he said, and marched out of the bedroom. I followed on leaden feet. Well, I’d known I’d be punished. I just hoped they wouldn't let him do it.
The other two men were waiting for us.
“On the Horse, Slave,” the German said, standing beside it. A random thought flitted through my muddled mind, that all three of them called me Slave. I much preferred Pet.
I positioned myself on the Horse, a very familiar mount by now, and tried not to let my nerves show as they secured me to it. My pussy was so sore, and my anus not much less so, that I actually wished for a lashing rather than anything they might come up with to torment my nether regions.
Bald Guy put his hand on my head. “You did well, Slave. However, you will be punished for your protest when we brought out your journal, for breaking position during anal sex, for failing to deep throat properly, and—” He looked to the Sadist, since they hadn’t had the opportunity to consult.
“And for resisting me,” the Sadist finished.
I couldn't see Bald Guy, but his fingers tightened in my hair briefly. He must have known what the Sadist had planned. Right?
The German showed me the toy he held. Longer than his hand, it was a series of beads, attached together with a small space between each, progressively larger toward the base. The smallest was no wider than my index finger, and the largest looked to be at least two inches in diameter. I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly where they were going to put that. Sure enough, the German fed the first two balls into my anus. The first two were not the ones I was worried about. I clenched against them.
The Sadist pulled a stool up beside my head and produced my journal. “You will read this aloud to us, pages of our choosing. Whenever you hesitate, we will insert the next bead. There are six more. If you reach the last one, we will leave it in until your regular masters decide it can be removed. As long as you read fluently and willingly, you will suffer no pain.”
Creative, I had to admit.
He opened to a sticky-tab t
hat had been placed on one of the pages. They’d probably been reading and selecting passages while they weren’t working with me.
“Begin here, these three paragraphs.”
I squinted, tried to focus. It was hard to read something someone else was holding, and my handwriting wasn’t exactly finishing-school quality. A bead slid into my ass, still not painful, but more uncomfortable than the first two. I wanted to protest that I was just trying to focus, but that wouldn't help at all, I knew.
“It’s odd,” I began. “I should be afraid of these men, but I’m not. I’m completely at their mercy, naked, locked up. They can tie me up and torture me in that dungeon of theirs, but they don’t. But one after another, they’ve proven that I can trust them. More than trust, really. My life is literally in their hands.” I swallowed. This was from the first day I’d journaled, when I was still getting my bearings, and I knew it was about to get a whole lot more embarrassing.
“Who would have expected masturbating to be so hard? I’ve never been very good at it, and I don’t really like it. I always feel like I’m missing something. Why do people like vibrators so much? They make me crazy. If they’d given me a dildo, maybe I could have gotten somewhere. I can’t believe they punished me for using the hairbrush! What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to know I shouldn't do that? I know, I know, do only what I’m told.” This was horrendous, reading this out loud to them. Humiliating. At least I’d never been punished for anything I wrote.
I took a deep breath and continued. “I only wish I knew what I was so afraid of. They said they’d help me, and I believe them. I used to think I was having orgasms, but they weren’t earth-shattering or mind-blowing. They weren’t even interesting enough to try to bother to get one on my own. But now that I’ve gotten so much closer, I know I’m missing something. They keep telling me to let go, but let go of WHAT?” That was in all caps. I still didn’t really know, even after having a few successful orgasms. “It feels like I’m falling into a hole I’ll never get out of.”
That was the end of the paragraphs he’d designated. “You’re a good writer, Slave,” the Sadist said, as he flipped to the next sticky tab.
Uh, thanks?
“Read this page.”
I dove in before they could decide I needed some incentive from my back end. “The blue-eyed one seems to actually see me as a pet. He made me wear a tail all day, and sit beside his chair like a puppy. I don’t like it. I mean, there’s pet and ‘pet.’ I like the way the deep-voiced one treats me. He still sees me as human and treats me with affection. And the one with glasses! I think he likes me as more than just a slave.” I stopped short. I’d forgotten I’d written that. Oh, fuck, was it my fault they’d suspected him?
I squealed as the next bead was forced into my ass. Once it was in, it didn’t hurt, but as the beads were stuffed into me, I’d have less room for the next one. I began reading again. “I do wish I had names for them. They’re apart from me, a little larger than life. The one who caned me is interesting. He said he likes causing pain. That’s scary. Or it should be. But, as I keep finding, even though they could tie me down and whip me unconscious, they don’t. They just… don’t.” My voice cracked as emotion welled up. I missed my usual masters. Just a few hours with these new men, and I realized how attached I’d become. I was beginning to understand how the other two slaves I’d met must feel about becoming separated from their masters.
Another bead, and this one definitely hurt. Three more? I wasn’t certain, but remembering the size of the final two, I immediately began to read again. “I remember calling Beth after that date with Zach, trying to understand why I wanted to be forced. I wasn’t really forced. But now I am. They’re really forcing me, and I don’t mind. I like it. I agreed to be here, agreed to let them do whatever they want to me, so it’s not like some random guy on the street dragging me into an alley and… it’s not like that, is it?” That was the end of that page and I stopped gratefully.
The Sadist turned the book around and flipped forward a few more pages. I saw at least three more tabs protruding from the pages. They weren’t going to make me read all of those were they? Or maybe they’d make me read until that last bead went in. I shuddered.
I knew. I just knew what he was going to show me next. I could feel it deep in my gut. Even before he put the book back in front of my face, I was fighting down my desire to refuse, thinking of that huge bead being forced through the tight ring of my anus.
I suppressed a sigh and read. I was right. “I really, really screwed up. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry. I know you guys read this. I’m sorry. It was so stupid. I really didn’t understand anything I heard. I don’t. I don’t know what’s going on. But that caning was the most painful thing they’ve ever done to me, and they’re going to do more later! Oh, God, I don’t know if I can stand it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I thought I could get away with it, and I should have known I couldn't.” The uneven scrawl demonstrated how upset I was, and teardrop had smeared the ink in one of the “I’m sorrys.”
“What did you do, Slave?” the German asked, interrupting me.
He didn’t know? But he’d read this, hadn’t he? And I had just assumed that the whole lot of them would know what was going on with Glasses. A bead pressed against my anus, and I spoke before he could push it through. “This Pet…” I didn’t want to call myself a slave, and when no one corrected me, I went on. “This Pet got off the Horse without being told to. This Pet just wanted to stretch her legs for a minute while her master was out of the room. And this Pet overheard two of her masters talking outside the door and stopped to listen.”
The bead retreated. “You were caned?” the German asked.
“Yes, Sir. Ten in the afternoon and then ten more before sleeping in the cage that night. It was actually 13 because I, um, this Pet earned additional punishment later that day.”
The German grunted. “I’m satisfied,” he said.
“As am I,” Bald Guy said.
The Sadist closed the journal, and the German worked the beads out of my ass. I blinked. It was over? Tension I hadn’t known was there drained from my muscles.
Bald Guy helped me down from the Horse and kissed me gently on each cheek. “Well done, Slave,” he said.
* * *
Saturday, November 14, 2015, 8:30 p.m.
Day 8
I Knelt at Rest in my bedroom, trembling. This was it. Someone was going to choose me tonight, and I would be his for the next three weeks. I didn’t really know what that meant. They’d had me spend most of the day in my room while they prepared for what they’d suddenly started calling the Collaring Ceremony. No one had called it that before today.
Truth be told, I’d been bored out of my skull most of the time, although Lustful Guy had left me another magazine, and Blue Eyes had brought me a book of crosswords. That did not fill up a day, though, especially when I was starting to get used to having so many of my hours filled with, well, sex. Though after the beating my pussy and asshole had taken yesterday, maybe I needed the time off.
My door opened. Deep Voice and, to my surprise, Bald Guy came in. Deep Voice immediately circled behind me and cuffed my wrists behind my back, while Bald Guy wrapped a blindfold around my eyes. My stomach did a somersault, but I kept my mouth shut. Barely.
They each took an arm and guided me out of my room. I knew my way well enough, but blindfolded and without my hands, I may as well have been at Versailles. I knew they wouldn't let me fall down the stairs or anything, but knowing that didn’t stop the herd of horses stampeding through my gut.
“Steps now, Pet,” Deep Voice said, and I felt my way down with my toes, relieved when I struck the tile of the downstairs hall. We turned immediately into what had to be the living room. They knelt me down on the carpet and left me.
“Collaring Pose,” a voice barked. I didn’t recognize that voice, and I knew all my usual masters’ voices quite well by now. It wasn’t the German’s or the British
guy who had witnessed my caning, either. This man had an American accent. If Bald Guy was here, and this other person with an unfamiliar voice, did that mean I had a bigger audience than I expected? And I was blindfolded, handcuffed, and stark naked besides. I parted my knees and raised my chin. My hands were already behind my back, courtesy of the cuffs.
“This is Slave Lucy,” a voice intoned. I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was the older, bearded master who had brought the bubbly blonde slave for the meeting about Glasses. Did that mean she was here, too? And what about the sweet little slave I’d met on Monday? How many of us were there? “She has been an exemplary slave, according to her vetting team. One major error, a few minor slip ups, but she is obedient, responsive, and naturally submissive. Any master would be lucky to have her.”
Naturally submissive. That phrase seemed especially significant. I liked being told what to do. I liked being dominated, helpless. For these men, that was a good thing.
“Slave Lucy, your master will collar you now.”
I almost didn’t realize he was talking to me. No one had used my name all week. Maybe now that I was being… collared? What did that mean? Maybe now I got to have some of my identity back.
I sensed someone kneeling in front of me, and hands gently brushed my hair back from my shoulders. Then a literal collar closed around my throat, not uncomfortably. It didn’t cut off my air, but there was a constant, slight pressure that reminded me it was there.
But who? Who was it?
“Slave Lucy, you now belong to Master Roberto.” The blindfold was removed, and I found myself looking up into the deep brown eyes of Lustful Guy, gazing down at me with such affection. I quashed a flicker of disappointment that it wasn’t Glasses. Deep down, I’d known it wouldn’t be.
Behind Lustful Guy—Roberto—were at least twenty other men, arrayed on and behind the couches and chair, all watching me. I picked out the other five masters who had vetted me. Glasses looked decidedly unhappy, and Blue Eyes too. I recognized the other men I’d met this week. The Sadist was less frightening now. There were no other slaves, and there were quite a few men here who I’d never seen before. I was right about who had been speaking, though. I wondered where his slave was.
The House Book One: Pet Lucy Page 16