by Vonna Harper
Seemingly oblivious to her turmoil, he lightly rubbed her there. This wasn’t her! Surely she hadn’t gone from paying her bills to kneeling naked and submissive before a man she now called Master, a man intent on demonstrating ownership of her.
But she was and he was.
All she could do was feel.
React.
Right now he was being gentle. That might change at any moment but holding onto sanity meant burying herself in the here and now. Turning her body over to him.
“You have the makings of a true submissive.” His voice was seductive. “You’re fighting that side of your nature, but I know how to change things. In fact I know you better than you do yourself.”
Was that a tease or a warning? Whichever it was, she didn’t dare move because he held the upper hand in all ways. Besides, oh god besides that the light brush of finger over ass opening felt good, an escape from reality.
Master had been gone for days but not before tethering her to the stair railing. The neck chain was long enough that she’d been able to move from room to room. She’d filled the lonely hours reading, watching TV, and studying the world outside the picture window. The door was locked from the outside of course and he’d taken care not to leave her with any way of getting in touch with the rest of the world.
The world? That’s what he’d become before he’d left her alone. She had no existence beyond him, cared nothing for her life beyond what he’d created.
And now he was back. Ready for his slave to service him. Willing to let her curl herself around him and kiss him in gratitude for things she barely understood.
“You’re zoning,” Master said as his finger drank from the juices coating her labia. “Going deep inside yourself and finding what you need.”
She didn’t care what he said, just that he was talking to her, touching her now, coating her bung hole, entering—entering, slowly going deeper.
“Master, please.”
“Please what, slave? I’m not going to hurt you, at least not now. You need food but you haven’t yet done enough to earn it. Stay with me. Acknowledge what’s happening. Make my mastery of you your world.”
Did she want to do that? No matter, the longer his finger remained in her ass, the better it felt. A lifetime ago she’d created scenarios in her mind about being a sex slave. She’d tailored the scenarios of take and give to meet her private need. This was different. So different. She had no control over what Master might do, how he viewed her body, what he needed and would take from it.
But she’d embrace these moments when her ass was offered to him, her forehead rested on the hard floor, metal constrained her limbs, and his collar circled her neck.
“You’re my pony,” he whispered. “I’ve entered you in a race and expect you to make me proud. I’ve placed a wager that you’ll come in first and am decorating you so everyone will know what you are to me. You’ll wear my tail, proudly.”
Pressure built as the invasion deepened. In her mind’s eye, his finger became a high, proud golden tail. Once he secured it inside her to his satisfaction, he’d parade her before the other pony masters. Scared and excited, she’d prance, her knees high, head back, bridle ringing her face and bit protruding from both sides of her mouth. Others would note the red leather finery crisscrossing her naked body. The instant Master snapped his whip, she’d break into a gallop.
“Are you a runner, slave? What good, other than satisfying me, are you?”
She hadn’t expected the question. Until now she’d concentrated on trying to understand him and herself. Exploring the depths of their relationship was beyond her.
“Have I satisfied you, Master? You haven’t…”
“Fucked you. That’s what you were going to say, weren’t you?”
“It’s going to happen.”
“Yes, it is.”
She waited for him to continue. Instead, he continued manipulating her ass. He repeatedly transferred lubricant from her pussy to her other hole, making sure her juices coated both her rear entrance and deep inside. Part of her stood behind Master watching him work but mostly she remained acutely aware of every inch of her submissive body. He was in charge. She’d let him do whatever he wanted to her because she had no choice—and because these moments fascinated her.
Excited her.
“Maybe you would make a decent pony. It’s something I should consider, starting with this.”
His finger had been buried as far as it would go, both alarming and intriguing her. He slowly pulled out. She sensed he was about to change things. Something new pressed against her puckered flesh. It started to spin, sliding past taut muscles and probing, probing. Whatever it was was harder, wider, more insistent than his finger.
“What—please Master what—“
“Be quiet and experience.”
The pressure was relentless which made doing what he’d ordered nearly impossible. Despite the apprehension threatening to take over, she knew he intended to force whatever it was inside her. This was his idea of a horse tail. She shivered at the thought of how the thing must look sticking out from her quivering every time her ass muscles clenched.
She concentrated on what was inside her until she realized he’d plugged her with what he’d used earlier to whip her.
Burying the switch to his satisfaction seemed to take forever, but finally the probing ended. So much blood had rushed to her temple that her head throbbed. Her back ached. He slapped her buttocks.
“Lift your head. Present yourself like a well-trained horse.”
I hate…
No, she didn’t.
Getting her arms to accept the weight of her upper body took concentration and yet she remained acutely aware of how stuffed she felt back there. How changed. She started to look behind her.
“Don’t! Your appearance is no concern of yours. All that matters is whether your master is pleased. Crawl to the living room.”
When he’d ordered her back into the kitchen she’d hoped it was with the intention of feeding her. Maybe he no longer cared whether she had anything to eat except part of a banana but given what he’d just done to her, it didn’t matter to her either.
Crawling with her arms and legs restrained was hard enough but that was nothing compared to the feel of something rammed in her bung hole. The switch was so long that it bounced and waved with her every move. It didn’t hurt, and the almost constant vibrations spread to her pussy. Enveloped it. Did Master know how closely this sensation resembled what the overpowered vibrator had felt like? At least, thankfully, she told herself as she plodded into the living room, the whip couldn’t tease a climax from her.
Could it?
Master was behind her, undoubtedly amusing himself by watching his newly minted slave pony.
Shame pressed around her, became a weight.
A gift.
“Don’t you have any pride in yourself? There’s nothing graceful about the way you move. Your body is your most valuable possession. Treat it with respect.”
He expected her to prance around? She was dirty and hungry. Her hair hung in damp hunks around her sweat-stained face. Bad as the restraints were, the thing protruding from her ass would make the people from his world laugh.
“Maybe you don’t have what it takes to be a show pony. Maybe I’ll put a yoke on you and turn you into a plow animal. Give you long ears and call you my mule.”
If she was such a failure, why was he spending his time with her? He should cast her out, let her go.
No, he wouldn’t. Instead he’d sell her to someone who wanted a mule, a broken whore.
Something beyond fear overruled humiliation, and she lifted her head. The man who’d captured her was harsh and relentless but so far he hadn’t been cruel. Another master might not have his—his what, humanity?
“What’s it going to be slave? Do you want to be taught what it takes to please me? Maybe you’d rather take your chances with someone else?”
They were once again in the room
that spoke of male and masculinity. She was his tethered sex slave. He loomed over her, in charge.
Trembling, she turned and looked up at him. He needed a shave. “What must I learn, Master?”
Chapter twelve
What must I learn? To the best of his recollection, none of his previous trainees had asked him that, especially so early in their lessons. Granted, Carnal rules stipulated that new captives not be allowed to speak until their transformation had begun, but he still believed this one was unique. He also didn’t think that plugging her rear hole and calling her a pony had been wholly responsible.
Within a few minutes of her question, he’d gone back into the kitchen for some cereal and had fed her one piece at a time. Keeping her on her hands and knees with the switch in her had undoubtedly reminded her of her place in his world. Reminded him as well. When, after toying with it for a while, he’d drawn the switch out of her, she’d immediately thanked him. She’d obviously hated kissing the moist base he pressed against her lips, but she’d done it.
Now as she stood beside him while he adjusted the water’s temperature in the downstairs shower, he tried to assess where she was on her journey to submission. It wasn’t going to be a smooth transformation but neither did he anticipate the kind of resistance he’d gotten from some of the subjects who’d come before her.
Subject or something more? Beyond a simple slave?
“Wait,” he warned when she started to step into the shower. “We’re doing this my way. Hold out your hands.”
She hesitated which was long enough for him to get the unspoken message. She didn’t trust him.
When would she? Why did it matter?
“Your body belongs to me.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a key, and unfastened the cuff around her left hand. Then he spun her away from him and drew her arms behind her. She tensed but didn’t resist when he re-cuffed her hands. The hobbles were still around her ankles, and he had no intention of taking off the collar.
He pushed her into the shower and positioned her under the spray. As water streamed over her hair, she tried to look out from behind the wet curtain at him. He pulled off his shirt then hesitated. Once he got rid of his jeans, she’d see the still-healing scars which he’d intended to put off for a few more days.
To hell with it!
Naked, he stepped into the small shower and swiped her hair back from her face. Water sluiced over and between her breasts, flowed over her belly, disappeared between her legs. His cock responded.
He wetted the washcloth he’d brought in with him and rubbed soap over it. Maybe that, in part, was why he’d taken her, because he’d known it would take pressing against a naked female to remind his cock of what it was capable of.
As for other reasons—they had too much to do with solitude.
She stared at the thick spear jutting at her.
“That represents a great deal of what our relationship’s about.” But not all.
Was that a nod? He couldn’t be sure.
Done with trying to decipher her thoughts, he concentrated on washing every inch of her well-toned body. After that furtive look at his erection, she stared at the shower wall. Did she really think she could divorce herself from what he was doing to her simply by not looking at him?
He was her worst nightmare and, depending on a lot of things, he might become her most treasured reality.
With that possibility in mind, he pushed her still-soapy body into a corner and slipped the washcloth between her legs. She clamped them together.
“No,” he warned. “Shit, you know better.”
Thinking to keep her off balance, he adjusted the spray so it was concentrated on the top of her head. Her hair covered her face, blinding her. He left her to try to get enough air in her lungs and turned his attention to something he could practically do in his sleep.
He’d often demanded that slaves describe what being sexually aroused felt like but even when they spilled everything, he knew he’d never be able to truly get inside their minds and bodies. One thing he was sure of, repeatedly rubbing her pussy would get to this one. Break her down.
Help her understand the meaning of Master.
It didn’t happen at first but little by little she relaxed. Her knees occasionally buckled forcing her to struggle to regain her balance. She no longer tried to shield her pussy from him. In fact, she’d opened herself to him. The back of her head now rested on the shower wall, her mouth sagged, and her breathing was ragged. When she pushed her pelvis at him, he planted his free hand over her belly and shoved. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her surrender, he wanted to make clear who was in charge.
For both of them.
She kept trying to look down at herself. When she wasn’t doing that, she lifted her head. With that much water plastering her hair to her face she couldn’t see much.
That was fine with him. Her attention should be fixed on something else.
He’d started giving her pussy a brisk rubbing because he wanted her to be as sensitive as possible there. Going by her body language, he’d reached his goal. Switching tactics, he let up on the pressure until the soft terrycloth barely grazed her swollen labia. He occasionally subjected her clit to a bit of attention but was careful to keep things brief there. He wanted her on-edge and hungry. As for granting her satisfaction, well, he hadn’t made up his mind about that.
When most of the suds were down the drain, he left her to pant and frown while he re-soaped the cloth. Instead of returning to what he’d been doing, however, he coated her breasts. Until now he hadn’t treated them to anything except abuse. After an initial whimper and a straightening of her spine, she sagged again. He concentrated on giving each breast equal attention. Just thinking about what it must feel like for her got him all hot and bothered again. He closed his fingers around his cock.
Good. So damn good. Like coming back to life.
The amount of time they’d spent in the shower didn’t matter until the hot water started to run out. Thinking to turn the handle all the way to H, he let go of himself. That was all it took to remind himself that right now was about turning her into something new, not treating himself to a hand job. Grunting, he ran his hand between her legs, swept aside her sex lips, and slid his middle finger into her. Continuing to stimulate her breasts at the same time took concentration but he was used to this particular maneuver. Most of the time he’d first gotten a slave into the mood via a liberal dose of pain but there wasn’t anything wrong with improvising.
With treating her differently.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Good and a little scary. Your master can do anything he wants which means you don’t dare trust him, but you don’t want him to stop. Confused, you tell yourself you’ll live in the moment, take what pleasure you can.”
“It—it’s getting cold.”
She was right. Fortunately for him, the spray was directed at her. Figuring goose bumps were her problem, he dropped the washcloth and fastened thumb and forefinger around her right nipple. He pulled down.
“Master?”
“Master what? You think I’m going to tell you what I have in mind? Ain’t gonna happen.”
He let up the pressure, even lightly massaged the trapped nub while pumping her hole.
“Not fair,” she hissed. “Damn it, not fair.”
Of course it wasn’t. That had never been his intention. He stopped his assault on her sex long enough to turn off the water and then rammed his victim—victim, now there was an interesting word—into the corner. He stopped all pretense at arousal and went straight for assault. By turn he grabbed one breast and then the other, flattening them against her chest wall while kneading the full, rich mounds. When the hand between her legs threatened to cramp, he backed off but continued his attack on her pussy.
Let her experience forced sexual awakening.
Make her his.
“You can’t, you can’t,” she chanted when they both knew he could and would and was. Her legs gave up the fi
ght and she would have fallen if not for him. He was getting cold—and hungry for something he’d nearly forgotten he needed.
Make her pay for everything that had gone wrong in his world. Make her experience the depth of helplessness as he had. Finger-fuck her into unconsciousness if necessary. Take her somewhere she’d never been.
“Master, oh, Master!”
She shuddered. The nearly graceful spasms increased. Her head thrashed and the muscles in her shoulders and arms knotted as she strained to free her hands. Staying with her, keeping her in hell/heaven, he watched as she climaxed. When she started to come down, he redoubled his attack and sent her to a higher level. She sounded as if she was dying, her muscles jumped and trembled.
Because he understood women’s bodies so well, he knew the exact moment she’d reached her limit. Her sex might continue to clench but she no longer felt anything. She wasn’t unconscious so much as emotionally overloaded. Responsibility for the helpless creature kicked in, prompting him to hoist her onto his shoulder and step out of the shower. He’d covered only a few feet when his damaged leg protested. Surrendering to the pain, he put her down and pointed at the stairs. “Up, now,” he commanded.
She gave him a drunken look. Cursing, he returned to the bathroom for the cuffs key and freed her legs.
“Up,” he repeated.”
Saying nothing, she obeyed. He followed, not once taking his gaze off his slave’s body. “Onto the bed,” he commanded.
Shaking with cold and things she probably couldn’t define, she complied and stared up at him. He left her long enough to return to go into his private bathroom for a couple of towels. After throwing one over her, he dried himself. She curled onto her side and tried to burrow into the spread.
“You…” She swallowed. “You made me…”
“Climax? Yeah, I did. It won’t be the last time.”
A mix of dread and anticipation passed over her. Her attention settled on his erection. Now that he was dry, he debated doing the same to her but didn’t. Instead of getting dressed, he spun her around so her back was to him and unfastened one wrist cuff.