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CHAPTER 2
She took me down the hall to a different set of stairs then up to the third floor and through a couple of large rooms, out into another hall, before taking me into a large tiled bathroom. She set my plate down on the long marble countertop housing a pair of sinks.
“Run yourself a bath, as hot as you can stand it.”
God yes. I crawled towards the marble bathtub; egg shaped, it was easily large enough for a frenetic five person orgy involving wrestling. I hesitated when I got there, it would take work to get into the tub, I’d have to climb.
“Go ahead,” Lizibeth encouraged gently, “I swear to god you won’t be punished for climbing into the tub.”
I glanced at her, and believed her, that wasn’t our game. On my knees, the tub came up to my neck, from her words it was implicitly understood I’d do this the hard way. I braced my hands on the stone edge as Lizibeth watched, remaining on one knee I brought my other leg up, throwing it over the edge, my other leg came up too, it had to to manage it. I was straddling the edge of the tub, it pressed into my pudenda and a jolt of pleasure shot through me, I was horny as sin. With effort I kept quiet, she’d punish me for making a sound. With my knees gripping the tub, I slid forward (delicious pleasurable pain) until I could reach the knobs (I wish I was being knobbed). I dropped in the convenient plug and turned on the cold full blast; I followed this with the hot, turning down the cold and testing until it was too hot for me to put a finger in it, then turning the cold back up just a bit. The tub was huge; it would take at least twenty minutes to fill.
“If you can, sit in it.”
I hesitated, then slipped off the edge of the tub and knelt in the water, it reddened my skin but I could stand it.
She chuckled, “too smart for me aren’t you?” I smiled and meekly nodded.
Grinning, Lizibeth stripped, not stark, just down to her hose panties and bra, the last two were old, plain white and not for fun. She came and sat on the edge of the marble tub as the steam swirled around us; there was plenty of room for her.
“Scooch back just a little bit,” she murmured.
I did, and her hand came to rest gently on the back of my neck.
“Good,” she breathed.
She stroked my hair and neck gently as I knelt there, running a hand down my back occasionally; we waited for the tub to fill. Finally the water came up to my breasts and Lizibeth stopped petting me.
“Lean forward and turn it off.”
I obeyed, knelt back up and glanced at her over my shoulder. She smiled at me and picked up a bar of soap. She dipped her hand into the water, came up with a dripping bar of soap, and she began to work up lather. She held the soap in her other hand as she began gently to caress my back with her other empty sudsy hand. I faced back around as she began to bathe me, she soaped my back first, using a scoop to pour water over my back, she soaped my back several times, pouring it off with water.
“I’m going to wet your hair now,” she told me.
As she warned, she used the scoop to pour water over my head, but it didn’t startle me because she’d warned me; she was being very gentle with me, soft, friendly. She went back to the soap and, bringing the bar under the water, she rubbed it gently across my rear-end.
“Lean forward, dear,” she asked softly.
I did as she wanted until my face hovered just over the water. The soap gently caressed the crack of my ass, tracing it up and down as her other hand gently wiped at the suds the bar left, cleaning me thoroughly.
“It’s okay,” she said softly.
Slowly, very slowly, she spread my cheeks just a bit apart; I remained still cooperative, my hands folded in my lap beneath the water. Clearly she was bathing me, I wasn’t to help. The soap slid just the tiniest bit up my nether slit, soaping the sides, stopping at my anus and lightly soaping it. She was careful to wash the suds out of my ass thoroughly before pulling the bar away and swishing it around in the water.
“Kneel up,” she said smoothly.
I did and she slid forward on her seat a little.
“Back a bit more,” she asked.
I slid back, but I felt my toes curl as I reached the slope of the tub, I couldn’t go back much further without discomfort. She lathered her hands again and brought her bare hands around to lather my front, she started at my belly, stroking in circles, upwards across my chest. I suppressed a murmur as she brushed soapy hands across my nipples.
“You have beautiful tits,” she whispered into my ear as she soaped around my dark red aureoles.
My little brown nipples quivered, rock hard. She used the scoop again, then lathered and repeated, again starting at the belly, this time when she reached my breasts she lingered on the nipples, tweaked them just a little bit (I really had to suppress a moan). She was being so soft, loveable; I’d love what she was doing if I just didn’t have to remain silent. I didn’t know if she was teasing me, trying to make me disobey my standing orders, or was trying to be nice, bathing me like this. In any case it was lovely, except I had to concentrate to be a good girl and not squirm or moan.
She soaped my legs after that, and lightly over my vaginal mound but only very lightly, making no attempt to arouse me, which was nice of her. Finally she finished with the soap, putting the bar back in its little holder; she picked up a bottle of shampoo.
“Wild thistle, it has a little scent. He likes it.”
I nodded, not quite sure but I thought she might be asking my opinion. In any case she took the scoop and wetted my hair again, soaking it thoroughly, before squeezing out a generous amount of shampoo on her palm. I turned to face away again as she rubbed her palms together, working up a lather. Gently her hands fell on my head, she rubbed strong sensitive fingers working the shampoo deeply into my scalp. She worked the shampoo through my hair, spending several long minutes at it before leaning back and dipping her hands in the water to clear the lather off them.
“Let’s sit for a minute and let that work,” she said.
I nodded; she began whistling just lightly, so soft I almost couldn’t hear it as she gently stroked my back with a soft palm. It was the same tune she’d been whistling when she came for me on the beach, but nothing I recognized. A minute passed.
“Okay, rinse.”
Obediently I leant forward, dipping my head beneath the water. Her hands ran softly through my hair, gently taking the shampoo off. I knelt back up.
“Scoop,” she warned.
She poured a stream of water slowly over my head, her other hand running through my hair some more. She put the scoop down; she began wringing out my hair for me.
Finished she stopped and slowly stood up. “Okay, pull the plug and get out honey.”
I did, climbing out was as painful (pleasurable) as getting in, I wanted a fucking (I’ve mentioned I literally suffer from nymphomania right?).
I knelt on the little mat beside the marble tub; she had picked up a thick towel and she knelt beside me and wrapped me in it. We smiled at each other, me with my hands submissively folded in my lap, as I allowed her to do as she wished, towel me vigorously dry.
“There,” she said, standing up, leaving the now wet towel around my shoulders. “Dry yourself a little more if you want.”
I got under my armpits, the undersides of my ass, between my breasts and legs. She opened a medicine cabinet and pulled out a hairbrush and I wondered what I did to deserve a dose of the brush. I felt my buttocks tighten in indignation as I couldn’t think of a reason I should be punished, then I felt like a fool as she seated herself on the edge of the tub behind me. She began brushing my hair; slowly I relaxed, slowly I felt my cheeks loosen as I let her gentleness wash over me. She brushed for a minute.
“Kala.”
I shifted a little to show I’d heard her.
“Mr. Thorn would like your vagina clean shaven, will you do that?”
She stopped brushing, I nodded quickly, my Owner had told me it was possible and I was to agree if it came up. She brushed me a bit more, then stood. She went back to the medicine cabinet, pulled out a safety razor and some shaving cream.
“I’ll do it, unless you’d prefer to do it yourself?” she looked at me.
I would prefer to do it myself, I nodded; I didn’t think she’d hurt me, but there was just something about shaving my pubis…
“You do want to do it?”
I nodded again.
“I’ll leave if you want me to, but,” she paused, “but I’d like to stay.”
That didn’t bother me, I was here to please, and I nodded. She gave me the razor and cream, and sat on the toilet. I spread the towel out. Kneeling on it; I spread my legs apart and opened the cream. I used three fingers to scoop up some of the cream and began to spread it over my vaginal mound, I quivered as a thrill shot through me, I’d have to be careful, I was just a randy little chipmunk. Slowly I spread more cream, covering my black springy hair in a light coating, then I used the razor carefully, cutting in long smooth strokes as Lizibeth watched, wiping it clean on an edge of the towel. It didn’t take long, soon my bare lips freshly nude, felt the cool air and quivered; I used the towel to gently carefully wipe off the last of the shaving cream. I pressed too hard in the wrong spot and stiffened as a wave of pleasure shot through me. I put the towel down.
“Are you alright Kala?” she sounded concerned.
I looked up at her and nodded.
“Alright, come here, beautiful.”
I shuffled forward to kneel before her. She stood, in hose and underwear, and reached again into the medicine cabinet. She pulled out a glass bottle of some amber liquid. She took off the cap; it had a little plastic stop on the end I could see as she sat down. She turned it over and just a little liquid dribbled out onto three of her fingers. A strong smell of oranges just barely masked by roses came from the bottle; she put the bottle on the counter.
“He likes this,” she told me.
Gently she brushed my hair back with her unscented hand, taking my ear gently, then dabbed a scented finger once against the back of my ear, repeating for the other ear. She pressed her fingers gently against the back of my neck, then slid a single scented finger between the well of my breasts. She leaned forward reaching around, and gently stroked her fingers against the small of my back, just above where it dipped to my ass crack. She sat back a little, then swiped her scented fingers down first one then the other inner thigh of my spread legs, tracing the line where thigh met vaginal mound, she smiled lightly as she did this.
“There,” she breathed.
She looked at me for a moment with big liquid eyes. She leaned in slowly, stopping with her face near mine.
She whispered, “you can tell me no.”
I was here to serve, I don’t prefer women, but they don’t bother me either. I held still, she leaned in close, like the young Jeremy she was ready to be rebuffed, for her different reasons. When she kissed me I kissed her back, running my tongue over her closed lips, she opened and I slipped my tongue just a little in, meeting hers, but she moaned and pulled back.
“We shouldn’t, he’s expecting.”
She cut off abruptly and took my wrist. I offered no resistance as she brought my hand toward her pudenda, covered in thick brown hair. She brought my hand against her soft white panties, releasing my wrist.
“Do it fast, hard,” she ordered.
I slipped my hand into the side of her panties, she gasped as my fingers found her outer lips, she was already wet like me but I didn’t think she was a nymphomaniac (grin). I slid three fingers up into her, finding her little node, she gasped and grasped my wrist again, pressing me more firmly against her. Her eyes closed, legs spreading as she leaned back against the toilet seat. I caressed her hard, she squealed and bucked.
“Yes, fast, fast we have to go.”
I rocked her with my fingers, feverishly working her little stub, she moaned, again, again then I felt her vagina contract, I worked her harder as she moaned and shuddered. She came, shivering, wetness oozed around my fingers…it took her a minute to recover herself.
She grinned, softly, “I don’t suppose you’d like to ask for your sandwich now?”
I grinned back and shook my head, she giggled, happy. She had me wash my hand in the toilet bowl as she dressed; I dried it on the towel I’d been using.
“We have to go now, he’s waiting.”
I just assumed she meant Daniel Thorn.
She paused, “Thank you,” she offered it tentatively, like I might take offense.
I smiled at her, nodding. She led me out down the hall, through another room into a hall, then up a flight of stairs. I knew we were now in one of the wings; she led me down a hall (still silent on my hands and knees) then up to the fifth floor. We went halfway down a hall before she stopped at a plain oak door.
She opened this and we came into a little office of some sort, no one was there. She led me across the room, (thin gray carpet, hurt my knees) to a pair of double doors. She knocked sharply, waited three seconds then opened the door, apparently not expecting an answer. She held the door open for me to crawl through. I kept my head down as I crawled, just noting little unimportant things out of the corner of my eyes; here the carpet was tan very thick, luxuriously comfortable on my poor knees, I’d been kneeling for almost five hours now.
She led me to the middle of the room (I was heeling her like a trained hound) and stopped. “Sir.”
On all fours, I looked up; no one had actually told me to look only at the floor. The office was big, a sort of L but more C shaped desk sat in front of floor to ceiling windows covering the middle part of the back wall. The desk had a phone, a few stacks of papers, a PC monitor (the tower had to be under the desk) and an open laptop. The monitor was side on to us, the laptop was directly facing us, neither of the screens could be seen from my vantage. Daniel Thorn, a well built man in his late 50s with thick steel gray hair, sat behind the desk in a black three piece suit, red tie, he looked like he was in the middle of a business meeting, and in fact he was.
“No Jim, just one of my maids…we’re done anyway aren’t we?”
A voice came from the speakers of his computer (which he sat facing, ignoring his laptop) “Yeah, I think that about covers it, Daniel.”
“Alright, see you next week, LA.”
“Right Daniel, see you.”
Thorn hit a few buttons on his computer, then he swiveled his chair to face us; for some reason I lowered my head.
“Ah, there you are Lizibeth.”
She immediately dropped into a deep and well-practiced curtsy. “Yes sir.” She straightened, “this is Kala.”
I could feel him looking at me; I raised my head to meet his gaze.
Still looking at me, “how has she been?”
“Perfectly behaved sir, no nonsense; I have no complaints.”
He sighed, “I have so much to do, is everything in hand?”
“Yes sir, we have all today and most of tomorrow.”
“I know, I know,” he replied, “Is everyone here yet?”
“No sir, but they’re en route; everyone will be here before your guests. And everything will be ready to greet your company.”
He was looking at her now. "Good Lizibeth. Now did you clean those stables like I told you to?”
“Yes sir,” she replied unperturbed.
“Did you learn not to speak out of turn like that?”
“Yes sir.”
I tensed.
“Did you tell a slave to do it?”
Undaunted, “yes sir.”
He sighed, “You really do deserve a spanking, you know.”
She curtsied again, “no sir.” Firmly.
“Yes yes, not in your job description, but you do deserve some type of punishment. Perhaps I should dock your pay, or make you work your next couple of days off?”
A lilted warning, “no sir.”
“Or I’d start having unfortunate accidents with my laundry huh?”
“No sir, of course not sir.”
He chuckled, “Alright Lizibeth, leave her.”
She curtsied again, “yes Mr. Thorn.”
I remained kneeling as she turned and left the room, closing the door softly after herself. He went back to his computer, seemingly ignoring me; after a few minutes I sat back, kneeling with my bottom resting back on my heels. I folded my hands in my lap primly and kept my head lowered; he didn’t say anything, working on his computer, occasionally sipping from a cup of coffee.
he ignored me for over an hour, I wasn’t sure after the first ten minutes whether he was simply testing my patience, really needed to get something done; or just possibly had truly gotten so absorbed in his work he had forgotten me, he ignored me so completely. I was wet between my legs, and it wasn’t from my bath, I kept still, kept my knees tightly together, hoping I wouldn’t secrete enough to start staining his carpet; if this kept up I’d dehydrate from desire (grin). However he finally showed himself completely aware of my presence, if not of his cup. I watched as he raised it again to his lips, he sipped, tilting his head back further and further, a puzzled expression came over his face as he peered into the cup, then cleared. He put the cup down and hit a few buttons on first his computer then the laptop keyboards.
“Kala?” he looked at me.
I sat up straighter, showing my attentiveness, nodded meekly.
“Show me your ass.”
I swiveled on my knees, bending over I placed my palms flat on the thick carpet, arching my back as I raised my seat up.
A long moment passed before he spoke again, “good. Coffee Kala.”
His tone was almost indifferent, but it rang naturally with a tone of command I’d heard only when my Owner was exasperated or really into something he was directing me in. I sat back up and turned to face him, the coffee cup now sat on the edge of the desk, he was typing at the laptop again, not looking at me. I crawled closer to the table and took the cup, wondering how much I’d have to wander before I found my way to the kitchen.
Halfway across the carpeted floor (shuffling on my knees) his throat clearing made me freeze, “hmm-hmmmm!”
I looked over my shoulder at him. He looked at me and gently stabbed the air twice with one finger, in a cartoon the point would be accompanied by a piano sound effect. I followed his point, over against the wall a side table sported a cappuccino machine and related paraphernalia; I shook my head at my own foolishness. He went back to typing as I shuffled toward the table. I had to stretch to reach the carafe, it took careful work to fill the cup, but I managed. As I stretched on my knees to put the carafe back I wondered what he took in it, I’d have to take it to him black, and the carafe clinked into its seat.
“Two cream, three sugars,” he said casually clearly, without looking at me almost as if he spoke to himself; I wasn’t important enough to address.
I prepared his coffee, then slowly, careful not to spill on his gorgeous knee saving carpet (he talked to subs before installing it I found out later), brought it to him. I shuffled around the side of his desk, kneeling beside his chair, looking up as I placed the cup beside him.
“Thank you slave, don’t look at my screen,” he spoke casually.
Abashed, immediately I dropped my gaze to the floor, he chuckled.
“It’s okay, good girl. Take off my shoes and socks and rub my feet.”
I had to crawl beneath the desk to reach his feet, being careful not to dislodge wires from the varied computer equipment. he wore expensive Italian leather loafers, they slid off easily and I slowly, gently, being as unobtrusive as possible, worked off his navy blue socks. He ignored me, working, he took a sip of coffee and spoke to the air.
“Good.”
His feet were wrinkled slightly with age, but pedicured nails clipped short, buffed and shining gave off a slight scent like aftershave, as if someone had rubbed cologne of some sort into his feet.
I took one gently in my hands, began rubbing his soles, kneading gently but firmly with my fingers as I’d been trained to do.
A minute passed, he spoke again, “Yessss, harder slave.”
Again that undeniable, easy tone of command. I pressed more firmly, kneading and he murmured a little sound of pleasure. I continued massaging for a few minutes, then switched to the other foot, again provoking a little sound of pleasure. He let me keep at it for about 45 minutes. Obediently, submissively I continued massaging his feet, switching from one to the other every 5 minutes or so as he worked (or watched porn for all I know).
Finally I heard the click as he closed the laptop; I stopped massaging when he pushed the chair back from the desk a little.
“Enough Kala, come kneel before me.”
I crawled out from under the desk, kneeling before him. I kept my gaze lowered, hands palm flat on my thighs; pride made me keep my back rigidly straight.
He spoke gently yet firmly, his voice held authority no slave could resist, “look at me.”
I looked up, meeting his gaze, he smiled.
“I have time for you now,” he said, looking me over. His gaze dropped to my crotch; after a second I parted my legs to show him my naked snatch, he smiled more and nodded at me, “I deserve a little break.”
I agreed wholeheartedly, he’d been working hard (and I assumed it meant he was going to fuck me {yes I’m incorrigible once I get wet enough}) I gave him my best dimpled smile.
He stood, moving the chair back out of the way. “Stand up, interlace your fingers behind your neck.”
My knees screamed with relief as I stood up, finally I could stand. I dropped my gaze again as I brought my palms against my neck, interlacing my fingers, my hair was dry, silky from the shampoo.
“Come with me.”
He led the way, I following obediently, a small almost unnoticeable door sat flush against one wall, blending into the wall as if part of it. He opened this and I followed him in, I couldn’t resist looking around. Half the room was parquet floor, inlaid in a light/dark wood checkered pattern the other half more deep carpet, but this red. Three walls were dark varnished wood, black; the east wall was floor to ceiling windows, red damask drapes were pulled back. In the middle of the west wall was a large stone fireplace, a dark mantle above it; a loveseat kitty corner to this, half on the parquet floor. A huge four-poster bed, big enough for ten people, dominated the center of the room, it had four steps to mount, blue drapes and canopy with a matching bedspread. Various BDSM devices littered the room, a St. Andrews cross, a wheel, a whipping X, a wooden pony; cages some so small a contortionist would dislocate bones trying to fit in them. Rope dangled from eyehooks in the ceiling, as well as a couple of manacles (both leather and steel); open cabinets and shelves held various toys.
“Come now, gracefully.”
He closed the door and led me near the middle of the room, onto the carpet, he gently pressed on my hip until I turned facing away from the bed ten feet behind me, back the way we came.
“Hands at your sides, feel free to look around but not behind you.”
He left me, going behind me, as I looked more. Paintings of erotic nudes hung on some of the walls; the couch wasn’t the only furniture, a small round table with a pair of chairs sat near the windows; a wine bottle cooled in an ice bucket, a single long stemmed tall glass beside it. Deep comfortable armchairs and a coffee table formed a conversation area near the fireplace opposite the loveseat.
I was a good girl, well trained, hands at my sides; I didn’t have to work hard not to glance over my shoulder. Instead I concentrated on the nudes, large oil paintings of various women in bondage; they were well done and highly erotic.
He was back in five minutes, I hadn’t heard him but he’d changed into a red silk robe, belted closed. He looked powerful and commanding in it, he had a pair of metal nipple clamps in his hands, long and serrated, they’d bite deep and hurt.
His voice was gentle, firm. It sent a shiver through me; he didn’t command, just told me what he wanted, “give me your armpits Kala.”
I lifted my arms just a little above my head, crossing my wrists, I straightened my back, sweeping my elbows back and sucking in a deep breath exposing my pits as much as I was able (they were as clean shaven as my pussy). He took one clamp and pressed it into my exposed armpit, spreading the jaws wide he gathered up folds of my sensitive flesh. Slowly gently he eased the jaws closed, pausing instantly when I gritted my teeth, fighting not to make a sound (I knew I still wasn’t allowed to make noise) he waited just a moment, before easing the jaws fully closed, it wasn’t nearly as painful as it could have been; he wanted me to be obedient, unlike Lizibeth the game player. I knew immediately the slightest disobedience on my part wouldn’t be tolerated, he didn’t want to play at punishing a defiant slave, I was to do exactly what was asked of me; I knew all this without him saying it directly. He clamped my other armpit similarly, gently; I didn’t twitch or make a sound, despite the steady pain of the clamps (voice training is hard, but I learned well).
“Good girl, arms down.”
I put my arms down, starting just a little as my arms brushing against the ends of the clamps changed the pain radiating from them for just a moment, before the steady sensation of agony returned; he smiled.
Without a word he disappeared behind me again, I remained standing as he’d left me, his living toy. He was back in seconds with a thing of leather straps and buckles; he held it for me to see as he began arranging it for ease of donning. It was actually two sets of leather I could see eventually tied together into one big piece. He dropped the smaller set of straps to the floor.
“The Strap Corset,” he told me, I smiled my surrender to his will and he smiled back gently. “It’s easier if you help me, I’ll show you how.”
Again not a direct order, he just assumed obedience, and I of course gave it, his tone made me want to give it, need to give it. The strap corset really wasn’t much, just a few lengths of leather carefully designed to do its job yet leave as much flesh exposed as possible. Straps draped over my shoulder, two thin strips of leather followed either side of my spine, and these had a few strips of leather criss-crossing connecting the strips going down my back every 6-8 inches, providing strength. Leather straps curved from these, buckling in front, as tight as you wanted, there were only four of them, each 2 inches wide, but they were measured (and adjustable) to accomplish their aim. The first buckled beneath my breasts as I held the corset in place on my shoulders; he only tightened it so it was firmly in place. The second went over my second ribs the third just above my navel (also over my bottommost ribs) and the last went just under the curve of my lightly muscled belly. Two half cups of stiff leather cradled my boobs, the inside of the cups were covered in little rills and bumps, digging deliciously into my tits; coming up just under my nipples, they lifted and thrust my tits forward. Now the corset would stay without my help, he began tightening the straps, pulling the first two and then the fourth very tight, making me suck in my breath. He went back to the third one, preparing to tighten it, but he paused holding the strap.
He looked at me, slowly raised his arm, cocking his fist back; he didn’t ask for permission, but he made absolutely sure I knew exactly what he was about to do, and gave me plenty of time to retreat or yell no. I felt my belly tense, I met his eyes, holding myself still, hands defenselessly at my sides. His fist plowed into my stomach, the light coating of musculature over it not protecting me much, my breath whooshed out; I started to double, but with an effort held myself upright. He jerked the strap quickly very very tight, restricting the contraction and expansion of my rib cage as I breathed. He buckled it in place, then methodically went about tightening the other three, as he did he looked at me questioningly, with an effort I mustered a reassuring smile, and he chuckled.
“Very good girl,” he praised me.
With the last strap pulled very taut, I could take only shallow breaths; the other set of straps hooked into the first. Thin leather strips curled round my thighs, another curved beneath my derrière lifting and supporting it. He tweaked my bottom with two fingers as he attached the last strap, which separated my cheeks gently, resting firmly against my anal hole. The strap thinned as it curved up in front of me, separating into two tiny thin leather lines which hooked both into the strips around my thighs pulling them tauter and into the strap just beneath my belly (eyelets were sewn into the straps where appropriate).
I felt supported by the corset, almost like it was holding me up, cradling me protectively; yet almost all of my body was still exposed. He took one nipple in his fingers, tweaking it lightly until it hardened lifting it and smoothing it so it sat just over the stiff leather of the half-cup supporting my breast, slowly, a look of intense concentration on his face. He did this to my other nipple too; continuing until he was satisfied.
“A drink,” he murmured to me.
I thought for a second he meant for me to fetch it for him, but he moved before I could, so I stood still. I watched as with steady grace, he drifted over to the little side table, the wine was already open, and he poured a golden stream into the tall glass, filling it all the way to the brim. Slowly easily, not spilling a drop apparently with no effort, he brought this to me, holding it out. My fingers trembled as I took it, I was afraid I’d spill. Slowly without spilling I managed to raise it to my lips. I sipped, bringing the level in the glass down enough so I didn’t have to fear soaking his carpet.
“Drain it,” he encouraged.
I did, the cool heady liquid sliding down my throat to curl in my empty belly in a fiery lump, it had a high alcohol content. he looked at me narrowly for a long moment, then pressed two fingers firmly against the side of my neck, taking my pulse.
“You haven’t eaten today?”
I shook my head.
He nodded, “put the glass back.”
I moved to obey, walking over to the table, my feet felt oddly disconnected from the floor. The straps moved pulling against me not painfully, but I felt the friction; I could only take small sips of air, already I felt light headed. I put the glass down and turned, he was just recrossing the room having retrieved a new toy, a long black piece of leather; I went to meet him, standing before him in the same position as before.
It wasn’t one piece of leather, but two he proffered one. I could see the eyelets gleaming in the light as I took the first half of the monoglove.
“You’ve worn these before.”
It was a statement, but I looked at him and nodded as I pulled it on; he helped, smoothing the leather over my skin. It closed tightly over my arm up to the shoulder; he stroked his hand up and down my arm, carefully smoothing out any wrinkles, pulling it up, tighter. He was patient about it careful, I was grateful, any bunching would chafe and itch, possibly becoming painful, and he was so considerate. Only when he was satisfied did he assist me in donning the other glove, again taking the time to tighten and smooth the dark soft leather properly.
He urged my arms behind my back, (the clamps in my armpits pulled painfully) doing up the lace dangling from the other glove eyelet by eyelet, pulling it tighter, sealing my arms together with the backs of my hands touching. My palms faced outward, probably the crueler of the two possibilities, but I didn’t mind. With my arms forced back like this, my breasts were thrust further forward, more prominent. My nipples were hard little nubbins, my breasts tingled in their cups as the rills dug into the sensitive skin.
Smiling he disappeared again, back moments later with a pair of high-heeled boots. Made of black leather, they had 7-inch heels, zippers up the side.
“These should fit you, I have other pairs.”
He set them down before me; I stepped into first one, then the other. He knelt to do up the zippers, they went up about three inches over my knees, dark leather sealing itself tightly against my legs, hugging me comfortingly; again he took care to smooth the leather so it wouldn’t bunch. With the 7 inch heels I was standing on my toes, my feet arched painfully, and the pain would only grow worse I knew, fortunately the toe of each boot was heavily padded, but still…
He stood up, smiling at me. “Good Kala,” he praised, I smiled almost involuntarily; he seemed to sense it and chuckled. “Fit well, don’t they?”
Helplessly, I nodded. His hand dipped into one of the voluminous pockets of the robe, he pulled out 5 thick white plastic sticks; each as big around as a thumb 9 inches long, they ended in sharp points. He brought them up towards my face, I refused to flinch.
“Hold these for me would you, you can moisten the tips.”
I opened my mouth and he slipped the plastic sticks in, sliding them just an inch or two, until I could clamp them between my lips. He chuckled, circling behind me as I licked the points with my tongue, suckling them for him. I could feel the silk of his robe as he pressed himself behind me, he lifted my shoulder length hair in his hands, leaning down to brush his face against it, and he inhaled.
“Mmmm, Lizibeth likes you,” he said, “Helping you make a good impression.”
He moved back just a little, and began piling my hair up, bunching it into a thick mass, pulling it tight. He took the sticks one by one gently from my mouth, pushing them firmly into my hair, pinning it in place up off my neck; rising up in a bun at the back of my head, much like old portraits of Chinese women. He circled back in front of me again; reaching into his other pocket; he pulled out another set of leather straps. He shook this out and it fell neatly into place ready for use, a thing of straps and buckles again, some metal.
“Chin up, head straight.”
I complied instantly, trying to show my submission with my obedience. The strap mask slipped over my head easily, and he began tightening it in place. Straps went over my hair at the back, buckling in place and holding my hair in place, straps went over my ears to buckle in back, one circled my forehead, another pair above and below my eyes, circling around my head to the back; these also supported vertical straps on either side of my eyes, framing them. Two more circled my face above and below my lips. He grinned at me as I opened my mouth and lightly tongued the strap pressing against my bottom lip until my lip was freed and the strap settled to rest where it should be.
“Nicely done Kala,” he praised tightening those straps at the back too, before reaching around and pinching my inked cheek as I smiled.
Two straps went alongside my nose over my head to buckle at the back; these supported a small piece of metal which dug painfully into the underside of my nose as he tightened the straps, forcing me to lean my head back as far as I could, exposing my throat, and he snugged it further so the metal continued to bite into my nose anyway (I knew he was a sadist). He loosened those straps and I lowered my head, but whatever he had done, the metal stayed tight, I could lower my head a little, but the bit would continue to plague me whether I tilted my head back or not. He showed me what it was for, smiling into my face he reached back, pulled at the mask somewhere specific, the bit cut into my nose and I lifted my head, the pressure abated, then returned as he pulled again before releasing it so I could lower my head to look at him.
“Lovely strap mask, isn’t it?”
I nodded agreement. He continued, a thick strap went under my chin, it didn’t force my mouth closed but I realized it could if he chose to arrange it so. Then he played with the straps some more at the back, the straps beside my nose slid closer together and my nostrils shut tight. I could now only breathe through my mouth, if he gagged me I’d suffocate. Some of the straps sported gimlets and snaps, so further things could be attached to it. He grinned as he attached straps and buckles to the corset I was wearing, my head was partially immobilized, I could tilt my head a little up or down, and a tiny bit from one side or the other, but I’d have to lean back or forward or turn, to look at anything clearly. Breathing lightly through my mouth, I watched him look me over, I had felt better when I wasn’t walking, but now the lightheadedness returned, partially due to excitement, I was loving this. It was the kind of bondage most slaves (yes me too) love, I could walk and move around as I wished, subject only to the control of my dominant yet at the same time; physically I was helpless, I couldn’t move much in the restraints or easily. He took a few steps backward.
“Lovely, very pretty Kala, you look good in this.”
I smiled at the compliment.
“And so well behaved too,” he extolled my virtues, making me grin. “Turn in a circle for me, slowly.”
I began to comply, turning in place for him.
“Yes slowly,” he ordered softly, “graceful Kala, back straight, chin up, legs together.”
I hastened to comply as I turned, wanting only to please him, my will melting to his desire. I came back around and he made a stirring motion with his finger, not meeting my eyes as he looked me up and down. I continued to turn for him as he murmured, “beautiful, beautiful, yes, that’s lovely.”
I revolved twice before he halted me facing away from him.
“Stop a moment, lovely, go to your knees.”
I did.
“Back straight Kala, lovely.”
I obeyed hastily; my head swam as I struggled to get enough air. The room darkened and sound faded; but as I knelt there I recovered, obviously I wasn’t going to be able to exert myself much (I’m in love).
“Stand and face me,” he commanded.
I did, but it was a hard struggle, getting to my feet bound as I was, I only realized how much the boots hurt my feet, especially my toes, when the pain returned after having faded a bit. He approached, his hand reached out gently resting on my hip as he met my eyes, I couldn’t really drop my gaze, head constrained by the mask.
“That’s just lovely, slave, I’m enjoying this immensely. Shall we see what other pretty adornments we can find for my pretty little toy?”
I knew I was the toy, I grinned and gave the tiny nod the mask allowed me, and he smiled and disappeared behind me again. My naked thighs were slick with my need, I oozed between my legs my need growing by the second, I had to be had, before I ejaculated at his simple touch. He left me to stand there for a good five minutes, and like a good slave I stood quietly, unmoving except to shift my weight just a little from one foot to the other. Finally he returned and his pockets were bulging.
Hands empty, he gripped my chin, intently he spoke; “I’m going to put you in a double bind Kala, do you know what that is? Speak, only to say yes or no.”
I wasn’t sure but I didn’t think I knew what he meant.
Voice wavery from hours of carefully keeping silent, I answered quietly. “No.”
He grinned, releasing my chin, softly he told me, “it’s a psychology term, I’m going to tell you to do two things, but to do one you will have failed to do the other, so whichever one you choose you will be disobedient; but I promise I’ll only punish you a little bit. You may speak if you wish to protest that’s not fair, but you won’t enjoy the result if you do.”
He waited, I kept silent.
“Smart girl,” he breathed, then briskly, “it isn’t fair, I agree; now here’s your double bind, first of all you may not orgasm unless you ask my permission, you may speak freely as soon as I take you, but I am not going to fuck you Kala, until you specifically ask me to.”
He was right, it wasn’t fair. I almost whined my frustration, but wisely made myself remain silent (with great effort).
He smiled at me, “now for your other adornments.”
Some of them I knew well, others I was wholly unfamiliar with. Soft plastic clamps went over my nipples, they didn’t hurt nearly as much as the serrated metal jaws gripping the undersides of my arms; little weighted discs hooked onto the ends of the clamps, pulling my taut nipples out, distending them downward. A metal tube with a black disk on the end he placed into my belly button, the other end of the tube had buttons and knobs, he manipulated this and I felt my belly button griped by a circular clamp. More manipulation and my button hole spread as little plastic pips exuded from the black disk, the disk pulled and I felt my belly button rise, stretching, shooting a painful thrill up and down the cleft of my arse. The tube detached, leaving a round black disc firmly cemented where my belly button used to be, I wasn’t quite sure how it was coming out later.
He dropped the tube back into his pocket, then reached up and gently removed the little gold studs in my only piercings, these too went into his pocket. He came out with a new pair of earrings for me; these each had a little metal armature, ending in a tiny plastic knob. It fitted with slow careful adjustments in tiny increments to avoid hurting me (I stood obediently stock still) into the canal of my ears, gently brushing, stimulating my inner ear lobes, sending shivers through me with the slightest movement.
Two stiff squares of leather sporting snap buttons, attached to my mask, beside my eyes; they didn’t blindfold me, merely blinkered me like a horse. I could now only see a tunnel straight ahead; I had no peripheral vision, to look at anything I had to face it. He knelt down and I discovered the toes of my boots had a catch; they flipped up exposing my toes. He found leather straps inside, using them to spread my big toes, lifting them up and strapping them into the air to affect my balance, making it so much harder to walk, then he closed the boots back up.
A long thick rubber butt plug with a widely flared edge slipped into a little catch on the leather strap separating my cheeks, I felt the cheeks of my face flame as he spread apart my nether cheeks to expose my starfish, and I ripped out a loud ringing fart. He ignored it, slowly setting the flared edge of the large plug against my hole. He pushed firmly, I fought hard, relaxing my cheeks for him; slowly, gently but firmly he forced the flared end up my alimentary canal, insuring there would be no further breaking of wind. I stood still as he pushed it a little more firmly, sending ripples of sensation up me, settling the strap again firmly in place so it held my cheeks separate, the plug filling me with a known, comfortable sensation. Although it was thicker than I’m used too, I’d had bigger once or twice.
The last was just a work of evil, made of metal, its two armatures clipped onto the leather curling around my thighs, ending in several plastic rings, I discovered these were adjustable. Producing a speculum from his pocket, he spread my vagina open, sliding it deeper to spread my inner lips, spreading away the flesh protecting my little pleasure node, folding the skin back to expose it. He swung the armatures in place on gimbals, slowly easing the rings over the little stamen that gave me such intense enjoyment; he made no comment at the fact that I was sopping wet, my entire body trembling slightly, I couldn’t control it at all, I was barely aware of it, I couldn’t even think. He eased the plastic rings firmly over my little node; wildly I fought a moan, not wanting to be disobedient. Cruelly he adjusted the rings, closing them lightly over my stamen. With every little movement of my body the rings shifted, sliding up and down my little node; they were lightly ridged to make it even worse (he’s not a sadist he’s a demon from hell).
He stepped back, enjoying his work. Hands on his hips, he pursed his lips as he surveyed me; I stood, sweating and trembling quietly. He looked me in the eye, I closed my eyes, a weird little noise came, it took me a moment to realize it issued from my lips, with an effort I stopped it, I don’t think he ever heard it.
“Well Kala, how do you feel?”
I opened my eyes, gave him a pleading expression.
He answered gently, “I told you dear, you have to ask.”
We looked at each other a moment, then he shrugged and walked around behind me. He let me stand there a minute or two before reappearing; he had a riding crop in his hand. A foot long stiff rubber rod ending in a thick leather triangle, it would probably hurt but not leave a bad mark for more than a few hours.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said softly, he waited a moment, “walk for me Kala.”
I lurched into motion, moving toward him. Pleasure shot through me from several sources, most noticeably the plastic rings, pain only made it more intense. He backed up, flicking me hard in the tummy. “Turn left slave.”
I obeyed; he flicked me on the ass, hard. “Walk.”
I did, and he walked me around the room, flicking me with the crop at intervals as he directed me around in a loose square, so he didn’t have to move more than a step or two. It became harder to think, my betrayer of a vaginal mound began running a steady stream of liquid down my leg, he looked a moment (I think to see if it was pee) then ignored it except to flick my lower back hard and tell me to walk faster.
I couldn’t see anything, I couldn’t see him, every welting blow of the crop came as a surprise, never in the same place. The world darkened, contracting to just the next step; I couldn’t get enough air. The whining noise was back and I couldn’t stop it, it was well audible now, I was being bad, I had no control, I fought, but knew any moment now I’d beg him for relief.
Another flick of the crop, “walk straight Kala.”
I’d instinctively turned, but now he was directing me toward the loveseat. He passed me, turning to sit on it.
He crooked a finger, “come.”
I approached, whining, out of control, barely coherent, I was going to throw myself into his lap and beg him to do anything as long as I could cum.
He laid the crop down beside him. “Stop, kneel.”
I slid to my knees right before him, shuddering, arching my neck, pleading at him with my eyes, piteous, helpless, his.
He looked down at me, smiling, quietly, “that’s right, pump your hips, work yourself Kala.”
It was only then I realized I was, I’d been fucking myself with the plastic rings, while fighting not to cum. I arched, leaning back, spreading my thighs wide, showing him my body was his, but he wanted more than that, he wanted me to be a Bad Girl. I was still whining, loudly now, that in itself disobedience. He came off the seat, kneeling before me, he took me in his strong arms, and he kissed me, forcing his tongue into my mouth. I fought him, turning my head whining, I licked the side of his neck, pressing against him, I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.
He was 58, 30 years older than me, but I only weighed about 97 pounds fully dressed and wet down, he picked me up with ease and carried me over to the huge bed. He mounted the steps and laid me down on the bedspread, he undid his robe (he was nude beneath) and lay down beside me, cradling my head in the crook of one arm as he stretched me out, stroking me, my breasts, my belly, my thighs.
I whined, he smiled and gently removed the armatures, tossing aside the hateful pleasurable rings (I made my Master buy one later, it was special order only). He stroked my snatch, spreading my lips apart and stroking me roughly, I bucked, fighting not to ejaculate all over him.
“Break Kala, just break,” he ordered me gently, softly, to disobey; I obeyed him.
“Fuckmepleasefuckmepleasepleasepleasegodpleasesir…”
I was begging still when he straddled me and smoothly entered.
“Come,” he said as he thrust.
I shuddered, writhing as I came hard, bucking as I spewed streams of ejaculate again and again and again, it oozed all over our legs, the bed, his robe. He rode me smoothly, gently, rocking himself, driving himself in me. I lay still for only a moment before it built again all in one quick rush, and I came again, jacking all over him. He groaned as my vaginal muscles squeezed him tightly, he told me later I was making all kinds of soft, sexy fuck noises, begging and begging for more.
I wasn’t aware of anything but the feel of the heat and friction between my legs. After I came the second time, he slowed dramatically, fighting control, but he managed it and continued to fuck me. He rode me for a while, hands on my shoulders, it wasn’t long before again the pressure built, pain mingling with pleasure…(yes I came a third time, and then a fourth. Finally utterly exhausted I was moaning gently continuously when I came the fifth time). At length he let himself cum with me, spewing into me hard, spending in me, jets of ropy semen rushing up into me, before he slowly eased himself atop me, panting.
We lay together, panting for a moment, I could barely breathe, couldn’t think. After a while he eased himself beside me, rolled to his back, working himself out of his silk robe; naked he lay beside me, he smiled down at me gently as he cradled my head in his arms.
“Thank you sir.” I whispered weakly.
He grinned, “you’re welcome, but now since you’ve misbehaved you naughty girl, I’ll have to think up a way to punish you.”
He knew exactly how he intended to punish me, but I had been bad. “Yes sir, please, please I want to be punished sir.”
“Oh you will be,” he promised solemnly grinning, and I was…but I spent that night in his bed, and although I cried when…well that’s a tale for another time…
(Dimpled smile {I know Kala’s a very naughty girl, spank me :})
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