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Chapter 2
Saturday and Sunday
I woke up in my beautiful room with the sun already high, the sunlight flooding through
the curtains. I felt really good, and lucky to be living in luxury, when only yesterday I was
wondering where my next meal was coming from. After a while, just enjoying my nice bed, I
got up and took a quick shower.
The bathroom was almost as fancy as my master's. It even had the padded toilet seat. I
dried myself and realized I had nothing to wear, nothing at all. So that's what I wore, nothing.
After Friday night, there wasn't a bit of me my master hadn't seen and touched, so what was the
point of covering myself? I walked, stark naked, to the living room, picked up my purse and
clothes from the floor, where I had dropped them. I got my copy of the contract and took
everything back to my room.
I was hanging up my skirt in the big, empty, walk-in closet when my master walked into
my room, casually dressed in slacks and a polo shirt. Before I could turn around, he gripped my
right buttock with one strong hand and kissed me on the neck, while his left hand cupped my left
breast. Having asserted his ownership of my body, he released me and asked if I was hungry.
"Yes, Master, I guess I am," I said. He motioned me to follow, and I padded after him,
barefoot, bare all over, into the kitchen. "I'll fix breakfast," he said. "I wouldn't ask you to fry
bacon in the nude; that's very dangerous. Really, I like to cook, so just sit there. Orange juice?"
He served me a traditional bacon and egg breakfast, and we sat there like any married
couple, except that I was stark naked. When we had finished, I started to get up and said, "I'll
wash the dishes."
"OK," he said, but then he kept teasing me while I worked. When my hands were full of
plates, he smeared strawberry jam on my breast and then licked it off. When I reached under the
sink, put his hand between my legs, from behind, and grabbed my pubic hair, so I couldn't
straighten up and nearly banged my head. As I was stacking clean plates in a cupboard, he
snapped a towel at my ass, and I dropped them. He just laughed.
"Master," I said, as I squatted to pick up the pieces, keeping a wary eye on him, "how can
I do my work when you keep hindering me?"
"Don't worry, Slave," he said with a chuckle, "the novelty will wear off soon, and you'll
be begging me to pay more attention to you." When the kitchen was tidy, I went to make his
bed, the scene of my adventures the night before, and I made my own and generally straightened
things up. Strangely, doing housework in the nude didn't bother me at all, and my master, while
he watched, didn't get in the way. Before noon, everything was tidy, and I presented myself to
him for instructions.
"Put on your skirt and blouse and shoes. We're going shopping. No underwear," he said.
"Please, Master," I said, "I don't mind you looking at my body, but I don't want to be out
in public with my tits showing. May I wear my bra, too?"
"You weren't wearing one when you came here last night."
"Well, I have job now. I don't need to show off my tits to everyone, do I?"
My master laughed. "Yes, Slave, you can wear your bra, today. We don't want to push
your training too fast."
He put on a suit and tie and we went shopping. While I gathered up my things from my
room and stowed them in the trunk of his car, my master paid my rent and talked with my
landlady about forwarding mail and such. As we left, she wished me luck in my new job and
told me not to let the little monsters bully their new nanny. I smiled at my master, imagining the
lies he must have told her.
At a mall, we stopped at Frederick's of Holly wood and bought all sorts of sexy stuff that
I would never have thought of wearing, certainly not in public. Things like a harem girl
costume, and crotchless panties, push-up bras, see-thru teddies, stuff like that. We visited
several department stores and boutiques, bought half a dozen dressy outfits and some casual
wear, tee shirts, shorts, jeans. I got shoes to go with the outfits, and other shoes for walking or
sports. We even bought three wigs, so I could have long hair any time he wanted. You'd have
thought he was planning on a European tour together, not keeping me imprisoned at the ranch.
He left me window shopping, looking to see if there was anything more I would like, while he
did some shopping of his own. Hours later, he found me sitting on a bench, near an indoor
fountain, reading a magazine. "Did you find anything more you would like?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said, after making sure we wouldn't be overheard. "You have bought me
more than I can imagine needing, more than I'd ever dreamed of having."
"OK," he said, "are you ready for dinner?"
"Sure, if you like, Master."
We had taken our purchases out to the car, so we went out into the parking lot and
Master selected my wardrobe for the evening. Then he sent me into the ladies room to change. I
came out changed all right, a totally different woman.
For one thing, I wore make-up for the first time in years, eye shadow, false eyelashes,
blush, glossy lipstick, the works, including a perfume with a woodsy, but sexy, scent which my
master said he especially liked. He had selected a long, black wig. I wore a sleeveless black
cocktail dress that showed a lot of cleavage and fit as snugly as a "slimmer long-line bra." The
skirt was short, and flared, and since I wore no underwear at all, except a garter belt and
stockings, from Frederick's, I felt very naughty, with the cool evening air wafting up my skirt
around my naked thighs and crotch. The shoes had high heels so high I could barely walk.
When I got in the car, my master pulled the skirt up behind me, so that my bare buttocks
were against the cool leather of the seat. With his finger tips, he lightly stroked the inside of my
thigh, just above the stocking tops, before he started the car. I couldn't help feeling sexy.
We went to a seafood restaurant down by the bay, Redwood City or some place near, and
I felt proud to be going in on his arm. I'd never been to place that expensive. When the waiter
seated us, I was careful to pull my skirt down and keep my knees together. I realized that anyone
who happened to look up my skirt would see no panties, just a thatch of black pubic hair.
My master ordered wine for himself, a double marguerita for me, even though I was
technically under-age and didn't drink. The alcohol went to my head, and I didn't even mind
when, at one point, Hank dropped something and got down on the floor to look for it under the
table. I felt his hand pushing my knees apart, and I realized he was looking right at my private
place. Then he got back in his seat and finished eating. It was a real turn-on.
Back at the ranch, it was still like being on a date. Master lit a fire -- a gas log, because
of the clean air regulations -- and fixed more drinks. Then we cuddled on the couch, watching
the flames, until he slipped his hand down my front and cupped one breast. I reciprocated by
placing my hand on his fly. We just sat there, quietly, holding each other. I thought to myself
how lucky I was.
If I had met Hank someplace else, been introduced by a friend or something like that, I
would have thought him attractive. Though he was twice my age, he was trim and athletic. He
had money and power. There must be something inborn in females to be attracted to the
strongest males, in humans as it is in horses and seals and so many other species. The fact that I
was being paid to be his slave, to call him Master, didn't turn off his attractiveness. Maybe it
enhanced it.
I was pleased when he peeled my dress off me. I kicked my shoes off and was thrilled as
he rolled my stockings down and removed the sexy little garter belt, leaving me wearing nothing
but perfume and the long wig. "Stand there and let me look at you," he said. I swished the
cascade of hair, long enough to sit on, so that it fell over my right breast, ornamenting my
nakedness. I remembered something about Lady Godiva.
I watched him get undressed; I was turned on by the rippling of his muscles. Then he sat
down in the middle of the sofa and invited me to sit on his knees, facing him.
I did, and then I pulled myself toward him, until I was sitting with our curly pubic hairs
intermingled and my breasts pressed against his hairy chest. His arms went around me to hug
me to him, and I rested my head on his shoulder, saying, "Mmmmm, I like that, Master."
For a long time, we hugged each other. Then Hank arranged me on my back. My lower
body rested on the sofa, with my head and shoulders on his lap. I could easily have turned my
head and suckied his cock, but he was not in any hurry. He caressed my breasts and reached out
to take hold of my right foot. He pulled it toward him, making me lift my knee, and spent some
time fondling my foot, stroking it, playing with my toes. I lay with my head back, my eyes
closed, a smile playing on my lips.
I was surprised when my master forced my heel into my crotch. My knee was limber
enough that it didn't hurt and, as his strong hand pressed my heel into my soft vulva, I felt that
thrill of sexual arousal. Being toyed with was pleasant, sensual, but this was sexy, and I could
feel my own juices wetting my foot as my master forced me to rub myself. His other hand
kneaded my breasts, more vigorously than before, and I found myself slipping into that euphoric
state that accompanies intense sexual arousal. I felt my master's hardened member pressing
against my back. "Master," I said softly, "aren't you going to put it in me?"
Wordlessly, my master lifted me and sat me astride his legs, except that this time I was
impaled upon his prod. He hugged me to him, mashing my breasts against his chest, and I put
my arms around him, too. He said, "Squeeze." I hugged him tighter.
"No, let me breathe," he said. "Squeeze with your vaginal muscles."
I tried, but he seemed dissatisfied. "You need some training, Slave," he said, "but not
tonight." We sat like that, quietly. I could feel him within me, and his strong arms around me,
and I felt content, confident that he would fuck me until I went crazy, when he felt like it. I let
myself fantasize that we were married, and I realized that whether or not we were actually
married probably wouldn't make much difference. Either way, slave or wife, I was going to feel
his manliness inside me. From time to time, I would wriggle a bit, perhaps bounce up and down,
enough to keep him stiff and to enhance my own sense of being filled with his meat.
The clock struck twelve, and before the last bong, my master lifted me off his still erect
prong. "That was nice," I said, "but you didn't finish the job."
"Tomorrow."
"I won't charge overtime, Master," I joked.
"No, of course not," he said, distractedly. "Well, it will give you something to look
forward to."
"Please, Master," I pleaded. "You shame me. You make me feel inadequate. I want you
to feel you are getting your money's worth." He looked at me strangely, but didn't say anything.
I struggled to again get on his lap, kneeling with my knees either side of his hips. With some
effort I was able to impale myself on his pole, and when I succeeded I bobbed up and down on it
desperately. I could hear slurping sounds as the piston of his penis pumped air in and out of my
dripping tunnel. I began to move my ass in circles, so that the friction was increased, and I could
feel his pole stretching the wall of my vagina. He just lay back, semi-supine on the couch, while
I rode his pole, desperate to get off, yearning for the sort of orgasm only my master had ever
been able to give me.
If he had come first, I could have lived with that. At least it would confirm that he found
me attractive, sexy. But he did not ejaculate into me. His penis stayed hard and straight, as I
bobbed on it until my thighs quivered from the unusual effort. He wouldn't, and I couldn't. At
last I stopped and fell against his chest, feeling his chest hairs tickling my sweaty breasts. I felt
defeated, a failure as a woman.
"You need some training," he said softly. "Not to worry." He slid a finger between us
and skillfully found my love button. He rocked his hips, stirring me with his rod, as my clitoris
sizzled with sensation and he fingered me to an beautiful orgasm. I threw my head back and
screamed with joy, glowing, gasping, with the ecstasy of it. My cunt gripped his shaft, and
seconds later I felt him gushing into me. I collapsed into his arms and savored the little
aftershocks, as my body quivered and my breathing slowed toward normal. Once or twice, he
teased me with his finger tip on my clitoris, until at last his soft, semen coated organ slipped out
of me.
"Thank you," I breathed.
"Get along to bed, now," he said, pushing me off him. "I've stayed up too late.
Remember, Slave, in future, if you don't improve, I'm going to leave you frustrated, until you
do." He picked up his clothes and walked to his room, his limp penis glistening with the mixture
of our juices. I turned off the fire and the lights, picked up my own clothes, and went to my bed.
I should have showered, but I just pulled off my wig, collapsed into bed, and fell asleep.
I don't often dream, or perhaps I don't remember my dreams, but that night I had a
particularly memorable series of nightmares. In one, he told me I was useless as a slave and sent
me melodramatically out into the night, naked and ashamed. In another, I was lusting for him,
but he showed me that his penis had shrunken to a little nub, and he said it was my fault and I'd
get no more orgasms from him. I kept waking, anxious, only to dream again.
When I awoke Sunday morning, I showered, dried myself, and put on perfume but no
cosmetics. I chose a sexy pink satin teddy, from Frederick's, and wore it as I walked, barefoot, in
search of my master. I found him in the kitchen, eating some toast.
"I will cook breakfast for you, Master," I said.
He kissed me tenderly and fingered my crotch through the
satin. "No, thank you, Slave," he said, releasing me. "Do you have anything you need to do
today? Church or anything?"
"No, I haven't attended mass in years. I'm at your disposal, Master." His fleeting grope at
my sex had reminded me of "tomorrow," and I hoped that he would begin my training soon.
"I'm going out, to do some shopping. Anything you want me to get?"
"I need nothing, Master," I replied. "choose what you want to eat, and I'll cook it."
"You can have a day off, if you want it," he said. "Or would you rather spend it in
training?"
My spirits soared at the idea of spending the day learning to be sexy, and I remembered
my anxious dreams of failure. "Master," I said, "I am most anxious to please you, and I will do
anything you suggest."
"Very well, Slave, come with me." He led me to the library and took out two videos.
"You will eat, and get out of that ridiculous garment. Get used to being naked. Then you will
view these two videos. This one is instruction in belly dancing. You have six days to become
proficient. This," he said, waving the other, "is an instructional tape on the use of the various
machines in the gym. Don't do anything to hurt yourself. Don't try any gymnastics. I want you
to work on your pecs and abs and buns, to begin with. Too much lazing around the house and
you'll go all flabby. And when you are too tired to work out any longer, read this book." He
grabbed a book, seemingly at random, and handed to me. It was a textbook on Cultural
Geography. "It's time you improved your mind, too."
"Master," I replied, "I will do anything to prevent your being disappointed with me. Shall
I cook dinner?"
He smiled briefly. "I'll get take-out from a restaurant and bring it back, OK?"
"Of course, Master."
Hank drove away. Right away, I took off the teddy and walked naked to the kitchen,
where I had a bowl of cereal. I watched the two videos, then went to the gym and worked out on
the machines for an hour or so, discovering muscles I didn't know I had. I stripped the beds,
washed the sheets, made the beds again, vacuumed, dusted, whatever, until there seemed to be
no more work to do. Then I showered, put on fresh perfume, and added the wig, figuring he
liked women with long hair. I even got the first chapter of the book read before I heard him
coming up the crunchy gravel drive. As he entered, I was standing at attention in the entry.
Wordlessly, he gave me a kiss on the cheek, while he fondled my breast with one hand
and felt my ass with the other. That was enough to get me breathing heavily. I would have
loved to have him fuck me right then. But he didn't.
He moved the car to the side of the house and unloaded his purchases directly into the
forbidden workshop.
About six o'clock he came into the kitchen with a bag of plastic containers. "I'll just heat
these in the microwave, and we can eat," he said.
The dinner was from a good French restaurant, and while it wasn't the same as having it
served by a waiter in a tail coat, it was quite good, better than I was used to. "Are you trying to
fatten me up?" I asked, smiling, trying to make a joke of it.
"Fear not," he said, solemnly, "I won't let you get too fat. I own that body, and I'll make
sure it stays in good trim."
I took a minute to tidy up the kitchen, throw away the plastic containers, while Hank sipped
some white wine. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Master?" I asked, striking a pose in
front of him. I was hoping he would make love to me.
Maybe it was the word, Master, but a change came over him. He stood up and ordered,
"Slave, stand at attention until I get back." He came back with some cuffs. "Slave," he said,
"whenever you are in my presence, or on duty, unless I say otherwise, you will wear these." He
watched while I buckled them on my wrists and ankles. They were leather, and they were lined
with padding and some sort of synthetic fur, so they weren't uncomfortable, even though they fit
snugly. A steel snap hook was sewn into each one. It felt strange, but I didn't mind them. I
thought of them like big wedding rings, or perhaps the way a faithful dog feels about its collar.
Then he placed a blindfold on me, a sort of mask with no eye holes. He pulled my arms behind
me and snapped wrist cuffs together. "Come," he said.
My master, playing the role of Master, not lover, led me to the gymnasium. I felt and
heard him releasing my wrists, then snapping something else into the self-closing hooks of my
cuffs. I stood waiting, wondering what would happen next, but not afraid. I was confident my
master wouldn't hurt me.
I felt ropes attached to my wrist cuffs pulling my arms up and apart, until I stood, arms
raised and spread like an Indian praying to the sun. Then my ankles were pulled apart, until I
was stretched in an X, spreadeagled, with half my weight supported by my arms, the rest by my
toes. There was a thrill of excitement, but no real fear.
It seemed as if a long time passed without anything happening. Some sensuous
orchestral music came on. My calf muscles began to ache, supporting half my weight on tip toe,
but the discomfort seemed to focus my attention on the passage of time. Then I felt, but of
course I could not see, my master's hands roaming over my body. He cupped my breasts, played
with the nipples, which instantly swelled erect. He ran his hands over my ribs, across my taut
abdomen, along the curve of my hips. He stroked my lower cheeks, and slipped his hand
between my widespread legs from behind, fingering my curly hairs. "You are damp," he
observed.
"Yes, Master," I replied, "you turn me on."
"But you seem to be uncomfortable. It must be a strain to stand tip-toe." He loosened
the ropes to my wrists, so I could stand flat footed, but my arms were still pulled straight.
"Thank-you, Master."
He didn't speak, but I felt his hands on my right forearm, just below the cuff. He
annointed me with something oily and perfumed, and he began to rub it in with long, sensuous
strokes of his strong fingers, kneading my muscles as he did so. Then he oiled my left arm, and
softly stroked the unguent on my neck and shoulders. It was, I thought, the sort of treatment rich
women pay for at a beauty salon, and here I was getting paid to enjoy such treatment. The wig
got in the way, so he pulled it off.
Hank's hands smoothed the emollient over my back, stroking, rubbing, kneading my skin
in a sensuous massage. He came to my round, firm buttocks and spent what seemed like a long
time oiling them, stroking them, working the flesh between his fingers. I almost purred,
entranced by the sensuous massage, something I had never experienced before. It occurred to
me that no had ever spent so much time trying to please me, loving me, before I became Hank's
slave, and I realized that I was very happy. I wondered when he would reach between my
buttocks and stroke the place where I was getting wet and warm.
My master, however, had his own agenda. He smoothed the sybaritic lotion down the
tapered sleekness of my thighs, avoiding the place between them. My spread legs were
extended, and he did not knead the muscles, lest he hurt me. His hands rubbed balm into my
knees, and the feel of his fingers behind my knees seemed especially exciting to me. Down my
calves his strong hands went, embracing my tapering limbs with strong, slippery fingers. He
stopped at the cuffs.
I felt his hands on my collar bone, as he again anointed my shoulders. His hands
slithered downward, rib by rib, and my nipples hardened in anticipation. I actually sighed as his
hands enclosed my breasts, and then his fingers worked the lubricant into my soft mounds until
they slipped easily beneath his fingers. My nipples seemed to get trapped between his oily
fingers as his hands enclosed my breasts and pushed them this way and that, reminding me how
nice it was to have boobs, something we could both enjoy.
I almost regretted it when my master moved downward once again, leaving my
stimulated breasts yearning for more. But the thrills of feeling him oiling my flanks made up for
the deprivation. His fingers seemed to count my ribs, and his palms slithered over the
convexities of my hip bones. Strong hands rubbed my stomach, circling from just below my
breasts to just above my pubic bone, circling my navel, then playing with it, then circling again.
My master did not stop until every bit of skin between my wrist cuffs and my ankle cuffs had
been rubbed with sweet smelling, slippery oil, all except the part which counted most, where my
curly hairs adorned me. My body was screaming to be fucked, but of course I was absolutely
helpless. He could do anything he wanted with me, and I couldn't move an inch.
Blindfolded, I could sense his hand, hovering near my sex spot. I heaved myself onto my
toes, thrusting my pelvis forward, and just succeeded in touching his hand with the tips of my
pubic hairs. He quickly snatched his hand away. "Slave," he said, "can you see me?"
"No, Master," I replied, "but my body yearns for your touch. It has a mind of its own and
could sense your nearness."
"As you wish. Ask and you shall receive, perhaps more than you expected." I felt a gush
of oil pouring down my belly and running in rivulets through my curly hairs. It seeped between
my labia and began to drip from the lowermost parts of my vulva. My master's hands massaged
the oil into my bush and rubbed it into all the creases of my skin, not forgetting the wrinkles
around my anus. It was driving me crazy with desire.
Then, I felt him put a belt around my waist.
I was entirely helpless; my body was his to do with as he pleased, and it seemed he had
some new "torture" in mind for his slave. He pressed something cold, smooth, and hard into the
groove between my slippery lower lips. He did not push it into me; rather it lay, like the ice
cream of a banana split, embraced by my outer lips, nestled in the warm valley of my sopping
wet sex. In seconds, my heat warmed it. Next, I felt my master leading straps from the thing,
one up between my buttocks, to be hooked onto the belt, the other up over my oily belly, to
attach to the belt in front. My master tightened the straps, and I realized they were elastic.
When he pulled on the object between my legs, it snapped back into place, snuggled between the
hot, loose lips of my hungry vulva.
It was a vibrator. When he turned it on, it sent shivers all through my lower body. At
first it was an almost annoying tickle, but it soon became an inescapable stimulus to my labia
and clitoris. The whole length of my sensitive slit was stimulated, and the pressure on my
clitoris, my love button, was insistent, inescapable, sending shivers of sensation like electric
shocks radiating from my sexy focal point, spreading through my abdomen. I could feel my
body running away with the sensations, whatever my brain might think. I started gasping, crying
out, and I writhed, straining at my restraints, the incessant stimulation driving me to distraction.
At last, as I breathed hard and struggled against my restraints, I had an explosive climax, and
then another and another. Finally, my master turned it off, and I hung from my suspended arms,
my knees weak and rubbery.
When my breathing had abated toward normal, and I had the strength to stand once more
on my feet, my master, without a word, turned on the machine again. Instantly my membranes,
pressed tightly by the smooth device, vibrated with it, transmitting strong signals of intense
stimulation. "OH, ahh!" I cried, "You are going to ruin me. Ohhh..."
I writhed and strained at my ropes, thrusting my pelvis as if to shake off the vibrator.
Held tightly by its rubber straps, it only pressed more, until, as if in agony, I shook with
successive waves of ecstatic passion. My womb leaped in my belly. My vaginal walls spasmed,
trying to grip the phantom penis which wasn't there. Sweat gleamed on my breasts, and I
blushed as my heart pounded and I gasped, as if running for my life.
My master took pity, removed the vibrator and released me from my suspension, holding
me from behind with one strong arm around my body, below my breasts. Before I knew what
was happening, he pushed me forward over some sort of padded table or bench and entered my
gaping, wet love tunnel from behind. Weak from my multiple orgasms, I lay there, passively,
while my master pumped his meat in and out. Despite my exhaustion, my body responded and I
found myself once more reaching that plateau of arousal, of exquisite sensitivity, when the
friction of his prod within me was like electric shocks, and I came, moaning, helpless to prevent
it.
I realized he must have come at the same time, when his soft penis slid from my wet,
semen-sticky vagina. "That was fun," I said, panting, "I like my new job. But I didn't know it
would be so strenuous."
He carried me to my room, and I fell asleep almost as soon as he placed me on my bed.
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