His Belonging - An Erotic Tale

His
Belonging

An
Erotic Tale

Text copyright © 2012, Amy Morrel

All
Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Blake was sitting in the food court at the mall when he overheard
the one-sided, heated, conversation at the table next to him.

“You're not getting anything from me bitch! Free pussy, my
ass. You've cost me more than most of the girlfriends I've had,
needing me to give you everything. I can't even sell you to make up
the rest of my debt. Now they're gonna knee-cap my ass.”

A resounding smack followed the vehement statement and Blake spun
to see the man at the next table lowering his hand. A red hand-print
was blooming on the face of the brunette sitting at the table with
him. As Blake looked, she removed her gaze from the man's face and
cast it downward towards the floor.

No-one else in the food court appeared to notice, or maybe they
just didn't care, that the man had struck her. As Blake watched, the
man raised his hand in a closed fist to just below the level of the
table and appeared to get ready to strike the girl again, this time
in her stomach.

Blake reached over, stretching slightly to reach the man's elbow.
As he grasped the joint, he squeezed it firmly enough to hurt:

“I don't think you want to be doing that. Someone might
think you enjoyed violence and decide to perpetrate some of it on you
yourself.”

“What the fuck do you think you're doing asshole?”

“Trying to stop you from making a mistake. You don't hit a
woman.”

“That's no woman, she's just a cheap slut. Can't even sell
the bitch to pay off my bookie. All she does is eat and sleep, don't
do a damn thing to pay for her keep. I might as well get some
frustrations out on her this way.”

Blake's training as a bouncer came in handy at this point. He had
kept sight of the man's hands in his peripheral vision and when one
came out with a shiny object in it, he reacted. The man's gasp of
pain preceded the clatter of the knife falling to the floor by a
brief moment. The quickly snatched back wrist was either sprained or
broken. Blake's move had been rushed so he hadn't had the control he
normally would've and couldn't be sure if he'd broken it or not. The
quick reaction drew as little notice as the earlier slap had from the
other people in the food court.

“Fine, you be worrying about this slut? She's yours, you
deal with her. You hear that slut? You belong to him now, get the
fuck out of my life.”

The man got up from the table and as he began to leave he tossed
back over his shoulder:

“She's broken in all sorts of different ways. Have fun
asshole!”

Blake switched tables:

“Hello miss, I'm Blake. Are you okay?”

“Yes sir, I'm fine.”

“Sir? I can't be more than three or four years older than
you. Please, call me Blake.”

Blake was twenty-six and the brunette appeared to be in her low
twenties.

“Yes sir, I mean Blake, sorry.”

“So what was that all about?”

“Well, I told Raymond that I hadn't eaten since yesterday
morning and that I was hungry. I asked if I could have something to
eat. He told me that he was broke and blamed it on me. He got upset
because he owes a lot of money to someone by tonight and if he
doesn't get it to them he's liable to end up dead. He'd finally given
up on trying to sell me to some people he knew, they wouldn't believe
him that I was for sale and would stay sold. So he was angry with me
because I didn't make him the money he needed. Then I asked him for
something to eat and he lost his temper with me.”

Blake shook his head for a moment. Her recitation had sounded
matter of fact but the inclusion of things like 'given up on trying
to sell me' and 'would stay sold' had his head spinning. He knew that
he could take care of one problem though.

“What would you like to eat miss and what should I call
you?”

“Whatever you're willing to get for me, and you can call me
anything you want, I'm yours.”

“Wait, you're mine? What do you mean you're mine? What's
your real name?”

“You heard Raymond, 'You belong to him now' he said. It was
a legitimate verbal transfer of ownership according to the rules my
first master taught me. My name is Courtney, by the way, but as I
said you can call me whatever you want. If you want me to answer to
anything other than my name you have to let me know though. I'm also
used to responding to Slut very nicely since my first master trained
me to it. I'll probably answer to that even if you don't tell me to.”

Blake shook his head again, wondering what exactly had he gotten
himself into. He went back to focusing on what he could do something
about right now.

“Do you like chicken Courtney? What would you like to
drink?”

“Yes I do and water would be fine.”

“Stay here, I'll be right back.”

Blake picked up the knife from the floor and tossed it into a
trash can on the way to the food counter. It was a nasty looking
shiv, sharp but with streaks of something black on it that would
probably get into any wound inflicted and infect it.

Blake came back with a grilled chicken salad and a bottle of water
for Courtney. He figured if she hadn't eaten since yesterday that she
wouldn't be wanting greasy fried foods and grilled would be better.
Blake still had the rest of his own lunch in front of him so, despite
it being slightly the worse for wear due to the interruption, he
finished it as Courtney ate her food.

Courtney ate slowly and almost daintily. She would take a small
bite of the salad and chew it thoroughly before swallowing. Each bite
was followed by a small sip of water. The few times she got dressing
on her lips her pink tongue would slide out to skillfully dab away
the offending material.

Blake finished his food far more quickly than Courtney and sat
there, watching her eat. Her brown hair had streaks of lighter colors
at the bottom. Blonde, copper, and bronze intertwined with the
majority of dark brown strands near the ends of her hair. Farther up,
there was a hint of red mingled with the brown, not enough to be
called auburn but enough to be noticed. Her skin-tone held hints of
brown and yellow, suggesting that there might be some oriental blood
somewhere in her ancestry. She was neither thin nor stout although
her arms, revealed by the t-shirt she was wearing, suggested that she
was in shape since there was muscle visible in both her forearms and
firm biceps.

Blake had tried to keep his scrutiny away from the other parts of
her body that a man might normally be interested in. He had no clue
what was going on here since his brain refused to take her statements
at face value. As far as he was concerned, that type of thing just
didn't happen in real life. So, until he had a firmer grasp on what
was going on, he resolved to not check her out as a woman.

He didn't truly manage that resolve very well. He'd already
noticed that she filled her t-shirt without stretching it out and
that her legs, visible under the micro-mini she was wearing, were
long, fit, and smooth.

Once she finished eating, she looked at Blake expectantly. They
just sat there for several minutes. Blake was wondering what she
wanted now while Courtney was simply being patient with her new
master. Once the silence grew uncomfortable Blake ended it:

“Are you better now, not hungry any more?”

“Yes Blake, thank you.”

“I'm leaving to head home, are you going to be okay? Do you
need a ride home or something?”

“Yes, I could use a ride home Blake.”

“Okay then, come with me.”

Blake rose and led the way out to the parking lot where he had
parked his car. Courtney dutifully followed, carrying a small duffel
bag with her. Blake once again failed his recent resolution by
noticing that she was wearing four inch heels and knew how to move in
them very well.

Once they were in the car he asked her:

“Where should I drop you?”

“Home, of course.”

“Where is that?”

“I don't know, I'm yours now so you can make that call,
although I'd prefer it to be your home.”

Blake had managed to convince himself that he had misheard or
hallucinated parts of the earlier exchanges and was once more taken
aback.

“Where do you keep your stuff? I'll drop you there.”

Courtney hefted the small duffel bag:

“These are all the belongings that are my own.”

Blake nearly exploded:

“Listen, I'm not buying the fact that you are a slave, or a
slut, or whatever you want to call yourself. People just don't do
that! I'm trying to be nice here but my temper is wearing thin, tell
me what the hell is going on or get out of my car!”

Courtney caught Blake's eyes and began to speak slowly, obviously
choosing her words with care:

“Well Blake, it's like this. All the way through high school
and during the couple of years I went to college I kept getting
notations in my file like:

'This student can excel with strict discipline. Without strenuous
restrictions, though, this student becomes a distraction to herself
and others. She excels in a highly regulated environment but is
easily distracted in any other situation.'

Well, when I met a man named Tom three years ago, he offered a way
to help me with the problems that kept generating those notes in my
file. He told me that if I ever wanted an actual highly regulated
environment that he could ensure that my entire life was lived in one
but that I would have to ask him outright for it to occur.

After getting put on academic probation in college, I tried to
buckle down with my classes but I was simply unable to discipline
myself well enough to do so. The end of my next semester had me on
academic suspension and a week after the semester ended, and I knew
that I had to take a year or more off, I found myself on Tom's
doorstep.

I asked Tom to help me with my problems, to help me get my life on
track in a highly regulated environment. He did so, but not quite in
the manner that I had expected. He trained me as a personal slut. I
was so far gone by the time I showed up there that I was grasping at
straws and would have jumped at any chance. He explained how my life
would be after training and it sounded like heaven at the time. It
was simple, all I had to do was whatever my master instructed me to
do. I mean, there were the little things in life that I'd still need
to take care of on my own but any major decisions I would be
instructed in.

I found out much later that what Tom considers 'training' other
masters consider 'breaking'. Personal sluts instructed by other
trainers are allowed to say 'no', leave the lifestyle whenever they
want, or flee a relationship if they feel it is damaging to them. I
would never do any of those things though, I don't think I'd be
capable of it. It goes contrary to my training and to what I wanted
when I asked Tom to train me.

Tom kept me for two years, including my training, until just
recently. He frequently used me as a distraction during the twice
monthly poker game he holds. He told me once that I was the best
student of oral sex he had ever had. He'd had a lot of experience
with it as well so I had to trust him on that. He'd send me under the
table, while they played poker, to work my way around the circle
blowing each guy in turn. He'd take advantage of them while I had
them distracted. No-one ever complained about it though since they
were getting excellent blow jobs and none of them wanted to admit
that a woman could distract them enough to throw their game off.

Well, about a week ago now, Raymond showed up at the poker game.
He was a new attendee, sitting in for someone who couldn't make it. I
couldn't distract him because he couldn't get it up enough for me to
blow him. I found out later that he does way too many drugs and
drinks too much alcohol to get a hard-on. Anyway, he walked out of
there with a couple of grand in cash and me, Tom had used me to cover
a major bet on the final hand of the night.

Raymond expected a miracle out of me. He thought that as a
personal slut I could get him over the abuse he kept putting his body
through that kept him from getting an erection, but it didn't work.
So then his big plan was to sell me for five grand, which would cover
the rest of his debt plus a little. Well, he couldn't convince anyone
that I was his to sell, or that it wasn't a scam where I'd just walk
out on them later or scream rape or something.