Owned And Owner (19 page)

Another day, out in the garden, instead of leashing me to a little post like they had done in the past, they tied my breasts firmly and painfully around a thick pole, so tightly that my nipple rings could be linked together on the other side. At the level of my mouth a ball gag protruded from the pole, part of it as far as I could tell; it didn’t shift at all when I moved my head. My nose ring and collar were fastened to the pole as well, and kept me from pulling my mouth away. Of course my arms were rigidly locked behind my back. I had to stay in that position, up on my knees, face to the pole, for what must have been hours. I was out of the way, in the shade where the roof overhung. The day was warm and breezy. My master, his staff and his friends passed from time to time, or sat out in chairs.
Pav
trimmed some hedges.
Arleben
brought a screen outside and worked on it. I watched from behind the pole, unable even to drop my head, my breasts hurting, my shoulders and knees getting sore. The link between my nipples was just tight enough to pull. But I suppose they wanted me to get some fresh air.

They kept me so tightly bound all the time that it was actually a relief when the cage appeared, because I was allowed a little bit of movement inside it. It was about the same size as the one the animal handlers had used to transport me to the sale. I even felt a little nostalgic; it reminded me of my first day on Henth, and the auction, and going home with my master. Orgasms, I remembered those…

Amazing to think of how much had happened since then, especially how much I’d adapted to the lack of language. Gag or no gag, I hadn’t tried to speak in ages. I had a new, restricted vocabulary of non-verbal signals, and I guess my need to communicate had reduced itself down to the forms available. What I wanted didn’t matter much anyway. It was what he wanted that had to be understood. So I was hyperaware of his signals, of everyone’s signals, and obeyed gestures and single word commands without a thought, as conditioned as one of Pavlov’s dogs.

And I had long since given up on attempting
to understand
people’s conversations. Not only had I been unable to learn my master’s language, I was forgetting my own; I could no longer remember the words for many things in
Ranize
. My thinking was full of images and feelings and remembered or anticipated sensations.

Sometimes my daydreams were like my dreams at night: colorful, inchoate, primitive. Mind you, there was still language of a sort in my dreams. One typical one was of
Ranizens
talking to me, mothers, sisters, officers of the court, angrier and angrier because I didn’t answer. At home this had been seen as provocative sullenness, which wasn’t far off the mark. In the dream I really couldn’t understand them; I recognized some individual words (‘bad girl’ was in there a lot) and the emotional content, but any detail of what was being said eluded me.

Garid looked over the cage and its contents.
Pav
had done a good, solid, professional job as always. The size was perfect. Sitting up straight wasn’t possible, but there was just enough room in there for crouching to eat, and even for using a pot if necessary. There were slots that would accommodate these containers and hold them fixed.

His slave lay curled up in the small space, motionless and relaxed, but following his every move with her eyes. She seemed content enough in the cage, which was good, as she would be spending a lot of time in there.

Garid squatted down next to the cage and reached through the bars to stroke her warm flank, and the metal band between her thighs. She caught a ragged breath as his fingers in their passage slightly disturbed the labia rings fixed to the band. His eyes warmed as he looked at her. He pinched one nipple,
then
another, then spread his hand to catch her nipple rings in first and fourth fingers, and tugged. She moaned her gratitude. Still tugging, he reached in with the other hand and used her nose ring to turn her head from side to side. She kissed his hand.

Then he firmly arranged bridle and ball gag on her face and around her head, and snapped the lock. She spent so much time in this that the leather had conformed to her head; she looked as if her face came that way. The straps that crossed over her head from ear to ear, and from the bridge of her nose back, had even trained her hair, so that when she was not bridled the tresses on top of her head tended to divide into four quadrants. The ball gag was more of an oval, shaped to her mouth, filling it without undue strain on her jaw. He checked the locks on her mitts and belt and on the cage itself, a routine he had stepped up since her escape, and which was now habitual.

Garid stood up and took a last look, then walked away toward his
aircar
and his day’s work. Satisfaction filled up in him like clear wine: the pleasure of seeing her so thoroughly locked up, the devotion of her eyes and small gestures, and the lightness he felt as he walked freely away from her little prison. A current flowed along his nerves and through his veins.

He felt himself thrumming with this energy all day, carrying with him the image of his caged female, eyes framed by bridle straps, gazing up at him through bars. He tried not to think of the feel of her, the soft breast in his hand, the welt near the nipple, because
that made the energy dissipate
into daydreams. He did his work and more, talked another group into another land scheme, directed a perplexed researcher toward the evidence that would be needed for the next round, and went home.

There she was, as he had left her. She pressed herself against the bars, eager, and he stroked the breast that she presented, the breast and the welt that he had wanted to fondle all day.
Arleben
, precise as always, gave him a rundown on her day: exercise, feeding, walked on hands and knees outside, but otherwise locked in her cage according to instructions, seven hours out of the last nine.
Time to take her out.

A little later
Pav
stepped into the open door of the view room to tell Garid that his dinner was ready. Garid was standing with his arms crossed, looking down at his pet. She was doubled over kneeling compactly in front of him, looking quite tiny, her arms fastened high and tight behind her back, her head moving rhythmically as she licked his shoes. Her leash disappeared up into
Garid’s
folded arms; it was swaying rhythmically too. The slave looked as if she had been doing this for a long time. She flicked a tiny glance as
Pav
came in; this was enough for Garid to growl a warning, in response to which she reapplied her tongue assiduously to the leather, lapping faster than before.
Pav
saw a tiny bead of sweat break out at her hairline. Garid looked amused, waited a moment or two, and then pulled up on the leash.

She rose gracefully to her feet, her little head hardly reaching his chest, and followed.
Pav
settled her in front of her bowl, leaving her arms where they were, at
Garid’s
request. Despite the intense restriction of the position, Garid knew she would eat everything quickly. A few experiences eating with her face pushed into the bowl while being flogged had had their effect. She ate much more neatly than she had at first, but there was nevertheless food where it shouldn’t be when she was done.
Pav
scolded her over her messy face, and when she hung her head, pulled it back by the hair to wipe her.

Going Halves

Garid continued to indulge Therin with views of his pet, and thought that he might bear to have his friend touch her now – he might even enjoy it – while he himself held tightly to her leash at all times. But one night Therin called looking jittery and feverish, his mind elsewhere.

‘Gar, you won’t believe it.
Miseko
, remember him?’

‘Oh, yes, got his slave four or five years back.’

‘Well, he’s had some losses, not doing so well, and – get this – he offered me a half share in his slave! We’ve been meeting for years, off and on. He wants someone he knows well and trusts, not the
Donshods
of the world.’

‘I take it you want to buy,’ said Garid, his face unrevealing as ever. Therin looked up at the ceiling and waved his arms around in mock exasperation.

Garid began calling up the
holos
that had been in the catalogue when
Miseko’s
slave was auctioned. ‘She’s very pretty – have you seen her?’

‘Of course!
I’ve had her – she’s gorgeous. The tits on her…’ Therin went into a reverie. ‘
Miseko
uses her as a pony around his grounds.
Something to see.’

‘Can you pull the money together?’

Therin came back to Henth with a bump. ‘I have to. I
have
to, Garid. It’s got to be possible. I’ve got a lot saved.’

Garid looked at him for a minute. ‘Need a loan?’

Garid thought hard about that conversation. His friend had broken the connection looking happier than he had ever seen him. It was going to work out.
The money, the sharing, everything.
He knew Therin would pay him back; the amount wouldn’t break him if he didn’t. And new ideas were crowding fast.

Garid spent the evening harnessing his slave very tightly, fastening her arms back, and then running her in circles outside on a line as the light faded. She was actually not a bad runner; her feet were well aligned, her thighs long for her height. He had built up her endurance over time, and was pleased to see how long she could go. The harness cut her wind, of course, but she would have to get used to that. He began designing a harness in his head that would be suitable for what he had in mind. Low friction wheels and super-light construction… he did some mental calculations. She should be able to pull him, small as she was, though she would have to work hard. Motivating her would be enjoyable. He flicked the whip at her legs to remind her to raise her knees; she was getting tired. When she stumbled he drove her around one more time, and then let her stop, her chest heaving upward from her restricted torso, her mouth gulping air around the bit he had substituted for the usual ball gag. Even from a distance he could see the moisture slipping past her chastity belt, darkening the dust on the inside of her thighs.

The next day he was on the
vidcam
to
Miseko
, and the day after that he went to see him. The man was of medium height (for Henth), strongly built with a barrel chest. He had straight hair the color of straw and a lined, pleasant face.
Miseko
,
relieved that the solution to his troubles was in the works, happily showed off his slave, who was sleek and olive-skinned, with a river of smooth dark hair and exotic thick-fringed eyes. He harnessed her up and took Garid for a short ride; it was all the woman could handle, pulling two of them. Garid sat up on the edge of the backrest as the little vehicle was made for only one. The female buttocks framed in harness, winking back and forth before him were so utterly charming that he made up his mind. Now he had a firm grasp on his own slave, it would be delightful to have a look at others. The half supportive, half bitter competitive network of would-be masters had put him off. But maybe it was time to join the small society of genuine slave owners.

‘She can go a lot faster with just me in the cart,’
Miseko
said. ‘But I wanted you to see this view as well; it’s my favorite.’ He grinned. ‘Now, we meet once every few weeks. Train the slaves to go in harness, race them, other things you might imagine. You’d be welcome. We’ve been expecting you for a while, actually.’ He smiled, then turned back to his straining pony slave and lashed her hard.
‘Faster,
Vizay
!’
Her thigh muscles stood out, her hands clenched in their cuffs in the small of her back, and she leaned forward into the harness as she tried to increase her pace, with little success.

Garid’s
cock swelled almost painfully as he watched the helpless female struggling between the shafts. He took a deep breath, refocused, and said, ‘I wasn’t ready to share my woman – and I’d still want to control any access to her.’

‘Oh, yes, you’d have control; that’s understood. Some men find a lot of
pleasure in making their slaves service
anyone who wants them – the test of ownership being, can you give it away? But others are more possessive. It’s not a problem.’

‘If anyone understands the need for control, it should be these people, right?’

Miseko
grinned. ‘That’s right. A bunch of real control ‘
crats
. We used to have trouble making decisions; everyone wanted to be in charge.’

‘What happened?’

‘We got it sorted out eventually into a kind of consensus based anarchy. No one tells anyone else what to
do,
we just get together and share the fun.’

‘Sounds right.’

‘Anyway, as to how women are used, even the owners who give their females to anyone have to give permission in some fashion.’

‘My slave’s going to be pretty unavailable.’ Garid explained about the chastity belt.
Miseko
, having heard about it from Therin, listened with interest to the details.

‘Now, that is unusual. So you don’t let her come at all?’

‘Rarely, and only if she’s very, very good.
And she’s been a very bad little
jeedy
lately.’