Owned And Owner (6 page)

Slowly he let me slide down between him and the wall, until I was on the floor. I felt
riven
, as if an earthquake had changed my topography. As if I could never be closed again. I was slumped down, staring at my open cunt; the fluid that seeped out was pinkish. His feet were still next to me; I suppose it had been only a few moments since he had let me down, but everything seemed to be moving as if we were under water. I wasn’t thinking when I turned slowly onto my knees and put my head down to his feet. My arms were trembling as they wrapped around him, and I kissed him. I kissed each foot several times, and felt his hand stroking my hair. I was still shaking.

I felt a great hand slip into my mouth, and I tried to suck on his finger, but he gave a little pinch with the other hand; when I opened my mouth to yelp, he tapped my tongue and pushed my head down, saying a word, and pointing at a few drops of fluid on the floor. Tentatively I began licking them up, and was rewarded with a pat. I felt gorgeously abject, and was shakily proud of his approval. I was trying to remember the word that probably meant ‘lick.’ Hoping to please him I looked up – god, his face seemed miles above me – and said my best approximation of the word. Immediately he walked off, and came back with something long in his hand. I heard a hissing sound and a crack, and my ass felt pain like nothing I’d ever felt before, an intense burning pain, followed by three more of the same. By the last one he was holding me down with a hand on my neck, and I was struggling and crying. When he stopped beating me he took me by the hair and directed my head back to the floor, where I groveled and licked between sobs and sniffs, this time without saying a word. I licked up the tears as well, without being told. My ass throbbed; I could feel the welts swelling. Then he said another word and pulled me away by the hair. I was too distraught to try to remember that one.

My master (I was thinking in those terms now; perhaps it was the beating that did it) stood me up in front of him, as he seated himself in a chair. My eyes were around the same level as his, and I blinked the tears away so that I could drink in the sight of him. He was bizarrely beautiful to me; all the hair on the broad, muscular chest and limbs, the beard that darkly shadowed his face, the lit up green eyes, the penis, frighteningly thick and hardening, veins meandering across the dusky reddish skin, still wet. He had leather cuffs in his hand; where had they come from? He fastened them on my wrists and ankles. They had locks built into the leather; I heard them snap. He fastened my hands behind my back. The combination of the restraint and the pain in my ass, now down to a dull burn, had me squirming around my sore cunt. He stilled me with a big hand closed on my hip and a warning look, and I froze. His long fingers pressed against my welts, and I whimpered a little. No, I whimpered a lot. He began playing with my breasts, using fingers, tongue and teeth, while I tried to stand still for him, still arching and moaning uncontrollably. When he squeezed both my nipples at the same time, there seemed to be a direct line from both of them to my cunt. I couldn’t think; had nothing coherent left inside me, just sensation, one heavy layer folded over another, weighing me down till I could hardly stand.

Finally he let me sink down between his legs. His giant penis was in front of me, so frightening still. I couldn’t believe that a few minutes ago it had been inside me. Surely I hadn’t… I didn’t have that much space inside… He pulled my head toward it, and said what I thought was ‘
lick
’ again. Tentatively I put out my tongue and ran it along the hard silken surface. He seemed to approve, so I washed it again and again, reaching as much of it as I could. Finally he pointed it at my mouth, and I began to suck on it. I tried to get the huge knob in further, but my teeth touched it. At once he yanked me back with a hand in my hair, and pulled me up over his lap. His hand crashed down on my ass. The pain of this on top of my welts was a terrible shock; I couldn’t get my breath. When I finally did, I wailed. He spanked me twice more, holding me hard by the waist while I kicked and struggled. Then he placed me back down in front of him. Again his penis was at my lips. I breathed hard, swallowed a sob or two and opened my mouth, very wide this time, trying hard. My ass felt like it was on fire.

I did my best to learn what he wanted, but of course I made mistakes, and he punished me again.
And again.
Since the situation was almost wordless, all I could do was learn by trial and error, and oh, god the errors hurt. He didn’t always put me over his lap; sometimes he just pulled my face away and slapped my breast hard, then pointed to my lips or tongue or throat, and had me start again. I choked and gagged several times, and he punished me for that, too. He was calm, and relentless, and I was scared. I suppose I should have been resentful; instead I felt frantic to please him and frustrated with my own stupidity. I was terrified that he’d give up in disgust. I struggled on. Eventually I must have made some progress because he got even more enormous and harder still, and came in my throat, almost drowning me. I had known theoretically about what happened when a man had an orgasm, but the reality was a lesson I hadn’t quite prepared for. I gulped it down anyway, and didn’t take my mouth from around his penis until it softened and fell away.

I leaned against his leg then, tasting his come in the back of my throat, grateful for the hand stroking my hair. After a while he took a short leash from his box, passed it through an eye bolt recessed into the base of a wooden pillar, looped the hook end through the handle and clipped it to my collar. My hands were still fastened behind my back, so I couldn’t undo it.
Simple and effective.
He went off and I heard water running.

The leash was short enough to keep my head bowed when I was sitting on my heels, as I was. I toyed with the idea of lying down on my side, but I wasn’t quite prepared to risk another beating. I didn’t know what the rules were, but I suspected that not breaking position might be one of them. And I did
not
want to sit on my ass.

Eventually he came back into the room, clean and redressed, and unfastened me from the pillar. He led me down the hall into a bathroom, let me use the toilet (I had to wriggle myself backwards onto it like a child), then stood me in a tub the size of a small pond, and washed me gently all over. My hands were still locked behind my back, but the water didn’t seem to affect the leather cuffs at all. Treated, I suppose.

The washing became a smooth soapy stroking, and my skin began to wait for him. Each part of me wanted to be the next to be touched. The part he was touching felt like a different sort of surface, raised and hypersensitive and sleepy and wide awake. My breasts in his soapy hands felt wonderful, silky and slippery, each nipple a point of indefinable bliss. Even my sore ass, especially my sore ass, wanted his touch like nothing before. His huge hands slid fairly painfully over the welts. He was touching my cunt and a painful place just behind it on my ass at the same time. I groaned with pain, or whatever it was, and leaned toward him, wanting more.

Then he showered me off, and dried me, and it was over. I whined a little and he stroked my hair, looking amused. He led me on the leash along a corridor, very austere looking, white walls and a dark wood floor, and down some stairs to a room with food laid out for one. This room looked neat but lived in, with at least two
vidcom
screens, a corner
holo
display and tidy piles of books. It would have felt fairly homelike if it hadn’t been half again as big in all its dimensions and furniture as my eye expected. The room looked too informal to be a dining room, but perhaps this was where he ate when he didn’t have company. I wasn’t company. My bowl was on the floor a few feet from his chair. I was glad when he released my arms from behind my back. However, my wrists were immediately locked again to the sides of the heavy,
squarish
bowl, which seemed to be bolted to the floor. Someone scraped some food into it, and there I was. I was grateful, and I was humiliated. I was grateful because he wasn’t making me eat with my hands behind my back, which I had found hard. I was humiliated, because not only my master but two others could see me eating like a dog on the floor. I closed my eyes for a moment, put my head down and began to eat.

Again the food was unfamiliar; it was very plain.
Some kind of porridge and a few vegetables.
I could tell he had something different by the smells in the air. Whatever it was, it wasn’t for me. I wasn’t very hungry (too horny), and I was trying to eat without getting food on my face or in my hair. He was finished long before me; I could feel him eyeing me for a while. When I straightened my arms and sat back on my heels I caught his expression, and I froze again. He took a few steps across the room and came back with a thonged whip. He pushed my face down into the bowl and began to beat me. I
choked,
my face so far into the bowl that I couldn’t see the food I began trying frantically to lick up. My painful keening was muffled by wet, embarrassing sounds of inefficient chewing and desperate swallowing. Tears were trickling down my messy face and into the bowl by the time I licked it clean and he stopped whipping me.

He left me there on my hands and knees for at least a half an hour, wrists fastened to the bowl, face covered with drying, flaky food. There was even some in my eyelashes. My ass felt hot and swollen; I couldn’t count the beatings it had taken so far that day. I cried a little, partly because of the pain and humiliation, of course, and partly because of the fear of what was coming next. I was hoping that once I knew the rules I wouldn’t get beaten quite so much. I was feeling very stupid; it had never occurred to me, in all my
fantasies, that
I would have to be trained. I guess I thought my master would put me where he wanted me, do what he liked with me, that I could be the passive – orgasmic – object. I knew I’d be beaten, for pleasure or as a punishment. I had just never thought I’d have to make the effort to learn something. I hadn’t made an effort to please anyone at home, naturally. And look at the mess that had been. Now I didn’t really have a choice about it; I made an effort or else. This was terrifying – what if I couldn’t learn?
But also comforting.
Making choices wasn’t exactly my strong point.

The room was starting to get dark; night was falling. One of the other men came in and cleaned me up, then unlocked my wrists from the bowl. He locked a short chain onto my collar and led me up the stairs to a bedroom. The furnishings were simple, but had a lot of color, ruby shades and dark blues.
Some primitive-looking art on the walls.
The floor was slightly soft and resilient. I didn’t get much chance to look around; the man locked my chain low down at the foot of the bed and left. This time I couldn’t even consider lying down; the short chain was mostly taken up by having circled the bedpost. I couldn’t straighten up either. The most comfortable position – well, the least uncomfortable, anyway – was back on my hands and knees, sitting on my haunches with my head low. I was thinking that there was a breed of dog that sat like that, but I couldn’t think of the name of it. Some hound, I think.
One of the ancient breeds.

I could hear sounds in other parts of the house, voices (those deep rumbles), things being moved,
etcetera
. I thought over what I’d learned that day. Rule One: Don’t speak. That seemed to be critical, given the severity of the punishment. I wondered how I was ever going to learn the language if I couldn’t try it out. Rule Two: Hard to define – a big composite bunch of barely acquired skills: Don’t let my teeth touch his penis; don’t gag; use my tongue along the ridge… Rule 3: Eat all my food whether I want it or not, and don’t take too long about it. Rule 4 was probably Stay in the position you’re placed in, but I hadn’t dared to test that yet.

At last I heard footsteps coming along the hall. My master came in with some straps in his hand; I could catch that from peripheral vision. My breathing was suddenly shallow again; whether from his presence or from the sight of the straps I’m not sure.
Probably both.
He threw the straps on the bed and ignored me as he opened and closed drawers, rifled through papers, went to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of his naked back, a long, lithe, muscular triangle. I was suddenly so aroused I could hardly bear it.

Finally he was standing over me. I found myself almost whimpering from fear and eagerness. He unlocked my collar from the chain and stood me up. My head didn’t even reach his chest. I cast covert glances at him as he went efficiently to work. The muscles in his arms… those shoulders… the smell of him… I wanted to rub myself against that body, open myself… He clipped a strap to my right wrist cuff and pulled my hand up behind my back, as high as it would go. I could see him watching my face for pain and adjusting the pull just short of that point. He passed the strap over my left shoulder, then diagonally down between my breasts to the right side of my waist. He kept it very taut as it went around the small of my back, crossed up from the left between my breasts again, and over my right shoulder. Then he slid it through the ring on my left wrist cuff, pulled that one up high behind my back, and clipped it. My arms were so firm to my back that they had virtually no movement at all. I felt my heart pounding and my insides swell, warm and wet and needy. I looked down. My breasts looked lovely, barbaric, with black leather crossed between them.
And so vulnerable and exposed by the bondage.

Then my master sat me on his lap and made good use of their exposure. He spent a long, long time playing with my breasts, stroking, squeezing, pinching,
pulling
. Now there were nerves leading from them to every part of my body and back again, tugging, interweaving, vibrating. My mouth was open and I was breathing in guttural groans. I lost control and moved against his leg, and was rewarded by several painful slaps to my breasts, rather than caresses. He took his hand away until he was sure I was going to sit still, and then he continued. He began kissing me deeply. I responded with everything I had; at least he let me use my mouth. Then he turned me face down over his lap and ran his fingers across the welts he’d given me. He slapped them, not too hard, but enough to revive the pain of all the day’s beatings, while he went back to pinching my nipples with the other hand. I began to think I might come from this alone, but I couldn’t; all it did was hold me dangling over the cliff, without letting me fall. I had been too overwhelmed in that first tumultuous encounter to try for an orgasm, but my arousal had
accumulated,
was now deeper and more profound, and I was being played and teased, teased and manipulated… He began carefully pinching and stretching my cunt lips, slowly, never staying in close so I could satisfy myself against his hand. I was moving uncontrollably now, for which I got some harder slaps.