Slave Girl (9 page)

"Please what?"

"Please, not that one. Please. I beg you. I can't—"

"How
dare
you,” he hissed, trying to hide his own excitement. “How
dare
you question something I have chosen for you. Very stupid, slave girl. Now I'm forced to punish you. Which means I'm going to lash you five times on each thigh and then on your nasty dirty little twat. And you'll deserve every lash, won't you?"

Jill was breathing rapidly now, not the calm deep breathing when she was into and ready for a sensual whipping, but the panicked quick gasps of barely controlled fear. “Oh, please! Barry, let me up. I can't do this!” Her voice was pitched high with a rising panic. Barry could sense her fear, her real fear of him and her situation. As she wriggled and twisted in her bonds, her face a mask of panic, he backed down.

"Oh, Jill honey. Stop. It's just me. Your Barry. Don't be afraid.” Even as he spoke he cursed himself. Paul would never have backed down. Paul would have laughed cruelly and then, ignoring her protests, whipped her till she bled. He had told Barry many times that when they said ‘no,’ that was the time you had to really hurt them; to show them you were master, or forfeit the right to claim them. Pity was the kiss of death in a relationship like this, Paul had warned him.

But Barry couldn't help it. He had turned practically overnight from over-solicitous and hyper-sensitive husband to controlling and dominating master. While he loved the power and new sense of mastery over his mate, he still found himself sometimes wondering if he was going too far. Usually Jill acquiesced so readily that he never worried. She always seemed to be a step or two ahead of him in what she could tolerate, indeed, she seemed to need it; to crave it.

But now she had said no. Paul had told him, when they say no, it usually means yes. Yes, but I am afraid to go there, so you take me. Barry considered this a moment, and then decided to test his slave girl. He leaned in close to her and whispered, “Jill, whose pussy is that?"

"Yours, sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

"And whose ass?"

"Yours, sir.” Her breathing was slowing, her body stilling.

"And whose breasts?"

"Yours, sir."

"And whose will?"

A pause, and then she said, “Yours, sir."

"And when I want something from you, slave, what do you do?"

"Obey, sir."

"And what do I want now, cunt?"

A pause, so long he thought she wasn't going to answer. And then a whisper, “To whip me with the lash, sir."

"And do you want what I want, slave girl? Does our contract bind you to that promise, just as surely as these ropes that bind you to this table?” She mumbled and he leaned closer, his voice rough and low. “Speak up, cunt. I can't hear you."

"Yes, sir.” Her eyes were closed, lips parted, glistening. On an impulse, he reached between those open legs and slid a finger into her velvet pussy. It was hot and wet—very wet. He smiled ruefully to himself. She wanted it. She was afraid, no doubt. That wasn't an act. But she wanted it. He owed it to her now, and to himself. He wouldn't let them down.

Holding the whip to her lips he demanded again, “Kiss it.” Jill's full lips pursed and she kissed the leather handle of the dreaded single lash whip. “And now prepare for your punishment, for resisting me, for forgetting your place and your duties."

Jill whimpered, but said nothing. Then she screamed.

One long white line turned to pink against the soft flesh of her thigh. And then another on the other thigh, and another scream. Jill jerked but she was tied too tightly to get away. The lash whistled again, slicing the air just before it hit her for a third time. Each lash was accompanied by Jill's cry. Barry stopped a moment and caressed the flesh, feeling the heat, feeling the welt rising on her skin.

And then he continued, the whipping fueled by his passion, and by Jill's perfect body, arching and writhing, trying to escape when there was no escape. He had whipped her, as promised, five times on each thigh. She was whimpering steadily, breathing fast and shallow. “You know what's next, don't you? What you deserve?"

Barry expected a protest, expected her to beg him not to lash her pussy. But she said nothing. He looked up from her tortured thighs and spread bare pussy, to her face. Jill's eyes were closed, but she was nodding. Yes, she was silently saying, yes, I deserve it. It was like a jolt of electricity directly to his cock—her willingness, her desire to truly submit when he knew she was terrified.

Before he could lose his own nerve, he dropped the single leather lash against her delicate folds, watching as it curled cruelly, snapping against defenseless flesh. Jill moaned low in her throat, like an animal. At once Barry dropped to his knees, kissing the very spot he had just so mercilessly cut with the leather. Her pussy was red, glowing from the lash, and from her own perverse arousal. He licked along the swollen lips, tasting her salty sweetness, feeling his balls tighten with need.

Dropping his pants, he heaved himself on top of her, oblivious of the ropes still holding her wrists tightly together under the table, or the rope strapped tight across her throat. His cock was so hard it felt like iron as it rammed into her sweet little slit. She moaned anew, this time with passion, as he fucked her hard, taking what he wanted, raping her with his lust, his need. As he fucked her, he kissed her breasts, her chin, her cheeks, her mouth, greedily taking her in, mad with desire.

He came fast; too fast, the need was too great. He lay heavy on her for a few moments, catching his breath, feeling her lovely soft body still bound underneath his. Slowly he slid down, once again kneeling between her knees. He began to kiss and suckle her hot swollen labia, teasing over the hard little clit. Paul had told him that a ‘real dom,’ whatever that was, never licked his slave's pussy. It was demeaning. It was fine to have another slave do it, but the master must never lower himself to licking a cunt. Barry disagreed. Far from feeling demeaned, he felt exalted as his darling slave girl writhed and arched under his tongue, moaning and sighing so sweetly as he lightly kissed and tickled her with his tongue.

Jill came hard and long, a high pitched wail involuntarily wrenched from her as she bucked and spasmed against his mouth. Barry held her by the hips, not stopping until she sagged limp and lifeless, near unconsciousness from the intensity of her own orgasm.

"God, I love you,” he whispered.

The next morning over breakfast Barry said, “Jill. My love. I think it's time to expand our horizons a little.” Jill looked at him, then lowered her eyes, waiting, her heart skipping a beat. “My friend Paul is coming through town on business. He only lives about an hour away anyway. You remember Paul.” She nodded. Like she could forget! Barry's online ‘friend.’ His guru of domination. Jill knew Barry confided in Paul, told him all of their secrets, bared the details of their new life to this stranger. Instinctively Jill felt threatened by Paul, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because sometimes, when Barry himself wasn't sure about something he wanted to try, or to do to Jill, he would go and ask Paul. If it was something Jill didn't want, or was afraid of, Paul invariably recommended it, and Barry would usually do it. Sometimes it almost seemed to her that Barry was submissive to Paul!

But of course she said none of this. She waited, quietly, like the well trained submissive she was becoming. “I'm going to take him out to dinner.” Jill stiffened slightly, her mouth tightening. Barry saw she understood his use of the word
I
. He didn't say
we
are taking him to dinner. Correctly reading her thoughts he quickly added, “Paul thinks it's better if we meet first.” Barry looked slightly embarrassed, and again Jill had the sense that he was submitting to this man they had never met.

"We'll come home afterwards, of course. You can make your delicious cheesecake, and we'll have coffee and dessert here. He's really looking forward to meeting you, Jill. I want you to wear your red silk, with nice stockings and garters underneath. The red high heels. Light makeup, red lipstick. Put your hair up, yes, do that French braid thing you do. Panties, but no bra.” Barry licked his lips, his eyes bright. He was clearly excited at the idea of showing off his slave girl. Despite her preformed notion that she disliked Paul, she was also getting excited. The exhibitionist in her wanted to show off her new position. She had always liked to be admired by other men, and since they had begun this new lifestyle, she had had no opportunity to preen, to make another man hunger for her, to make him hot.

Jill smiled slightly, realizing with a less than submissive pleasure that here was a way to control this Paul person. She would subtly dominate
him
by driving him wild with what he could not have. Because she knew her Barry was very possessive. He would show off his wife, strut her stuff, but ultimately he would only let Paul look and not touch. She would leave him drooling, longing for her. She looked up, smiling at Barry, who had no idea of the secret workings of her mind at that moment, but thought simply that she was his wonderful slave girl.

Barry was distracted all day, and spent much of his time glued to the computer, eagerly typing to his boyfriend Paul, as Jill came to think of him. She frowned as she thought of him, and then smiled, remembering her plan. She busied herself cleaning the house, dusting and arranging the flowers Barry brought home along with the ingredients for her cheesecake. Then she immersed herself in baking, something she enjoyed.

Finally it was evening. Barry hadn't touched her all day, not even a kiss, and Jill felt edgy. She could sense his nervousness, and his anticipation. It was almost like Barry was going on a date! Jill realized she wanted him to leave; he was getting her as nervous as he was. She almost pushed him out the door.

Barry had told her to take a nice long bath, and pay especial attention to her grooming. Like she needed to be told! She lay back, sighing happily in her hot oil-scented bath. As she closed her eyes, she imagined this Paul who would be here in a matter of hours. It was funny; Barry talked about Paul all the time. Paul said this, and Paul thinks that. But she had never seen a picture of Paul, and Barry had never mentioned anything about his appearance. In a few hours she would be seeing him in the flesh.

She imagined him as a short stout man, with piggy eyes. One whose pudgy fingers would fly over the keyboard as he pontificated to Barry, imparting his great wisdom on domination to the masses. Her mouth twisted unconsciously into a sneer as her thoughts ran away with her.

Barry had told her Paul had a ‘real’ slave. This irritated her; what was she, a fake slave? But she knew what he meant. They weren't lovers. They weren't married. This girl was his property. She didn't sleep in his bed. She slept on the floor at the foot of his bed. She had to pee outside in the yard, though he let her use the toilet to move her bowels.

This slave worked too. She wasn't a pampered pet kept at home for pleasure, like Jill. She was a vice president in an investment bank, and she made good money, every penny of which she gave to her master. And she was pierced, and tattooed, all marks of a slave. Her nipples and her pussy had rings in them, and the words, ‘
Master's Little Cunt'
were tattooed on her lower back, just above her ass.

These details of their life at once repelled and yet fascinated Jill. Imagine living like that! Imagine going to work, dressed in a conservative suit, with those markings and rings hidden beneath, constant reminders of her status. Barry seemed so impressed with the whole thing. She sometimes felt he thought he and Jill were just playing, while Paul and his slave were ‘the real thing.’ To Jill they were sick; over the line, weird.

She had intimated this to Barry, who had responded that it was all just a matter of degree. He was so clearly in awe of Paul that he wouldn't hear even a hint of criticism. “Paul's been doing this for 20 years, Jill. He's trained dozens of slaves. He knows what he's doing."

And soon he would be here! In her house. Jill climbed out of the tub and dried and lotioned her smooth skin. She drew her hands over her long legs, checking for any missed spots. She liked the smooth supple feel of her calves. She checked herself carefully in the mirror, making sure her pussy was properly trimmed. She cupped her breasts and let them fall, wishing for the hundredth time they were a little bigger.

Then she turned to her makeup, hair still in a towel. She dressed carefully, pulling each silky stocking up carefully over red painted toenails, and attaching them to the pretty white lace garter belt. She slipped on a pair of white lace and silk panties and then stepped into the tight fitting red silk dress, reaching behind to zip it up. It fit snugly against her lovely curves, hanging loosely in a pretty fold at the breast so that a hint of cleavage showed. Her nipples were visible against the flimsy silk.

Sitting at her vanity, Jill braided and twisted her hair, clipping it into place with a pretty silver barrette Barry had given her before they had married. He hadn't mentioned jewelry, but she put a little diamond stud in each ear, admiring their sparkle as she always did.

It wasn't yet 9:00, which was the time she had estimated in her mind that they would be arriving. She fidgeted, realized she hadn't eaten, but also realized she was far too nervous to even think about doing so. Instead, she poured herself a glass of red wine and sat on the couch, idly leafing through a magazine, barely registering what she read.

The click of a key in the door made Jill jump, startled. It was only 8:40 and yet they were home. Jill realized suddenly that Barry hadn't instructed her on any sort of position to be in when they arrived. She sat frozen, wondering what to do, as they entered the front hall, just beyond the living room where she waited, first Barry, followed by Paul.

Barry was laughing at something Paul had said, and then they were in the room. Jill had sat up straight, her magazine forgotten, a nervous smile on her face. They both turned toward her and Barry smiled broadly, saying, “Allow me to introduce Jill, my lovely slave girl. This is Paul.” He nodded toward Paul, who was nothing like what Jill had imagined. He was short, maybe only 5'7", but he wasn't pudgy at all. He looked wiry and strong. There was a hardness about him that suggested years of physical labor. He was older too, perhaps 50, with silver hair cut short and penetrating blue eyes. His face was smooth and his jaw was square and firm.