She made it home, just under the wire, hot, sweaty and tired from running the last three blocks in her 3-inch heels. Thank god her master only permits the five inchers in the evenings! As much as she adores wearing them, five-inch stiletto heel sandals are not the ideal choice for running in. Still, she made it in the back door with 30 seconds to spare this despite the ritual of fishing her key out from under her skirt where it hangs on the end of her slave chain. By fortunate chance, her skirt today was short enough that she could hoist the hem to her waist in order to reach the end of the slave chain where it dangles from her belly bangle. She still had to bend uncomfortably to get the key into the lock, as the portion of chain hanging from the bangle was only six inches long. In order to get her belly close enough to the lock; she had to squat slightly, which meant spreading her legs to the max in order to get her knees out of the way. On other days, when she might wear a longer and therefore, tighter skirt, she would have to strip it off before gaining access to her key. Being a slavegirl, she is never permitted to wear trousers. By this point in her slavery, the door lock ritual is a long established, familiar and well practised routine.
Getting in the door, she hurriedly punches the time clock, before even taking the key out of the lock and dropping her skirt. What a relief, thirty seconds to spare before she would have started earning strokes. Not that she minds strokes, quite the contrary, but the twenty five from this morning and the five welts from yesterday had her ass still feeling like a five alarm fire. Master knows that she gets off work at five and it is only a twenty-minute walk to get to Master’s home so usually she has time for a quick bit of shopping along the way. Today was a stop at the liquour store, but no Glen Morangie on the shelves, rats, have to find a store clerk. Oh, no. All three are involved with an "intoxicated person of the male persuasion" who does not seem to comprehend the simple fact that the particular brand of rum that he likes is no longer available here! Back in her era of freedom, she would have snapped at the man and summoned a clerk, but Master does not permit her to use pejorative language to a man, so she waits patiently for nine minutes while the three clerks escort their rather vocal customer out of the store. As it turns out, there was half a case of the good stuff in the stockroom that should have been on the shelves that morning. In times past, she would have given the entire staff a stern chewing out, but Master has broken her of that habit, as of so many others. So, collecting her Master's favourite tipple, she dashes out of the door and sprints the three blocks to home. It would be nice, in circumstances like this, if Master would permit her to wear a jogging bra. Her 34Ds bounce a bit (a lot) in the half-cup halter he permits her to wear under her dress during the day. This rubs her nipples against the somewhat abrasive lining of her dress. It is not as if they weren't fully erect to begin with; the sleeves in her nipples keep them that way all the time, the rings she wears in the evenings are purely for decoration. (well, mostly although He is fond of leashes and so, of course, is she).
Now that she has dodged the bullet, so to speak, she can pull the key from the door, close and lock it, and drop her skirt. She moves quickly into the dressing room, time is still pressing. She has lfifteen minutes to prepare for Master before she again starts earning strokes. First order of business, securing her wrist and ankle chains. Today's set has a sixteen-inch length running through the ring at each end of the thirty-six inch vertical. Using her standard little heart shaped padlocks, she secures her wrists (right one first) followed by her ankles. She doesn't close the padlocks on her ankles yet as they have still another function to serve. Next, remove her dress and hang it up. Conveniently, all of her clothing is designed to be put on and taken off while she is fully chained. Now her halter, no time to rub her sore nipples. The fabric portion of her thong unclips from the three slim chains easily enough but she still has to unthread her slave chain from the small slit in the crotch of the thong. This means pulling the chain through her belly bangle and letting it drop so that the full weight of chain and key will tug on her clit ring. As usual, she has an immediate, crashing orgasm but no time to enjoy it. She wishes she could ease the chain down but Master would be certain to find out, he always does, and that would be more strokes. Now she can slide the fabric of her thong down the slave chain, ease the ring and key through the slit and finally put away her underwear, halter in drawer, thong in laundry chute; it's much too wet to wear again without washing. Lucky Master has permitted her to make several dozen thongs so she can wash them once a week and still have an ample supply. Last of the undressing is removing the ankle boots with the three inch heels. Her ankle cuffs are loose enough to be slid up her shin to clear the top of the boot when she secures her ankles. Taking off her right boot, she replaces it with a narrow, strappy sandal that ties around her ankle. Same with the left foot and then she unwraps the keeper chain to where it attaches to the outside of her right ankle cuff. She passes the chain under the sole of her shoe in front of the five-inch heel and pulls it up snugly to reach the padlock, fits the chain onto the hasp and clicks the padlock closed. Same with the left foot and then it's time for her jewellery.
The first thing to be done is securing the chains from her thong. The two front ones hang from rings in her waist chain just above the points of her pelvis so it is a simple matter to swing them over (right one first) and clip them onto the belly bangle that hangs from her navel ring. Now for the chain hanging down the crack of her ass. It doesn't quite reach the bottom of her ass because the thong, naturally, has to be pulled tight. So, she reaches around with her left hand to pull the chain out from between her cheeks and clip a long, one-inch bell to the end. The bell hangs mostly free of her ass cheeks so it will ring nicely, is heavy enough to pull the chain snugly into her cleavage, and enough hangs between her cheeks to allow her ass to grip it and not let it swing freely when Master orders her to her back.
Now she kneels, knees well spread, bends forward until her head touches the wall to the right of the ring from which hangs the key to the padlock hanging at the back of her neck. It is somewhat uncomfortable having this padlock bouncing against her steel collar when she runs, not to mention the constant tugging on her aerobes, but such a welcome reminder of her status. Fitting the key into the lock with her left hand, she opens the lock with her right and allows the chain running to her left earlobe to fall forward. Releasing the key, she brings the padlock, with the right side chain still attached, forward, being careful not to tangle it with the bangle in her ear and stretches the chain forward so she can fit the hasp of the padlock through the sleeve in her septum. Bringing the chain forward from her left ear, she fits it onto the hasp, clicks the lock closed, straightens her back and admires in the mirror the sight of the three quarter inch heart shaped padlock snug against her nose. The small bell hanging from the point just clears her upper lip. The quarter inch chains running across the curve of her cheeks stand out like guideposts, directing the eye. No time to waste admiring the view, she still has to choose and install her nipple "accessories".
Master allows her to choose for herself what jewellery to add to her nipples. Each choice has ramifications. Has she earned strokes? Perhaps the three-inch steel rings with half-inch bells and a stainless steel chain pulling her nipples slightly together. This combination is usually enough to mitigate the severity of the strokes when they are applied the following morning after breakfast. Rings and chain that heavy are uncomfortable to wear until eight a.m. so perhaps, the slender chain running through her nipple sleeves if she has enough time to put on her spiral armlets and connect the chain at each end. Perhaps her Master will permit her the pleasure of bellydancing for him tonight. Hmm, if slavegirl wears a slave disc hanging from her nipple chain, Master will probably use her long and hard tonight; the problem is deciding which one! PRETTY ASS on a two-inch disc is always a favourite, can't go too far wrong wearing her name between her breasts. Master, Please Use me would be a scary choice with her ass already on fire, she really doesn't want another five strokes. Besides, Master used her three times the night before last, bringing her to orgasm eleven times in the four hours. Of course, he kept pretty ass hanging on the edge for what felt like hours between orgasms, the evil beast. All things considered, Master, Please Use me might make Him think slavegirl is a greedy little wench, which, of course, is perfectly true, but no reason to draw it to His attention. Maybe her one-inch disc with the words "HOT SLUT" and a half-inch bell hanging from the bottom. Perfect, just the right touch of eager to please without actually begging for use. Just have to thread the chain through her left nipple, attach to the spiral armlet, and fit that around slavegirl's left arm. A quick shimmy, love the feeling of the chain sliding through slavegirl's nipples, barely two minutes left, just time to run a hand towel across her face to mop up the sweat from the run, no time to do her body, good thing her waist length hair is in a braid or she would have to spend half an hour brushing it out, with consequences too painful to think about. Now, left hand to the tube of lipstick hanging between her breasts, a quick coat for her lips, close up the tube and kneel in front of the gate into the house. The beep of the timer on the gate goes off and slavegirl crawls through the eighteen-inch high portal to her Master's domain. A fast peek at the timer, through with fifteen whole seconds to spare. So far, no strokes. Of course, there is still the entire evening to go through with so many opportunities to forget the detail of one of her many rituals. Tonight, she hopes not to be forgetful although she frequently does it on purpose; Master has such a deliciously firm hand.
Crawling the ten feet to the centre of her Master's living room, she comes to a halt facing the door, rises up to a squatting position, steps through the chain between her wrists, returns to a kneeling position taking special care to spread her knees the full two feet which is the minimum her Master permits and straightens her back, thrusting out her breasts. In the process, her collar tugs on the chain attached to her navel ring, pulling it tight against the soft skin of her abdomen and the hollow of her breasts. This causes a slight chime from the metal cover of the lipstick tube, where it hangs on its chain from the top of her collar. She places her wrists beside her ass, lowers her head to gaze at the floor between her knees and waits, trembling with eagerness, for the joy of her life to arrive!
How late will Master work tonight, she wonders? 6:05, 6:30, 8:30...One time, He called "down tools" at midnight! She hasn't heard the alarm bell or seen the flashing red light that would tell her" Master needs assistance". Without that excuse, she is forbidden to break position before nine p.m. Permitted to move just enough to keep her body from cramping, such things as rolling her shoulders, flexing her back, lifting her ass off her heels but NEVER closing her thighs. Master could arrive at any moment; it is only a two-minute walk from where His shop is attached to the other end of the greenhouse. Master could come in that way, but then He would be tramping sawdust into the greenhouse, which He prefers not to do. It's a warm spring day today so He will probably use the front door, which she is facing. If she has guessed right, her reward will be a half hour of being kissed and fondled before dinner, if she is wrong, her "punishment" will be bathing her Master before dinner. Master is so cruel to his devoted slavegirl! How did she get so lucky, she muses? Five years ago, she was a recent graduate of Osgoode Hall, an associate at one of the better Bay St. firms, with a promising career in corporate law, perhaps a partnership within a few years. Then, she was invited, with the other associates, to dinner at the Forrest Hills mansion of the Senior Partner. All she remembers from that night is the magnificent rosewood dining room suite; table, eight chairs, two captain’s chairs, hutch and sideboard. That the set was a one of a kind original was obvious at first glance. Lovingly handmade, with care, patience and attention to detail, it glowed, it gleamed. The senior partner took notice and they spent a convivial hour talking about the set, the months of dedicated work it had taken to build. The cost: all the senior said was" If you need to ask, you can't afford it." But he was kind enough to provide the name of the master craftsman who did the work. That weekend, she went to his shop for the first time.
"Good morning, Sir. Mr. Brant gave me your name when I admired his diningroom set this week., my name is Juliet, Juliet Montague and"
"And I suppose your boyfriend answers to Romeo?"
"What can I say, my parents were Shakespeare freaks, what else were they going to name their only daughter?"
"Yeah, right, and every time you're late for dinner, your mom stands out on the porch and calls out Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou, Juliet."
"God, how long have you known my mom?"
"Never met the lady, but I suspect I would have enjoyed her sense of humour. Anyway, come in, come in, would you like a cup of coffee, only have Kenya Double A at the moment, the Jamaican Blue has gone the way of all flesh, so we're roughing it, but the pot is fresh brewed this last ten minutes."
"Thank you very much, I'd love a cup, and Kenya Double A is... roughing it?'
"For some of us... if it's worth having at all, then it's worth having the very best you can find! Cream and sugar?"
"Yes, thanks. One lump."
"Darn, another barbarian who insists on adulterating otherwise drinkable coffee. I suppose your day doesn't really begin until after your first pit stop at Timmies."
"Right, I don't get my eyes open till after my first medium double double."
"I guess for a lawyer, that level of caffeine is a basic working tool."
"How did you know I'm a lawyer, am I wearing a sign on my back or something?"
"You mentioned Bill Brant; I don't think he knows anyone but lawyers!"
"He is a bit of a workaholic, I suppose...anyway, nice shop you have here, would you mind showing me around? My dad used to spend every weekend mucking about in his shop when I was a kid."
"What sort of stuff did he work on?"
"Oh, the usual home handyman stuff, I guess, he built me a doll house for my sixth birthday, I still have it, it has pride of place in my living room."
"So what was he in real life, another lawyer, no wait, ...don't tell me... a doctor?"
"God, you're good, a pediatrician actually. He loved working with kids but the stress was horrible; he used to say the only thing keeping him sane was his shop, my mom and me, ...in that order."
"Sounds like a good man, how long ago did you lose him?"
"Six years ago, I'd just finished high school and was trying to decide between med school and law school, we went up to Wasaga Beach for a day in the sun, we'd just got back at seven. Dad went up to lie down for a nap, when mom went up an hour later to call him for dinner, he was...They said it was a massive heart attack."
"How old was he?"
"Sixty-two, we'd just celebrated his birthday the week before."
"Not such a bad way to go, all things considered.... Too early, of course, but it was quick... pretty much painless, he'd just had a good day in the sun with his family...I could think of a lot worse ways to finish."
"You know, ...I never really thought of it that way... thanks."
"S'ok, ...I just have a weird sort of mind... I often think of how I'd like to go... it's what I do when I'm depressed. I think my personal preference would be...swept overboard off a fifty-foot topsail schooner that I'd built and was sailing single-handed around the world. .... I’d want it to happen on the last leg, about 100 miles out of Halifax.... after a voyage of some three or four years and ...a visit to everywhere worth the seeing."
"Ooh, a romantic."
"Yeah, I think I was probably... Lord Byron... in a previous life."
"With maybe a little bit of ...Kipling, as well?"
"I'm impressed, ...do you kipple?"
"Not really, Dad... got introduced to it... during the war, he used to... read me some of the poems and... stories when I was little. I just thought there was ...a taste of... "If"... in your little speech about coffee. Anyway, you were going to show me round the shop."
Master is early tonight, it is only 6:15; oh, shit, slavegirl forgot to straighten out her slave chain when she knelt, a quick belly roll to fling the chain out straight between her legs instead of piled up on the floor under her clit. That's more like it, straight as an arrow, just the way Master likes it, except her loins are already dripping.
"Good evening, Master."
"Hello, Pretty Ass, how is my delectable little slavegirl tonight?"
With that, He motions her to her feet and holds out His arms for her to scurry into. She closes her eyes as she raises her lips for His kiss, melting against Him as His mouth ravishes her. One hand gripping her ass, the other running up and down her spine, the kiss lasts twenty minutes and might well pass for a tonsillectomy in some countries. Then, a break from the flood of passion overrunning her body while his hand investigates the general area of her upper thighs.
"Hmm, do I detect a small bit of moisture in this vicinity, at first glance, one might almost think a certain little slavegirl was slightly horny."
This, while rivers of juice are running down her thighs and pooling on the floor at his feet.
"Master knows full well what His touch does to a hot, horny, helpless submissive pleasure slut like Pretty Ass. May she be permitted the honour of bathing the dust from Master's body."
"You just want to hop in the shower with me, you greedy little wench."
"Of course, Master, what red-blooded slavegirl could want anything else."
"Well...I'll let you wash me but no shower for you, I am not in the habit of indulging greedy little slavegirls!" which is utter nonsense; Master indulges His slavegirl all day, everyday and He knows it perfectly well.
"Right, lick up this pool on the floor and then you can run the bath while I peel off the outer layer of grunge"
"Yes, darling Master."
So she kneels gracefully at His feet, knees spread a little further, bends forward while lifting her ass as high as it will go and delicately laps at the flood of her juice on the floor. Ooh, the feel of His hand on her ass, like a high voltage current direct to her clit, especially when she has already been on fire since breakfast. The men at the club must have caught quite a whiff this afternoon while she was serving drinks but at least she doesn't dance there anymore, she'd have been leaving puddles all over the stage. Master peels off His workshirt, sending a cloud of scraper dust all over His bed area, she will have to run the duster after dinner and vacuum tomorrow morning. She finishes with the flood and hurries to His bathroom to run His bath. While the bath is running, she walks a slow, sensuous strut over to stop several feet in front of Him. She bends from the waist keeping her legs straight until she can place her palms on the floor and only then, steps through her chain. She kneels to ease off His work boots and socks, savouring the delicious smell of man. Kneeling upright, she uses her teeth to undo His belt, unbutton His trousers, and pull down His fly. Using her forearms and breasts to work His trousers down, she slowly pulls them off with her teeth and follows the same procedure with His boxers. Master is fully erect, and the plumbing is in proportion to the rest of Him, i.e. very large. Master is six foot three and two hundred and fifty pounds to her five foot four, one hundred fifteen. It is a constant marvel to her that she can take all of Him even in her cunt, much less her mouth. Fortunately, she has learned the lessons of Linda Lovelace, as this has become her second favourite activity. Following her Master to the bath, she offers a shoulder for balance while he steps in and settles Himself into the hot, steamy tub. Using both forearms to hold the sponge, she kneels beside the tub and begins washing the dirt from His body. She wishes she could touch Him with her hands but that would be five strokes for each offence, accidental or otherwise, she dares not take the risk. After half an hour, including some intricate contortions from her, Master orders her over to the shower, while He levers Himself out of the tub. Again, the shoulder for support while Master makes His way into the shower stall. He lathers up her breasts, belly and ass so that she can wash the grey bathwater off Him with her body, taking every opportunity to nuzzle His erection in the process. Where does he get this kind of control, that wonderful implement is hard enough to do someone an injury. She wishes she were permitted to actually enter the shower with her Master but...
"Take that lascivious look off your face, slavegirl, you're not getting your mouth on this yet"
"Maaasterr is a cruueell, evil beast"
SWAT. Ooh...and the fire rages hotter!
"Towel, Pretty Ass."
"Yes, Master, you Beeaast."
SWAT on the other cheek, with predictable results, her juices are spurting, it is a strain to stand up. She reaches for a huge bathtowel, which she stretches between her fingers to the full sixteen-inch length of her wrist chain and tosses the towel over her head so it hangs like a shroud. She squats and steps through the chain so that she can grasp the end of the towel on each side of her ass and then rubs her towel covered body against as much of Him as she can reach. While Master finishes drying Himself, she drains and washes out His tub, no towel for her, she will have to air dry, her bath comes in the morning, in a two foot diameter galvanised washtub out in the middle of the floor.
"Right, then slavegirl, standard evening dress for the moment."
"Yes, Master."
Turning to her wardrobe cabinet a few paces away, she opens the door and speculates, red silk or black nylon. She senses this is a night for opaque so the red it is. First, she has to step through her chain. Clipping the ends of a belly chain to the ring lock at the back of her waist chain, she reaches with her left hand to the slave chain and threads it back up through her belly bangle. Then clips the narrow strip of silk to her belly chain so that it just covers the inside of her thighs and the other, smaller piece from earlobe to lobe across the middle of her nose. The bottom edge of her veil is strung on each side with a dancer's chain of tiny slave bells, which hang just below her jawline.
Less fabric than the average micro bikini and she is now fully dressed for an evening at home with her Master.
While preparing her Master's dinner, she lets her mind drift back to that fateful day.
"So, you've seen the shop, had a look at some of my work, perhaps you could fill me in on what sort of thing you're looking for."
"Well sure, but can I have some more of this coffee first, please? I'd like to try it without additives, this time"
"I think we have the technology to handle that...there you go, now just sit down in the nook and tell me about what you need."
"You mean... besides a big, strong man to run my life?" She said with a teasing grin.
"Madam... that constitutes something perilously close to... flirting... watch yourself... you could easily get into trouble here!" this with a thunderous, and obviously fake, glower.
"OK, O.K.... I'll be good...basically... what I'm looking for is a... sort of combination ...coffee table/storage chest. My living room is fairly big but... it doesn't have much ...closet space, in fact, the whole apartment is kind of... short on that."
"I think it would make more sense to be... having this conversation.... there... I can't even speculate.... about possible designs.... until I see the space I have to work with."
"No problem, my place is near Yonge and Eglinton, it's just over an hours drive, if you like, I could drive you in and bring you back here when you're done, that is, if you don't mind taking off the rest of today?"
"Well, I still have an hour's worth of jointing to do on all this Cocobolo, do you mind waiting?"
"Not at all, I love the smell in here, I'll just sit here out of the way and sip my coffee 'till you're ready."
An hour later, driving to T.O., the conversation was the usual intro stuff, plays they'd seen, favourite dinners, the merits of real chocolate versus Nestle's etc.
"Nice little place you have here, bit of parkland to see from the balcony, no overhanging buildings...very nice, I like it."
"Thank you, it's comfortable for a single girl.... I still miss the house but... Mom and I decided it was too big for... the two of us and then she had to go out to Vancouver to look after her sister. Without the two of them, I... would just have been... rattling around in that place and ...besides, this place is only a half hour walk to work, I hate driving in the city, there's.... never a place to park."
"Yeah, right, I try to avoid it as much as I can...... OK, so tell me more about this ....thingy... you want me to build."
"Well, you can see I don't really have room for... a dining table, but an ...oversized coffee table would... work for me, a few cushions on the..floor, people.. kneel ...or sit cross legged or whatever."
"And you would want it for this open area underneath the spider plants?"
"Um;hmm"
"How big were you thinking of?"
"I guess the key dimension would be for the space underneath, maybe, five foot by three foot by twenty inches. The top could overhang about six inches all around, I guess that would be all right."
"Let me think for a minute...... OK... look,... I don't want to embarrass you or anything, ...but whatever this thing is for, it ain't storage... now... it's nothing to me what you want to do with it ...but I can't do a proper piece of work unless I know the details... I mean,.. if you're going to be standing on it, ...that affects how I build the top, and I need to know what will be going inside before I design the box, I mean, does the top slide off, or fold up, or is there a door in the side, or the end or what?"
"Just out of curiosity... how did you know I'd be... standing ...on it?"
"Two spider plants hanging from hooks four inches below the ceiling... right in the middle of your living room... about four feet apart... I don't think so... nice camouflage though... and then you want the table to be twenty inches high, those hooks are four inches below the ceiling... you're about five four so if you stretch your arms up ...you could just about reach ...if you stood on tiptoe... I'll bet that's the ...object of the exercise but I don't quite see the ...storage space."
"Is there any... Sherlock Holmes... in your blood? OK, well, I told you there was no boyfriend, nor much of a chance of meeting one with all the hours I work and I don't think I'd trust one of them to do what I need anyway, not without getting carried away but I need...."
"Bondage, so you do it for yourself. Still kinda dangerous, though, what happens if you get stuck?"
"Well, I generally have.. two..alternate methods of... getting loose, one fairly easy, one... hard, and I'm always careful and if I want to.. try something..dangerous, ...I always arrange for a... girlfriend to check up on me."
"So what about this storage space... how were you thinking of using that?"
"I'd like to make it into a little sleep... cell, maybe a bit of padding in the bottom, not too much, it's not supposed to be comfortable... and a... narrow little gate at one end that's on a... time lock."
"What if the timelock jams, or something?"
"Well, the alternate would be.. that the top lifts like the.. door on a cellar.. so it would be easy to push up but ...I would set something.... messy... I don't know, maybe, a bucket of paint or ...used motor oil or something on top so I'd really... not want to use the escape hatch in ...anything less than a genuine emergency."
OK, I think we can handle this, construction should be fairly easy... what would you say to red Cherry for the bulk of it with Ebony trim, corner posts, edging,.. like that?"
"Mostly red, with lots of black,.. sounds just like a.. dungeon,... seems kind of appropriate, I like it."
Yeah, that's sort of what I was thinking; now then, I've enough Cherry in stock but the Ebony supply is pretty low, I'll have to order some in, it'll take me about a month to assemble, another week for cleanup and finishing, still have to find the timelock, hinges for the top are no problem... brass or... strap iron?"
"Ooh, strap iron, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I reckon."
"Well, if you're okay with building this, how much do you want now, I mean I have a couple of thousand put aside, will that be enough?"
"Oh, plenty, a grand to be going on with, the rest when I deliver the piece."
"Hey, wait a second,..what about your ankles while you hang from the ceiling?"
"Oh, no problem", she goes to the closet, returns with "I always wear a spreader bar, I haven't... had my ankles together.. in years, here now, just let me get my chequebook.....there you go, I dated it for Monday, is that all right?"
"Oh, sure, I couldn't order the wood till then anyway. Now, I guess it's time I was"
"Can I talk you into.... going out to... dinner... please,... you're the first man I've ever been.. able to.. talk with about...all this."
"I don't think I'm really dressed for dinner but I've some... munchies in the fridge at home... if that works for you?"
"If those munchies include... breakfast,.. then I'm in."
"Pack an overnight bag, then and... lets be off."
Kneeling beside her Master's (the only) chair while He enjoys the lamb chops etc. she has prepared for His dinner, she really hopes she has prepared enough. He has worked hard today and is obviously hungry, but since her meal comes from His hand, there might not be enough to feed her, in which case, she goes hungry. Not a big problem, it's happened before and will certainly happen again, but that muffin He fed her for lunch has sort of worn off and she's starving. Still, not a good idea begging to be fed, it means five strokes, which, today, is a consummation to be avoided; maybe she can wheedle him into allowing a late night snack.
"There you go Pretty Ass, I think I've had about as much rabbit food as I can take for one day"
Setting the plate on the floor beside His chair.
"Thank you, Master. May pretty ass be permitted to feed?"
Must keep the formalities straight, just because Master puts a full plate on the floor, is no reason to assume he intends to feed her.
"Anymore of that Chardonnay, that was rather tasty."
"Yes, of course, Master, permit pretty ass to pour you a glass."
"Very well, slavegirl, you may feed."
"Thank you, Master."
Hands firmly placed beside her ass, she takes delicate little bites from the Caesar salad; it wouldn't do to have her mouth full if she needs to respond to Master.
Pause while he stuffs his after dinner pipe and lights the fragrant, aromatic tobacco, a sip of coffee, then...
"What's for dessert, Pretty Ass?'
Gulp.
"Would Master care for Dutch apple pie, slavegirl could nuke it and there is still some cheddar to go with it, or there is still a creme caramel, it would only take ten minutes to heat and brown in the small oven... slavegirl made Nanaimo bars last weekend, Master always seems to like them?"
"Decisions, decisions, decisions... right, nuke the pie but it had better be the OLD cheddar."
Luckily, she still has a slice of the old, so her ass is not in danger. The last time she confused sandwich cheese with dessert cheese, she couldn’t sit for a week. This is not quite the disaster it seems as she is absolutely forbidden to sit, anyway! The difficulty is that she is also forbidden to rub her ass!
Ping from the microwave; slide the slice of pie onto a china dessert plate, the cheese, place in front of Master.
"Would Master care for more wine?"
"No, this is enough to be going on with, I'll take another coffee in the chair when I'm done."
"Yes, Master."
She steps through her chain yet again, kneels and delicately attacks the remains of the salad.
Master finishes his pie, collects his pipe and strolls off to the leather armchair to read the paper while His slavegirl attends to the dishes and straightening out the kitchen. A snap of His fingers, she finishes pouring a mug of coffee and scurries out to His chair, holding the mug between the tips of her fingers, handle turned away from her. She kneels, lifts the cup to her lips, plants a long, deep kiss on the side of the mug, lowers her head and extends her arms to offer up the mug and herself. While sipping on His coffee, His other hand goes exploring between her thighs, bringing a helpless wriggle and moan along with the usual gush of fluid.
He brings His left hand to her lips so she can lick and suck her juices. After drying His hand on her breasts, He snaps His fingers.
"The dishes, pretty ass."
A rustle of newspaper.
"Yes, Master"
Ten minutes later, another fingersnap. She hurries to Him, stops three paces in front of Him, bends forward to step through the chain and kneels submissively, hands behind her back.
"How may a slavegirl serve her Master?"
"An afterdinner brandy would go down nicely, just about now."
"Master said He wasn't happy with the Desjardins, perhaps some Armagnac would please?"
"Yes, good thought, save that other stuff for cooking"
"Right away, Master."
Rising gracefully, she goes to the sideboard, steps through her chain, takes down a lead crystal brandy snifter, holds it between her breasts to warm it and pours two fingers worth of the fiery spirit from a crystal decanter. Carrying the glass again between her fingertips, she walks slowly to kneel before Him, again raises the glass to her lips for a long, lingering kiss and offers it to Him, her head down in submission. She refreshes her lipstick and bends forward to kiss His feet.
"Yes, Pretty Ass?"
"Master, when pretty ass is done in the kitchen, would Master permit His slavegirl to dance for His pleasure?"
"Very well, slavegirl, but a full hour this time, none of this half-hour warm up stuff."
"Yes, Master."
"And fetch my tobacco."
"Yes, Master."
Dance for Him, a full hour, with her slave chain bouncing between her legs, not to mention the stimulation from her nipples, the floor will be ankle deep in her juice. He won't permit her to do much floorwork until she has stripped fully except for the face veil, only Master can remove that. Once he "forgot" for three days and she had to wear the veil to work; happily it was this same opaque one but it was still sooo embarrassing, the guys in the bar loved it but some of the girls were a little cutting. It will be standing movement for at least half an hour. Oh wonderful, an orgasm already and she's not even into her "costume" yet. Staggering slightly from the heat in her loins, she goes to the wardrobe and takes down her dancing chain, a twelve foot long chain that locks to the ring at the right side of her collar, through the padlock at her right wrist, the padlock at her right ankle, over to her left ankle, her left wrist and locks to the ring on the left side of her collar. Not very secure in terms of bondage but it allows an amazing number of ways for a good dancer to show her helpless submission. Master put her through two years of advanced bellydancing while she worked as a stripper four nights a week, this on top of the beginner and intermediate courses she took in college so she can safely claim to be a "good" dancer.
"Would Master be kind enough to release the shackles from slavegirl?"
OK for her to lock the chains on her body but it is for Him to remove them, the same as her veil and jewellery.
"Thank you Master, slavegirl will just be a moment getting her costume on, would Master want more to drink before she begins her dance."
"Don't make any more but if there is a cup of coffee left, I'll take it."
"Yes, of course, Master, right away Master."
Into her four veils (yes Salome used seven, this is the abridged version, besides, she doesn't get to collect his head afterwards although, if she is lucky, he will collect hers), she wears a breast band stretched between her armlets, a large rectangle loosely tied at that back of her neck and falling to her belly, a knee length one tied high on her right hip with a calf length overskirt tied low on her left hip. Except for her red silk, all of her veils are completely sheer, the knots simple slipknots that He can undo with a finger whenever it pleases Him to begin her strip. The CD into the player, dim the lights, hit the spotlight on her dancing rug, a jangle of slave bells and she's on. Swaying sinuously before Him, hip thrusts, belly rolls, spins, twirls shimmies, desperately trying to slow the tempo of the dance to keep her passion from overflowing too soon but she's caught up in the pace of the music, nothing she can do, one particularly exacting belly roll flings her slave chain out and ignites the volcano. She staggers from the force of the orgasm but manages to stay on her feet, sways within reach of His finger. Yes, the large veil tied at the back of her neck, she wriggles her body as it slides to the floor to pool at His feet. Now, if she can only persuade Him to unhook her breast band so she can raise her arms over her head; not yet though, better not rush it, at least another ten minutes before He will even think about it. Thank god the tempo is slowing, if she is careful at shaking her hips, the slave chain might give her a break, a few more slow twirls, some chainwork, sway close and shimmy in His face, arms held apart to the limit of the nipple chain. The veil is shorter than the chain so this pulls the veil tightly against her stiff nipples, oh please, Master this shimmy is killing slavegirl, He unhooks from her left armlet, oh Thank You, Master, damn, there go the floodgates again but at least now slavegirl can raise her arms and do some more interesting chain work. Wrap the veil on her right armlet around her head, doubling it over her eyes, a good blindfold, she can only see a dim haze, enough to know where Master is, tie the veil off at her right armlet, fixing her arm to the side of her head for the rest of her dance. Her right forearm still has the freedom to pull her chains teasingly against her body, turn and shake her tail at Him, then a graceful, swaying turn to present her hips and belly, will he?, not this time, she dances away, the tempo speeds up again, that traitorous slave chain does its evil work, oh, this one is crushing, she sinks to her knees, shaking helplessly in her heat but slowly forces herself back to her feet, she is not even half through the dance, force herself to spin several more times, edging closer to Master each time, another bellyroll, ending in a presentation of her left hip, oh yes, Thank you Master, now she can do some floor work. Sinking to her knees before Him, her thighs well spread, she bends forward slightly so her ass can get a good grip on the bell, then straightens her body, letting her ass sink against her heels, another shimmy and a soft bellyroll, the slave chain remains coiled on the floor. Now she lifts her body to kneel up, perfectly vertical, holds that pose for a count of five and begins slowly bending back from the waist until the back of her head touches the floor, careful to keep a firm grip on the bell between her ass cheeks, this would be a horrible time for it to drop loose, she extends her left arm over her head, pulling the chains tight to her body, teasing her nipples, ringing her various bells. She lets her belly lift and fall, as if having trouble maintaining the rigour of keeping her thighs vertical, and slowly begins to draw her body back upright, her head bent back until the last, will He allow this? She hears a soft No, she has to bend back, more teasing of her erect nipples, play of hard chain against soft skin, roll of belly and shake of hips, oh please Master, this bell is starting to slip, maybe now, she begins to rise again, slowly, carefully, she doesn't want to lose the bell now, she straightens her head, made it, bend forward a bit to renew her grip, swing her right foot forward to present her right hip, oh Thank you, Master, only one more veil to go, this one is opaque, better do some vigourous belly and hip work, He will expect to see the slave chain poking against the veil at least twice, shimmy of breasts against dancing chain ignites another orgasm, this belly roll is a freebie, how many more orgasms does she have in her, maybe now is the time to beg, knees extra wide apart, she bends from the waist, keeping her ass well up in the air, the bell clenched triumphantly, lips kissing, tongue licking at Master's feet, this is the reason for the slave bells on the lower hem of her face veil, the weight draws the fabric out of the way, wriggle her ass at Master, shimmy her nipples against the floor, oooh, pleeeease, Masterrrr, a snap of His fingers, kneel upright to present her belly for the last veil, the handclap that directs her head between His thighs, use her lips to undo the button on the loose cotton pants, pull down the zipper, take His organ deep into her throat, just hold Him there while both catch breath., the CD ends.
Ten minutes now, holding Him deep in her throat, not permitted to do anything yet, He is casually smoking His pipe, sipping at the liqueur, at peace with the world, how can He be so cruel, finally, a snap of His fingers, her tongue begins to swirl around the base of his shaft while her mouth sucks gently, carefully, Master will be annoyed if she brings Him off too soon. At last, the finger snap that tells her to begin her work in earnest. And work it is, too, Master has the most incredible control, Ghandi would have been jealous. Twenty minutes of ardent licking, suction and throat action before she is at last allowed to swallow what feels like a gallon of the good stuff. No worries now about being hungry, any other treat would be wasted on her. Her Master's voice percolates through what passes for her consciousness:
"Don't bother with the vacuum till the morning, but do what you can about the dust level in here."
She allows His now softening erection to slip out of her mouth, giving it a last lick while it is still within reach. She kneels back and looks up at Him with naked lust in her eyes.
"Thaaank you, Maaassterrr."
He rearranges the equipment comfortably in His pants, does up His fly, releases her right arm, strolls across to His music corner, takes down the Guarnerius which occupies pride of place in His collection. A few arpeggios sound all right to her untrained ear but her Master requires perfection in everything. A tweak to the G, slightly sharpen the D, the A passes His test but that E; fifteen minutes of the subtlest adjustments, suddenly, the solo part from the Beethoven Violin Concerto, 2nd movement, sounds brilliant but He isn't satisfied.
"I believe I mentioned something to the effect of doing something about the dust levels in this place?"
"Yes, Master, pretty ass was trying to recover a tiny bit of strength, she will get right on it, she is sorry to be so displeasing, please, Master, keep on playing, pretty ass will be quiet, pleeassse"
"I suppose I need to practise for tomorrow night, OK an hour of reels, with a couple of waltzes to close it off."
He reaches down His 1815 German Strad copy, gives it a rough tuning and breaks into a set of fifteen reels, with repeats, at five minutes per, this is forty-five minutes non-stop, no music, and he claims to be a hack fiddler, right and Stradivarius was an instrument maker of some small ability.
"Have you finished with the dust, Pretty Ass?"
"Yes, Master, until the morning, this is the best your slavegirl can do."
"Right, then, bed!"
"Yes, Master."
She sashays to the kitchen, reaches her toothbrush from under the sink... then a dry wipe of her thighs with an old dishtowel, and she presents her body to be bound for the evening.
The blindfold first, she thrills to the click of the padlock, then a lock through her wrist cuffs behind her back, on her belly now, her legs folded up to her ass, a lock through her ankle cuffs and the wrist lock, a simple hogtie, her dancing chain is just meaningless decoration now, flipped over onto her back, lying on her bound wrists and ankles, her knees automatically spreading, she can't see anything but she knows that her wetness is going to be maintained through the night. Sure enough, she feels a square box with wire being hung from her belly bangle, she can feel its weight pressing against her belly just above her clit, a click as something is connected and she feels a dildo, not as large as Him, thank god, but this will be a vibrator, the man is a sadist, she will be a wreck by morning, it slides alllll the way in, oh no, it's the one that projects over her clit, has He no sense of mercy at all?, the gag, now, this time a ring gag, this is just to tease her, she knows Master will never fit through this one, click, click, click, click, the cage is being lowered about her, it is four foot by three foot, even if she weren't in a hogtie, she couldn't straighten out anyway, no moving about for her tonight, Master is strapping her knees to the sides of her cage, she will spend the night lying on her bound wrists and ankles, the vibrator keeping her aroused, without providing any relief, Master is soooooo cruel, no wonder she loves Him so.
Bright spring sunlight through the north-facing window over His bed; Master must have removed her blindfold sometime during the night. She is still caged, though. How on earth did she manage any sleep at all with that vibrator going? It was only on low, but still, she's lying in a puddle of her juices. Master comes to the cage to release her left knee, walks around to release the right, clicks the electronic release for the bolts that hold the cage to the floor, then operates the motor control to raise the cage up to the ceiling, twelve feet overhead. Good thing Master "remembered" to release the bolts this time, else the floor plate, and pretty ass, would also be twelve feet up. Once, He left her up there for eight hours, without so much as a pan of water, still in her overnight bonds, unable even to roll over and lap up her juice from the floor of the cage. Usually, if He intends to leave her caged for any length of time, he will set up a water dildo for her, no food, though, He says He doesn't want her getting crumbs in the cage. This morning, Master seems to be in a mellow sort of mood, he releases the hogtie, and makes her lap up her oils from the floor plate while He showers.
"Not done yet, Pretty Ass? Too late, now, its time to start breakfast; I suppose I was too lenient last night. Still, five of the best after brekkie ought to provide an incentive to diligence."
"Yes, Master; what may your humble, obedient slavegirl prepare for her Master?"
"Huevos Rancheros, and don't skimp on the salsa this time."
"Yes, Master, coffee will be ready in eight minutes, will Master have it in His chair?"
"Yes, and an orange, quartered."
"Yes, Master, coming right up, does Master wish to shackle pretty ass and remove her dancing chain?"
"Well, of course, can't have my slavegirl wandering about in only her dancing chain, fetch the 8 and 24, then coffee."
"Yes, Master."
Crawling over to her wardrobe cabinet, she kneels at the side and takes the appropriate chain down from the hook using only her mouth, crawls over to His leather armchair, squats to step through her chain, kneels and presents the required set of chains to Him. Will He fasten the eight inches between her wrists, or her ankles, or perhaps something truly nasty, the eight inches between right wrist and ankle, twenty four inches on the other side. One of his many methods of making housework truly uncomfortable, but not this time, thank you Master. The short hobble on her ankles, glory be to Master, he must be feeling extremely mellow, maybe she will get her five strokes from the palm of His hand! A fingersnap!
"Yes, Master, right away, Master."
Which coffee to grind this morning? She reaches a handful of Sumatra from the sealed canister in the fridge, pauses, collects a sparse dozen Jamaican Blue for spice, and puts them in the hand mill, five minutes of vigourous grinding, into the gold filter basket, four cups of filtered cold water into the percolator, three minutes of stiff perking, then the coffee serving ritual, followed by the orange serving ritual. This involves placing the quarters of Seville orange onto a china side plate, carrying the plate resting on the thumb and forefinger of each hand, kneeling, closing her eyes, flinging her head back to clear the veil out of her way, lifting the plate to her lips and kissing the underside, and god help her if she has forgotten to refresh her lipstick. Failure to leave a clear kiss imprint on every plate, cup and bowl she presents to him is an automatic five with a crop, regardless of any other punishments that may have been awarded. This morning, she is safe. Two mornings previously, she forgot, and paid the price; the welts are still vivid. A fingersnap.
"Yes, Master, huevos rancheros, will Master have toast, as well?"
"Don't know, yet, do me three eggs, and we'll see how hungry I am."
"Yes, Master"
Twenty minutes later, she has served her Master's eggs at the table, together with a second cup of coffee, and prepared her morning bowl of oatmeal.
"Very well, Pretty Ass, you may feed."
"Thank you, Master."
She carries her plastic dog dish between fingertips to the far end of the kitchen, kneels to place it on the floor near the wall, kisses the floor in front of the dish, squats to step through her chain, drapes the veil and nose bell on the far side of her bowl, and delicately laps up her breakfast, being careful all the while to keep her thighs well spread, her ass high, all her treasures on display for her Master's viewing pleasure. A fingersnap summons her to the table after only a few nibbles of oatmeal; she snaps to her feet, a slow, sensuous turn, her best strut, hips shaking, breasts jiggling, ass bouncing, head bowed, she attends her Master.
"I think you went a little light on the jalapenos with this batch."
"Yes, Master, slavegirl should have chosen more carefully at the market."
"Well, aim for something with a little more...authority...next week, this was your first batch, so I'll let you off the hook this time but don't push your luck."
"Yes, Master... sorry, Master... slavegirl will try to do better next time, Master... will Master have more coffee now... perhaps some toast? slavegirl used some of the oranges for marmalade... will Master favour His slavegirl with an opinion on this batch, please?"
"The Seville oranges, a thick cut to the rind?"
"Oh yes, Master, your slavegirl well knows her Master's taste."
"Well, we'll see. Two slices, another cup."
"Yes, Master, right away, Master."
Cutting two slices off this week's loaf of homemade sourdough, she toasts them, butters them, spreads them thickly with the rich, heavy marmalade, and presents them on the usual china plate.
"Not bad, and the sourdough starter is coming along very nicely. Very good, slavegirl, you may feed"
"Thank you, Master."
She struts slowly over to her bowl, bends to touch her palms to the floor, steps through her chain, straightens and kneels to resume her breakfast, her face glowing with pride from her Master's compliments; He is in a phenomenally good mood today. Twenty minutes later, as she is finishing the last of her small bowl of oatmeal (no milk, no sugar, a pinch of salt, and some dried fruit), a fingersnap.
"Coffee, dishes, report!"
He says, as he gets up from the table.
"Yes, Master."
She goes through the after breakfast coffee ritual at His armchair, then a slow strut to the kitchen for cleanup, then presents herself for morning punishment report. She kneels back, her ass resting on her heels, gives a shimmy to ring the bell hanging from the slavedisc between her breasts, bends her head well forward to clear the veil from her lips so her left hand can use the tube of lipstick that she wears at all times. She then kneels upright, bends at the waist to touch her lips to His feet, a long, lingering, languorous, lascivious kiss to His right foot, the same again to His left, she kneels upright, shimmies, then slowly sinks back onto her heels, lowers her eyes and waits...
"Report!"
"Master, your slavegirl begs to report that she has earned five strokes this morning for lack of diligence in failing to properly clean the floor of her cage. No strokes were awarded yesterday, Master."
"None at all?"
"Master, none, Master... Master is being much too kind to his obedient, submissive pleasure slut!"
"Well, that'll never do, fetch the strap!"
"Yes, Master, thank you, Master."
Crawling to the far side of her wardrobe cabinet, her lips lift down the stiff leather strap, 18 inches long by 2 inches; she crawls back to present it to Master. He holds it out to her so that she can take the leather in her mouth to moisten it and give it a good chew, then kisses the implement and bows her lips to the floor between His feet.
Swish, thwack!
"One, Master, thank you Master!"
Swish; thwack across her other cheek.
."Two, Master, thank you, Master"
A pause to change the angle of attack, swish, thwack, horizontally across the top of both cheeks:
" Threeee, Maasstterr, thank you, Master!"
Lower, but parallel, across the middle of her cheeks:
" FFOURR, MASTER, THANK YOU, MASTER."
Lower still, just missing her thigh rings, on the undercurve of her ass:
"FFIIVVEE. MMAASSTTERR, TTHAANK YOU, MMAASTERR1"
She kneels up to take the strap between her lips, crawls over to return it to the hook, rises, struts over to kneel again before Him, being careful to keep her hands away from her ass, she doesn't want to earn any strokes for tomorrow. He removes her veil.
"Use the scrub brush and soapy water on the floor of your cage, then your bath."
Her rig for scrubbing the floor includes a hospital type bedpan mounted by magnets to a wooden board with casters, and a penis gag with a screw fitting on the end, such that she can screw on a brush, mop, sponge, broom or rag, as the situation requires. She puts in the gag, securing the straps with a padlock at the back of her neck, reaches under the sink for her cleaning gear, screws the brush to the end of the gag, takes the bedpan to the middle of the floor, then sets up the tub for her bath. The tub is kept in the bottom drawer of her wardrobe cabinet; she carries it over to the middle of the room and sets it next to the bedpan. Going over to the sink, she fills the one gallon steel bucket with tepid water and one squeeze of mild dish detergent, carries the bucket carefully to empty it into her galvanised steel washtub, and returns to the sink to repeat the process two more times, being particularly careful not to spill any of the soapy water as she would have to lick it up after her bath. She pours some soapy water into the bedpan, kneels to push the bedpan over to her cage, dips the scrubbrush into the water and begins the task of scrubbing the remainder of the cage floor clean of her copious juices. Her ass is on fire, her breasts swaying just above the floor, her nipples making contact frequently, sending a shiver of passion through her and her oil has now dried, requiring vigorous upper body movement to scrub the cage floor clean. Ten minutes of strenuous labour and this task is done but the bedpan is not. She squats over it to deal with her bladder and bowels, then kneels to push it over to the toilet. It was only salad last night, how come it smells so rank this morning, yuck! She dumps the contents into the toilet, the bedpan coming clean thanks to the soapy water so she won't have to scrub it out, bends to push the bedpan back to the centre of the room so she can take her bath. The formerly tepid water is now quite cool but she is used to bathing in cool water. Now, to work out a method of getting into the tub, restricted as she is by the eight inches of chain between her ankles. Ah ha, the sawhorse in the greenhouse! She scurries out to the greenhouse, steps through her chain, picks up the lightweight horse and manoeuvres it into the room and over to her tub. Resting her upper thighs against the top, gripping it firmly with her hands, she lifts her legs up behind her and extends them over the tub. A bit of teetering but she is able to lower her feet to the bottom of her tub. Now, to stand up. Her weight resting on her toes, she bench-presses her body away from the sawhorse until she reaches vertical. TaDa. Squatting in the tub, she steps through her chain, picks up her sponge and begins scrubbing the dried cum off her thighs, groin and ass. That done, she runs the loofah over her back and does her breasts and belly with the rough cotton cloth. Arms and legs next and she is done. Taking the towel she has laid out for herself, she stands in the tub to begin drying. Her towels are small, old and worn so it takes some effort before she is only damp but, at least, this time there are no telltale drops of water on the floor, yet! It would be so much easier if Master would permit her to toss the towel on the floor so she could dry her feet, but no, that would be making life easy for His slavegirl. She reaches for the sawhorse, leans forward to rest her upper thighs on the crosspiece and lifts her legs up behind her so she can dry her shins and feet. So far, so good, although she almost lost her balance several times. Now, to empty the water from the tub. Reach for the bucket, scoop it full, wipe off the side with the towel, carry over to the sink and dump out. Repeat as often as necessary until she can carry the entire tub over to the sink. Dry it out with the towel and return it to the storage drawer. Towel into the slave laundry basket, cleaning supplies back under the sink, go to Master to have her gag removed.
"Nice work, Prettyass, except for one minor problem."
"Yes, Master, slavegirl forgot to mop up the water from the floor of her cage, she is such a klutz!"
"You didn't really think I wouldn't notice?"
"Your slavegirl has a rich fantasy life."
"Well, it just cost you five of the best."
"Yes, Master. They want slavegirl to help with the lunchtime rush at the club today and tomorrow, she will have to leave Master's house by eleven, is that OK?"
"Yes, Tony already cleared it with me, 11:00 is fine, you'll still be getting off at 5:00."
"Yes, Master; Would Master wish His slavegirl to pick-up anything special on the way home?"
"Well, no sailors, for one thing... See if the liquour store has any of that cognac I like."
"Yes, Master.... and for the rest of the morning?"
"Laundry and dusting, run the vacuum, come out to the shop when you're ready to go, I'll unlock you."
"Does Master wish prettyass to prepare anything special for His lunch?"
"No, I expect I'll make a sandwich when I get hungry. Leave the coffee-pot ready to go."
"Yes, Master; there is still one cup left in the pot, will Master have it now?"
"Put it in a travel mug, I'll take it out to the shop."
"Yes, Master."
She delicately bends to pick the gag off the floor with her lips, rises to her feet, crosses to the kitchen, places the gag under the sink with the rest of her cleaning gear, goes to the coffee pot, refreshes her lipstick, takes down a travel mug, kisses the lid, pours the coffee, turns off the pot and returns to perform the coffee ritual again.
Master has gone off to work, no kiss this morning; perhaps He has been spoiling slavegirl. Oh, well, hopefully tonight. Time to "dress" for the morning chores. She steps through her chain, crosses to her wardrobe cabinet, steps through again and takes down her work tunic. Master permits her to spend her mornings barefoot. Her tunic is rough cotton fabric, the skirt panels clip to the ring at each side of her waist chain, front panel first, then remove the chain running through her nipples to her armlets, might as well leave the armlets till tonight, then the narrow ribbons stretching from the front sides, above the points of her pelvis to just above her nipples. From that point, a thin steel chain runs over each shoulder, under her arm to clip together between her breasts. This keeps the fabric snugly pressed against her nipples while leaving her back completely bare. After she clips the rear panel of the skirt to the waist rings, her back is still pretty much bare as the skirt dips to uncover the upper third of her ass, and at its lowest point, only reaches six inches down her thighs. Her front side isn't much better off as the ribbons are no wider than the aeroles of her nipples and the skirt leaves her five-inch belly bangle fully exposed. Still, now that she is wearing clothing, she is permitted to run her slave chain up through the bangle and thus, take some of the weight off her clit. If only Master had taken longer in the shower this morning, she might have finished licking up all of her oil and, thereby, saved herself the five strokes from this morning, the torture of using the scrubbrush while her slavechain hangs free and the five strokes she has already earned for tomorrow. At least the welts from the crop are starting to fade; still, she will try to be a very good slavegirl today, just to be on the safe side. His laundry, first; separate out His denim workclothes, they're for a prewash soak, then have a look at His performance shirts. Something sticky on this blue silk, have to give that a bit of a prewash scrub in her laundry sink, oh no, is that a coffee stain, eew, the people at these gigs are just so careless, imagine, spilling coffee on her Master, good thing she wasn't there or she'd have done someone an injury. Oh, well, a good scrub and then a wash in cold water, the delicate cycle, it'll be right. While she's running His first load, she can also run the vacuum, change Master's sheets, blankets and pillowcases, silk sheets pickup so much dirt, good thing there are still three sets in the cupboard, she can do a load of sheets tomorrow or Saturday. That load out to the line for drying, Master prefers His good clothes to airdry, now the workclothes into the machine, the heavyduty cycle this time, a capful of fabric softener into the mix, off to dust and straighten up. Newspaper to the recycling bin, give the floor of her cage a quick buff, might help, can't hurt Hmm, streaks on the kitchen windows, better give them a wash and hope Master hasn't noticed (who is slavegirl kidding, Master notices everything), ping from the washer, this load goes into the dryer for half an hour, then she'll hang them outside, as well. Meanwhile, she can begin her laundry; thongs stiff from her dried juices need to be soaked and scrubbed in the sink, slave tunics and work dresses can go into the machine, the cold cycle but no fabric softener for her, at least her work dresses can go out on the line, her tunics and thongs will hang on the short line in the greenhouse, Master says the personal details of His life are no one else's business. Glance at the clock; just time to hang up her laundry and change for work. Her workdress today consists of a closefitting grey wool; the top has sleeves to just above the elbow. Zippers run up the inside of the sleeves and down the sides of her body to end at the hem of the skirt, several inches below her knees. The skirt is as tight fitting as the top and acts as a very efficient hobble, no running for her tonight. The lower back, from waist to just under the strap of her halter has been cut away, as Master believes a slavegirl should always have some flesh on display. If she is careful, she won't be showing her waist chain or the rear chain of her thong, but, certainly, someone will make her bend over, she should be used to the exposure by now, but it still turns her red with embarrassment whenever someone sees the chain running between her ass cheeks. Oh, well, first remove the bell at the bottom of her ass, hook today’s thong, red satin, to the rear chain, reach around front to pull the slavechain out of the bangle and let it drop, with predictable effects. She drops to her knees to recover, then threads her slavechain through the slit in her thong, draws the thong tight up her belly, unhooks the right side chain from her bangle and fastens the right corner of her thong, same again on her left then pulls up the slavechain and feeds it through her bangle. Damn, her thong is already wet and will only get more so as the day goes on. At least the tips will be good today, they always are with this outfit, her erect nipples poking against the thin fabric, her breasts jiggling slightly with each step, her ass well shown off, no wonder the other girls hate her, she usually earns more as a waitress than most of them do from tabledancing. Settle her breasts into the half cups of the halter, draw the cords around her back, under the opposite arm, under and up between her breasts, then across the tops, underneath her arms, back up over her shoulders and tie off at the outside of each breast. Hopefully, this will keep her treasures from bouncing too much. Now, the dress. Push her head through the turtleneck collar, slide the left side of the dress underneath the chain running from her wrists to ankles, do up the zip on her right side, then pull the front and back tightly together to do up the zip on her left. Oh, lovely, the outline of bangle, chain and key is quite apparent at her belly, the skirt outlines her ass and thighs to perfection, if there was an extra gram of fat anywhere on her body, it would show, her nipples are standing out like soldiers at attention, time to tuck her feet into the ankle boots and then present herself to have her nose padlock opened and her shackles removed. Sliding quickly through the greenhouse, she opens the first door to her Master's shop and waits in the glass enclosed airlock for Master to notice His slavegirl. He is in the middle of a rip cut on the tablesaw so just gives a nod. She stands at attention, feet spread to the limit of her chain, shoulders back, and fingers straight beside her ass, head up, eyes down for two minutes until He opens the other door. He is covered in dust from the plank He has been working on, so, rather than taking her in His arms, as is His usual practise, He contents Himself with a light brush of His lips on her cheek and then reaches for His keyring. Squatting to release first her left ankle, then her right, He stands to do her left wrist, followed by her nose.
"Turn about, Pretty Ass."
He releases the lock on her right wrist, gives her a lovely slap on the ass and says, "Have a good day, slavegirl, see you tonight"
"Yes, Master, thank you Master."
She returns to the house so she can crawl back through the gate, leave her shackles ready for the evening and refasten her nose padlock at the nape of her neck. Just time to fish out her lipstick from between her breasts, a fast coat for her lips, put the tube back under her dress and she's out the door, off to work.
On the stroll to work, she lets her mind drift in happy reminiscense. That first Saturday at His house, no sooner through the door when He said
,"Strip, I've no wish to destroy your clothing."
He had already agreed to keep her in bondage for the weekend, so she eagerly began removing her garments. A girl in bondage doesn't need clothing; she's already fully dressed.
"No, no girl, this isn't a race, take your time when you strip before a man, enjoy the experience, it's the only way to be sure he will enjoy the performance"
"Sorry, Master, I've never undressed in front of a man before."
"You're not telling me you're a virgin."
"No, but not very experienced; I usually undress and change into my nightie in the bathroom."
"Well, we'll have none of that nonsense here, girl; you appear to be the possessor of a thoroughly delectable body and I intend to extract all the visual stimulation from you that I can. By the way, undressing is something you do in a doctor's office!"
"That's better, here you can put your clothes in this shopping bag, I'll stick it out in the car later, no, no, keep your shoes on."
"Right, turn around, hands crossed behind your back. No, don't cover your ass, behind your back means at your waist. You're right handed so always, the right wrist goes inside! Now, hold that pose while I find something to tie you with."
"Right, the terrycloth belt to my bathrobe ought to be enough to keep you out of trouble."
"If you say so, but I'm pretty inventive."
"Well, I'm going out to the shop to find something to restrain your creative impulses. Make yourself at home, there's a good CD in the stereo, feel free to turn it on, I'll be back shortly."
While He went out to the shop, she had a long, slow, appreciative look around. Expensive stereo, buttons easy to operate with her nose, umm a Tafelmusik CD, Tellemann, one of her favourites, nifty collection of books, somewhat eclectic, though.... several very nice landscape paintings, three oils, the rest watercolour, a gorgeous abstract in stained glass for the front window, just one BIG room plus bathroom, the kitchen is a nook built off the back wall, a few pieces of very fine furniture scattered about, every thing spotless, not even a dish in the sink or a crumb on the counter, even she isn't this neat. Ooh, a bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, the perfect place to curl up and listen to the music (and revel in her bonds). Some little while later, He returns with something hidden behind His back.
"On your knees, face the fireplace!"
Blackness over her eyes, he's tied a strip of black velvet over them, it feels sooo soft against her cheeks. Now something cold wrapped around each ankle, chain and the snick of two padlocks. Oh, lovely, she tests the limits, about a foot of chain between her ankles, might be awkward for lovemaking later if she can't spread her legs any further than that, then he unties her wrists, takes the right wrist straight behind her, she can feel two pieces clasped around her wrist, the sound of a ratchet wrench, the pieces get snug, nothing pinches, though and the material is too warm to be steel. The same process with her left wrist, again a foot of space between them.
"Stand up."
The blindfold is removed; He puts His hands on her shoulders, turns her around, takes her in His arms and gives her the kiss of her life. Some indeterminate time later, He steps back so she can catch her breath.
"Walk around for me!"
"No, girl, this is not a catholic girls school! You have a body, a very nice body, let it move!"
...."Girl, if that's the best you can do, you're going to find bedtime to be seriously disappointing! You're walking about, nude and bound, in front of a man. Show me that inventiveness you were bragging about!"
...."That's better, still a little tight though, we'll work on it tomorrow. Stop there. Now, a test of your limberness. I want you to stand with your feet spread to the full limit of your chain. Good. Keep your legs straight as you can. Your wrists are already below your ass, bend forward from the waist and slide your wrist bar down the backs of your legs until your hands reach the floor. Don't worry about splinters, I've scraped the wood smooth. Try it now. Very good, just a little bending of the knees at the end, there, we'll work on that, soon have you up to snuff. Now, lift your right foot and step back over the bar. Now, your left foot, now stand up straight. No bending the back, going down or coming up! OK, now I want you to reverse the process, remember legs and body straight just bend at the waist. Good, good, very nice! Now, do the entire evolution, back to front to back ten times while I sit in my lounger and watch. That's right, legs apart, you're putting on a performance, showing off that gorgeous body, no don't turn around, I like the look of your ass, not to mention the other goodies. Straighten out those legs, don't get sloppy now, I know it's stretching your tendons, do you good once you get used to it. Right, that's ten, straighten up now, back straight, shoulders back show off that chest! Don't let that belly sag, nice and tight, now. Walk about the room for a bit, loosen up those muscles. Oh, much better, come over and give us a kiss, no keep them behind your back, no need to have your wrists in front unless you're doing something with your hands. You don't need hands for kissing, just lips and body.
Twenty minutes later, curled up on His lap, held in His arms, her arms safely out of the way, she has enjoyed a thorough exploration of her body and another of those soul shattering kisses.
"Now, it seems to me I promised you something to munch on sometime back along."
"You want me to deal with food when I'm right on the edge of an orgasm. What sort of evil human being are you."
"A hungry one; you wouldn't want me to fade in the clinch from starvation, would you?"
"OK, let me see what I can find in your larder...cooking with this bar between my wrists ought to be a pretty neat trick."
"I expect you'll manage, if nothing else, there's always bacon and eggs."
"I think I need some help cutting up this onion, for the omelette."
"Look in the vegetable drawer, there's half of a spanish onion, already peeled."
"What about cheese?"
"Use the extra old cheddar in the storage container on the counter, it crumbles better."
"In this tupperware container?"
"Right"
"Damn, this is hard to open one handle.
"There, I got it. You're right, it does crumble easily, I guess that's from keeping it at room temperature?"
"Yeah, and it tastes better that way, too. I only keep sandwich cheese in the fridge. By the way, mind your language, if you're going to swear I expect to see blood flowing."
"Oh, sorry Sir, I guess everybody swears these days."
"Not quite everybody, I believe a good curse is perfectly healthy in time of trouble but it does not belong in every sentence you speak, much less every second word, like some people I've heard, Over use cheapens a lot of perfectly good swear words and then, when you have a legitimate reason to swear, what have you got."
"Yes Sir, I'll mind my manners. Is this the bacon you want me to use?"
"Yeah, peameal, it's the only kind I keep in the house."
"I've never tried this before, how do
I cook it?"
"Heat up the pan, toss the bacon in, beat up the eggs, toss the onions
into the pan, turn over the bacon, pour the eggs into the middle and you're
away."
"Crumbled cheese on top, two minutes to dinner, where are your plates, oh this cupboard."
This bacon cooks really fast, best get it onto the plates first, use the spatula to separate portions of egg, a little awkward manoeuvring the egg onto the plate but doable, carry it over to the table.
"Dinner is served, Sir. Which chair should I use?"
"I sit at the head of the table, you sit to my right, for the moment, hands in your lap, I will feed you. Keep in mind that when serving at table, you present from the left and take away from the right. You are expected to take every possible opportunity to touch me with your body; you may not touch me with your hands, even by accident, nor may you initiate a kiss on the lips, though you may freely kiss any other portion of my anatomy below the neck that your lips can reach!"
"Yes, Sir; Sir, you didn't suggest anything in particular to drink?"
"Grab the half bottle of Zinfandel from the fridge, one glass from the rack, I’ll open and pour."
"Yes, Sir."
"Your wine, Sir. Thank you for cutting up my bacon, Sir, does this mean I'm to feed myself?"
"Not using your hands; you can eat off the plate if you wish or I can feed you."
"OOH, please feed me, Sir."
"This once, because you didn't know, but for future reference, begging to be fed gets you five strokes. Likewise, begging for use, and begging verbally for permission to speak."
"How would I beg non verbally?"
"Your body language, position of your knees, how high you raise your ass when you bend to kiss my feet, the length and lasciviousness of the kiss. Also, keep in mind, you may beg to your hearts content, verbally or otherwise, but there is no guarantee that I will accede to your request. Begging involves asking a question; sometimes the answer is no!"
"So, I might beg for...use...be rejected...and then receive five strokes?"
"You wouldn't receive the strokes until the following morning after breakfast, which gives you however many hours to do what you can to mitigate the severity of your punishment. Generally, I will award a number of strokes. The implement used could be the palm of my hand, a ping-pong paddle, smooth side or rough side, a leather strap, my belt, a multi-stranded whip, the same with knots in the tails, a riding crop... several other things, none of which will leave permanent marks, but they all involve varying degrees of discomfort. As I say, that will be the general practise; certain offenses will carry with them specific punishments. These eggs are very tasty, by the way."
"Thank you, Sir; could you tell me more about the specific punishments?"
"As we said in the car, we'll be some little while working our way into this relationship, a lot of things will need to be determined over the next few months; like, for example, your body's response to pain. If it proves to be that five strokes with a riding crop brings you an orgasm, then that's not much of a punishment!"
"No, I suppose not, although... one orgasm in exchange for four days of pain.... I don't know."
"We'll work it out over the next few months, find out what the limits are now...and what we want them to be. That we, by the way, is pretty much the imperial we, although I will want your input."
"Thank you, Sir."
"I'm serious about this, now...if I ask a question, I want an honest, detailed answer, I'm not a mind reader!"
"Really, you could have fooled me!"
A long look with a lifted eyebrow.
"Well, I mean, we've been here for almost four hours now, if I'd had to write a script for this event, I don't think I could have come up with anything half so exciting. Especially these cuffs, I can't believe you made them in just an hour!"
"I happened to have a four inch by twenty inch offcut of curly maple, one inch thick, already planed and jointed, just sitting around gathering dust. Not a big deal to cut the ovals for your wrists on the bandsaw, rip the board, scrape and plane the cut edges, relieve all the edges, drill out for the captive nuts and the bolts and give it an oil finish."
"No big deal for you, I guess...still an impressive piece of work, such pretty wood, so smooth, they fit my wrists without any pinching, you didn't even measure and they fit perfectly!"
"I choose to work with wood for my living, no point to doing it badly! Here, have a sip of wine, you're getting flushed."
"Thank you, Sir.... Trying to get me drunk so you can have your wicked way with me?"
"Don't think I'm likely to need that advantage, I don't think you could get away all that easily."
"Boy, ain't that the truth, with this hobble, an elderly, arthritic turtle could catch me with no trouble!"
"I think we can take it as read that you're already caught, now, the question is what am I to do with you. Dishes first while I plot the details of your...’seduction’. Use these salad tongs with your right hand to hold the plates, wash and dry with your left, in fact, in performing any task, the hierarchy is: nose first, then mouth, then left hand; you use your right hand only when absolutely essential!"
"Yes, Sir. Will you have the rest of this wine, Sir?"
"I'll take it with me out to my armchair, carry on."
Forty-five minutes to wash and dry two plates, a knife and fork, one frying pan, a chopping knife and a bowl, well, if it was easy being a slave, anybody could do it. She goes out to kneel in front of His chair.
"Knees less than a foot apart, I can only assume you are embarrassed, ashamed or mad at me?"
"Oh, Sir, none of the above, Sir...is this alright, Sir?"
"Eighteen inches will do as a minimum for now, in a few months, we'll make it two feet. The maximum, on the other hand, is whatever you can reach and depends largely on whatever message you're trying to send. If you're begging with you're knees only eighteen inches apart, then, obviously, the matter isn't very important to you. Sort of like begging for permission to take the garbage out."
"So, if I'm really, really, really horny, I'd better be able to do the splits while kneeling?"
"Well, that's one approach."
"And an alternative would be?"
"See what you can do to make me really horny. Of course, will power is a big thing with me; I don't often use it but it can be rewarding.... anticipation, don't you know!"
"Would Sir permit me to practise walking for a while?"
"Not just walking...start at the kitchen, hands behind you, walk to the front door, kneel and kiss the floor, stand, step through your restraint, turn, lift the bar to the back of your neck, walk back to the kitchen, kneel, kiss the floor, stand, step through your restraint and walk over to the door again. Keep going 'till I tell you to stop."
"OOH...Sir, I'll be dripping all over your floor!"
"So sad, I guess you'll have to spend some time cleaning up after yourself, put that educated tongue to work."
"Oh yes, Sir, I promise I'll get every drop."
"That you will, girl, carry on!"
He kept her strutting her stuff for almost two hours but that included a number of pauses for her tongue to clean the floor. Holding her wrists behind her neck with her elbows drawn back proved to be helpful in loosening up the muscles of her chest and ass. Performing this ritual under His watchful eye brought her to orgasm three times; licking up the results did it twice more. At last, when she was nearing exhaustion..
"Come here, girl."
He bent her over the back of His chair, lifted the front to slide her wrist bar behind the front legs, squatted to unlock her left ankle and spread her legs to the outside of the chair legs.
"Don't move."
Leaving her to get comfortable, he wandered off to collect a few items.
"I think we'll start by mopping up all this dampness here, this sponge ought to do the trick."
As he lightly runs a dish sponge over the inside of her thighs, carefully avoiding her mound but spending some time on her ass.
"Mmm, Sir, if that is supposed to be cleaning up the wetness, I think it's having the opposite effect."
"Do you complain about our methods here, fraulein!"
"Oh no, Sir"
"Vas is los, I don't recall inviting you to close your legs, now look what you've done. I'll have to start all over again, now, where did I put that dishtowel, ah here it is, and nicely wet, too. Perhaps a few swats on the inside of your thighs will persuade you!"
Swat, Swat, Swat, and Swat.
"Oh, please, Sir...I'll talk, I'll talk, just no more with the dreaded wet towel!"
"Talk, Ve don't Vant you to talk! Ve have other uses for dat so pretty mouth!"
"Well, please, put it to use, then"
"What is all this noise in here, open wide, this facecloth should cut the volume some!"
"Mrph, Mrph"
"Stop that quite excessive wriggling of your ass, it's only the rough side of the sponge on your clit, nothing at all to get so excited about, now look what you've done, a gusher all over my pant leg! Oh, well, nobody said this would be easy, I guess I'll just have to get these pants out of the way."
Walking over to toss His trousers into the laundry bin, He ensures she gets a good view of the sizeable bulge in His boxers. Stripping off His shirt while He's there, He displays a rather impressively muscled body, He's a lot more than six feet tall and has to weigh close to two hundred fifty, yet he looks lean and hard. He returns with the square of black velvet in His hands. Ooh, blindfolded, gagged, tied helplessly over the back of a chair, spread out ready for use, a slave's fantasy.
"These breasts haven't had any attention at all, I'll bet they're feeling quite lonely."
"Oh, ticklish, are we, sorry breasts, I'll get to you in a while, I have a whole new project."
After some minutes during which her writhing actually lifted the chair off of the floor several times, SWAT across her ass with the wet towel.
"Stop all this wiggling around, you're like to damage my chair at this rate, OK, we need something a little more secure, spread-eagle on the bed would work but it's so prosaic. Can't hang you by your wrists from the ceiling beam, not in those cuffs, guess I’ll have to make some leather ones, maybe tomorrow, what else, Ah Ha..."
He lifts the front of the chair to release her arms, uses the bar to pull her upright and leads her over till she can feel the bearskin rug under her feet. Laying her back on the rug, he lifts her feet in the air and ties her ankles wide apart. She can feel the nubbly surface of the firescreen against her calves but the rest of her body is pulled out away from the fireplace, her ass just off the rug.
"That should be right. Good thing I used those eyebolts for the firescreen when I built this fireplace, truly serendipitous, still need something to stretch out her arms, though, this girl does some pretty vigourous bouncing."
A few minutes, during which she is able to cool to some extent, though her position still keeps her aroused; then, the sound of a drill.
"Good thing I kept this half inch manila, it ought to take the strain quite nicely."
She feels her arms being pulled over her head, hears a piece of rope being tied to the bar between her wrists.
"Just have to pass the other end through the eyebolt, draw it back, yes that stretches her out nicely, a couple of half hitches, perfect, piece of rope is just barely long enough to do the job. Now, where did I hide that electric toothbrush?"
He's going to brush His teeth, at a time like this?
"Seems to me I promised some attention to these lovely’s, somewhere back along."
The feathery touch and hum of the electric brush on her breasts, clockwise on the right, counterclockwise on the left, stimulating, really quite pleasant...her body goes rigid as the brush is applied to her right nipple. He stops, just before the fountain, slowly, she relaxes...her left nipple, her body rigid again, she's so close just a few more....
"I think this stew needs to simmer for a while."
The creaks of the leather armchair, fragrant smell of His pipe, while her heartrate returns to something approaching normal.
"This feels like a Bailey's moment, now, what shall I pour it into?"
She feels a cool wetness in her navel, followed by the rasp of His tongue...
"If you don't stop bouncing around like that, you're going to spill my drink."
More of the coolness, this time between her breasts, she can feel the slight roughness of his five o'clock shadow as he teases her sensitised flesh with His tongue.
"Oops, I seem to have let an orgasm get away from me, guess I wasn't paying attention, maybe I should have used cognac instead."
She feels a towel being roughly wiped across her ass.
"From the looks of it, this handtowel isn't going to be anything like enough to keep your juices off the rug, I guess we have to sacrifice a bath towel to the cause, don't go anywhere, I'll be right back."
She feels a hand under her back, lifting her off the floor, granted she's not huge, but it’s like a hydraulic lift, He's not even breathing hard, her entire weight in one hand. She is set down again, this time on a large folded up bath towel; she can feel its texture on her ass and back.
"Time to test that pain tolerance of yours, now don't go anywhere, I'll only be a few minutes."
Like she could run if she wanted to, I wonder what He's up to, she thought.
"Right girl, listen carefully, I'm going to give you a light whipping, I'm not taking your gag out, my ears are sensitive, so, instead of a safe word, I want you to lift your ass off the floor, get your belly as high as you can reach. When I see that, I'll ask if you want me to stop. Rotate your hips clockwise for yes, counter for no."
Swish, splat across her belly, what feels like dozens of strips of fabric, sort of like being snapped with a wet towel after gym class, only lots of separate contacts; a slow burn across her belly. She waits...swish. splat across the inside of her right thigh...swish splat across the inside of her left thigh, she didn't even hear Him move, for a big guy, He's incredibly light on His feet, two more strokes across her right side, one at the hips, one higher...a matching pair across her left side, just the ends to her tits, one stroke to each... she's so close, just one more, pleeeease... swish, splat to her groin and the tsunami strikes. She arches her back, as the orgasm seems to go on forever.
"Do you want me to stop?"
A hip rotation to the left followed by a roll to the right.
"Make up your mind girl, yes or no."
She lets her body sag against the towel, waits two beats, arches her back and wags her hips side to side.
"Now that's inventive, let me see if I can work out the code. You want me to keep going but not on your front, right?"
Several emphatic clockwise rolls.
"OK, well that's pretty clear, hang on a minute..."
She feels the hand lifting her again while something is placed underneath, then she is lowered to find her ass resting on the nubbly surface of His hassock. His touch at her left ankle, freeing it, then her right, he lifts her and rolls her over, her ankles, right first, tied again, now the soles of her feet are pressed against the firescreen. He pauses to take out the slack in the rope holding her arms.... Swish, slap this one is softer, wonder why, you'd think he'd be willing to strike her harder on the ass, less chance of doing damage...
about one hundred soft strokes later, spread between her ankles and neck, she's had two orgasms already and is almost at her third, god this man is good, it's like chinese water torture, please, don't stop now, two quick strokes to the inside of her thighs followed by one to her centre, she's writhing and twisting, this one is earthshattering... Blackout.
The smell of ammonia just under her nose.
"Oooh, what happened?"
"You passed out, my lovely, so I untied you, took off the gag and blindfold, and carried you over to the couch."
"Not completely untied, I'm still wearing the bar on my wrists."
"You said you wanted to be continuously bound until late Sunday night."
"Oh, I wasn't complaining, actually I sort of thought you'd have refastened my ankles?"
"Thought about it, figured we'd be going to bed soon anyway, you'll be well spread all night, I promise you that."
"Oh goody, but you might have to carry me to the bed, I don't think I've strength enough to walk."
"We can certainly handle the ferry part, however, ferries have a price."
"So, how do I buy my ticket?"
This with a salacious grin and a lick of her lips.
"I think that's just about the right price, on your knees, girl."
She slithers down off His lap and takes her place between His legs.
"Haven't you forgotten something, girl... Hands behind your back!"
With a groan of effort at the strain on her well reddened body, she slowly straightens up and goes through the ritual of stepping through her restraint, then kneels again, her knees about thirty inches apart.
"That's better, for future reference, that mistake will cost you five with a strap, not this weekend, you're just learning the ropes."
"And chains and other good things, that torture with the electric toothbrush was savage."
"Bitching again, are we?"
"Oh no, Sir, absolutely not, I like your style of savagery!"
"Stop malingering, you've your passage to pay."
"Not so fast girl, take your time about this, if you take less than twenty minutes to bring me off, there'll be no joy in the morning!"
"Not too shabby, girl...twenty eight and a half minutes, needs a little more work on technique, I felt your teeth a couple of times.... if that happens on future weekends, there'll be trouble!"
"Sorry Sir, that was my first time, I'll get better with practise."
"And practise you'll certainly get, if you want to continue with me."
"I'll look forward to it."
He got up, bent over, picked her up and carried her over to His bed; her fiery body snuggled against His broad chest, then stood her up to the left of the bed.
"Step through and then assume the position."
"On my back or belly?"
"If I had a preference, I'd have said so."
Stretching out sensuously on the silk sheets, feeling their delightful coolness against her burning back, she slowly raised her arms above her head to press the bar against the headboard, fitting her hands between the wooden spindles and spread her legs for the waiting ropes. But first, He choose to blindfold her, then tie the bar to the header of the bed, then her ankles, stretching her out snugly.... Then His weight on the bed beside her, He rolls over to kiss her goodnight, a long lingering kiss and fingering of her nipples that starts to get her heated again...
"Good night, my lovely, see you in the morning."
"Good night, Sir... thank you for today!"
"My pleasure, girl... go to sleep now."