Stella nudged the manager and pointed to Dotty. Donald followed their gaze, just in time to see Dotty’s face twist with anger as she let her arms drop, her cuffs clashing. She blasted, “I’m through with your sick games. Let me out, NOW!”
Donald’s anger ignited, upset because she had made a scene before his guests. He came off the seat with the flogger flailing. She was tearing at the hood surrounding her face. Normally he would never hit above the neck, but his anger directed his hand to exert a smashing blow on the hand that was ripping the hood.
Dotty yelped and went to her knees, holding the wounded hand with the other. The manager hooked one of the collar rings and held her immobile. Donald dashed to the bedroom and returned with one of the nastier whips that he had decorated with. Stella picked up the flogger and the two flailed at Dotty, guiding her with the whip into position over the low coffee table. Stella laid the flogger aside and demonstrated her prowess with rope by pinning Dotty to the table like a frog positioned for dissecting. The manager reached down and opened the back flap, exposing two firm mounds that looked like they had been left overnight in an anthill. Hundreds upon hundreds of tiny red dots attested to the effects of the chopped hair as a torture device.
Donald spoke up. “I’m sorry for this unseemly display of temper, especially when there are guests in the house. To make up for it, I offer a flogger and a target. Slave has a reputation as a pain slut, but there is some indication that she may feel a lot more pain than she admits. Take the flogger and see what happens.”
He handed it to Stella. She let the strands fall on Dotty’s skin and then dragged them across her body as she walked slowly around the table. She lifted it and circled again. Dotty, suddenly scared, moved against her bonds, her only way of enticing Stella to begin and thus get it over with. She comforted herself against the coming thrashing by picturing Stella being pulled apart on a medieval rack.
The vision dissolved in a wave of glory when the flogger landed without warning. Dotty tried to sink through the table, but her pert ass cheeks remained rampant, as if inviting the sting of the flogger. It took only a few strokes to bring her to the pain table and then make her eat. She moaned, yelled and screamed as Stella connected the dots into two magnificent red humps.
Stella threw down the flogger as Dotty continued to whimper and cry. “She’s no pain slut! No wonder she’s putting up such a fuss about the suit. My grandmother can take more than this without breaking a sweat.”
She heaped several more insults on the weeping girl before releasing her from the table. Dotty was obviously ashamed of her outburst, but she had done it, and now was paying the piper.
Working like a well oiled team, Stella and the manager used the next two hours to thoroughly cow Dotty and then exhausted her with repeat after repeat of rapid fire position changes, replete with constant snap moves from the floor to upright and back.
Dotty was constantly fighting the suit, which restricted every movement, but neither gave her a bit of slack, the whip landing whether she had slipped up or the suit had hindered her. For the last 15 minutes Donald took over, forced to increase the number and strength of the whip blows to compensate for her flagging energy. The manager finally nodded and the whipping stopped.
“Very good!” The manager congratulated him and added, “She needs a little touching up with the hair, and then we can go.”
Dotty let out a muted squawk of protest when she heard him, but she had no energy left to dispute him. Donald addressed her, “You could have avoided all this, but you chose not to. You are badly in need of discipline and you are going to get it.”
Wiith that, the manager and Stella turned Dotty over. Donald and Stella each held one of her legs at a sharp right angle. The manager showed Dotty the small syringe. She began to struggle, moaning, “No! No! No!” The man laughed at her and bent down, inserting the nozzle into her urethra, filling it with the oil mix. He emptied the remainder into her winking ass hole.
Turning to Donald he said, “Better set her on the toilet. She’ll lose all bladder control in about 10 minutes. Probably shit herself too.”
“You heard your Master. Get to it!” Donald swatted her ass, speeding her on the way. All three watched her waddle and all three had the same thought - Duck!
Stella and the manager left while Dotty was still in the bathroom, seizing the chance to scratch the exposed bare flesh but her ass was much too tender so again she had to abandon the thought of relief from her all-over itch. When she emerged, Donald put her across his lap and put cream on her welts. He let her find out for herself that the cream was laced with a fresh supply of chopped hair.
Then he watched as she crawled into her cage. The thin latex made it just that more of a snug fit. With an effort she pulled her legs up and locked the cuffs on her ankles and then the ones that held her hands under her chin. Donald climbed into bed as she watched. In a subtle piece of humiliation he turned on a porn film and slowly beat his meat before her eyes. He noted that she watched his cock much more than the film. He made no move to offer it to her and when he finally came, he soaked it into a wad of tissues, tossed casually on the floor between the bed and the cage.
He didn’t trust himself quite yet, so he dispensed with their traditional “Good night” and “Sleep Well” before turning out the light.
Dawn came early, although to Dotty the sleepless night seemed never to end. Tired, in pain and of course helpless, her only available movement was the tips of her fingers scratching futilely at the stiff posture collar.
Besides, at any second she was positive she was going to empty her bladder and her ass hole ached from hours of clamping against the enema effect of the oil the manager had so thoughtfully treated her with.
Donald was on her case instantly. He was tempted to let her make a mess on the floor to give him an excuse to force her to clean it up in some disgusting manner, but he relented and hurried her to the bathroom. When Dotty reported back on her belly, her day officially began.
There are days, and there are memorable days. For Dotty this was a very memorable day. Donald seemed to have lost all his inhibitions toward disciplining her, using the whip to speed her to the kitchen. He breakfasted on eggs, bacon, hash browns and coffee. She got bread (dry) and tepid water. She was made to wait until he finished a second, leisurely cup of aromatic coffee. The smell made her mouth water, so near and yet so far. She was not allowed to finish her kitchen work until the last delicious drop slid down his throat.
Seconds after she finished she was called to the bedroom, where she was startled to find Donald ‘bare ass naked,’ to use the vernacular, fresh from his shower. She immediately noted that his cock was at half-mast and rising, making tiny jerks with each heartbeat. Donald barely suppressed a grin as she stared at it.
“Dress me!”
Dotty shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had never dressed him. Hurriedly she responded, “Yes, Master!”
His clothes were laid out neatly on the bed. Automatically she grabbed the shorts. Holding them she knelt at his feet, expecting him to lift his foot. He remained silent. She grasped his ankle, intending to lift his foot, but it remained solidly fixed on the floor, bearing at least half his weight. She looked up at his face for some clue, her gaze taking in his now fully erect organ.
Seeing no sign, she gambled, “Master, may your slave lift your foot?”
After a perceptible pause she got her surprise answer, “No.”
Very matter-of-fact and to the point. “Now what?” she thought.
Another gamble, “Master, will you please lift your foot?”
The foot lifted. She pulled the shorts above the ankle.
“Master, will you please raise your other foot?”
“No.”
Dotty became aware that she was being taught a lesson. She corrected, “Master, will you please put your foot back down.”
The foot dropped to the floor.
“Master, will you please raise your other foot?”
This time the foot rose without any problem. Lesson one, a slave is dependent on her Master for everything.
Dotty used up just about all of her courtesy and good manners before she got him fully dressed. She was refused permission to touch his cock, except through cloth, so she had to work around it for both his shorts and his pants. Zipping up his fly without catching him in the zipper was a major triumph.
The day for Dotty went downhill from that point. Donald started from scratch, trying everything old or new that he had learned. She could do nothing right, at least in his eyes. He started criticizing moments after she began and with each criticism came a pause under his direction in which she had to turn and bend over, opening the flap on her suit for a correction with the flogger. Her cheeks were a pale pink around the red dots, but by lunchtime they were once again a solid red.
Lunch was pretty much a repeat of breakfast. The dry bread didn’t taste a bit better, while she could hear him munching on the romaine salad she had prepared for him.
If she thought she would get a break for the afternoon, Dotty was dead wrong. Donald serenely started at the beginning again and drove her to distraction with his derogatory remarks about her capability. He warned her several times that she needed to shape up if she expected to become his slave.
Under his tutelage - and frequent applications of the flogger - she made remarkable progress. He was finding it harder and harder to be critical of her, but he continued to carp, knowing it would worry her and help keep her on her toes. To his amusement he found himself taking over as a Master. The slap of the flogger on tender flesh became music to his ears.
Master dined on steak while slave ate dry bread at her training table on the floor. She had nearly snitched a tender curl of fat when his back was turned, but her daring dissolved into abject fear of what he would do to her for disobeying orders.
Just as on the previous evening, the doorbell rang as she finished cleaning the kitchen. She looked to Donald, who nodded toward the door. She crawled to the door, a rising certainty that she knew who was coming.
Dale, the manager, Stella and a girl walked into the hall, ignoring her greeting. Dotty closed the door and followed behind. She glanced at the three and was horrified to see that the girl was wearing a collar and handcuffs, and nothing else. Her head went down in embarrassment, quickly corrected by Stella with a hard slap to her cheek. Her head jerked up and she stared at the wall, avoiding any eye contact.
Dotty was poised to utter a tirade, but Donald expected it and stared her down. She saw a new light in his eyes, almost daring her to screw up so he could punish her. She backed down, dropping her eyes.
The slave got the same treatment that Dotty was enjoying. She was left standing in the middle of the room, completely ignored even when she was the topic of discussion. Dotty started to walk in and join her, only to meet Donald’s baleful eyes and a finger pointing to the spot where he wanted her to belly down. She dropped. The slave looked puzzled, unsure if she should join Dotty on the floor, or not.
Stella noted all this and used it as an opportunity to lecture her slave. She got right in the girl’s face and told her, “You are here to teach - not to learn. If you pick up so much as one bad habit from this fuckup, you’ll spend a month in a latex suit begging for more hair.”
The slave went to her knees, as if struck.
“Yes, Mistress!” she acknowledged, stark fear in her eyes. Dotty guessed she had prior experience with one of the suits.
Stella turned to Donald.
“This ‘thing’ has been exhaustively trained, both to suck cocks and to lick pussy. She can make a man spurt twice in a five minute time period and guarantees any woman multiple orgasms. She has a quota, and at the end of the month she spends a day in a small dog kennel for each number she missed by. We’ve had to raise her quota three times in less than six months. She objected to the first raise and spent a week in a punishment suit. Since then she has been extraordinarily obedient. She gets her ass whipped anyway on a regular basis, just as a reminder.”
“Slave, take his slave and put her on her Master’s cock. Teach her everything you know and be quick about it.”
“Yes, Mistress!”
The slave hurried to Dotty and kicked her, none too gently in the ribs. She took “be quick” as an “or else” order and she wanted Dotty to get the same incentive.
Dotty pushed to her knees and slid between Donald’s legs.
“Master, may I open your pants?”
When Dotty was finished pulling them down and received permission to touch him, the slave took over. She began a running commentary, instructing Dotty in exactly what to do, how to kiss the head, when to extend her tongue, when to tighten her lips and apply suction, how to use her hands, reminding her to maintain eye contact as much as possible. Her words were as much of an aphrodisiac as the mouth and tongue that enveloped his member and he quickly found himself fighting to maintain control and keep from climaxing.
Not unexpectedly, her dulcet voice was having the same effect on Dotty. While it was no big thing if he ejaculated into her mouth, she knew she would earn some painful discipline if she let herself come too. Donald was nearly out of it but Stella and Dale were watching both girls intently, expectantly waiting for the first miscue that they could punish.
The outcome was almost a forgone conclusion. Donald lost it, spurting down Dotty’s throat. She in turn warned him that she was about to come, but was denied permission. The slave knelt back as Stella assessed the lesson.
“Not quite up to your usual standard of excellence. You didn’t do anything but talk, so this doesn’t count toward your quota.” The slave bit her tongue. It was only a couple of days to month’s end and she needed two more to meet her latest quota. She had counted on earning two here, but now the best she could hope for would be one.
Stella hooked Dotty’s collar with a finger and positioned her on the coffee table, this time on her back. The slave had already been told what to do. She knelt beside Dotty and began kissing her face, the only exposed part of her body. Then she lifted the flaps and buried her face in the buxom breasts, sucking first one nipple, then the other. She raised her face momentarily, covered with a thin layer of the oil. She dipped down again and began to nibble on the turgid nips, sending streams of rapture through Dotty’s trembling body. Dotty quickly begged permission to come and was amazed when she heard her Master say “Yes.”
Dotty went screaming into space, riding a rocket. She came down in time to hear her Master order, “Wear her out!” The import didn’t penetrate until she felt the tongue on her clit. It smacked of a legal document - “For the purpose of demonstration, the client will be subjected to continuous friction until she loses consciousness.” There was no way out. Dotty could tell that easily. The tongue in her slit was superbly expert. There was no room for debate either. Dotty settled in, expecting a very short ride.
The tongue slave realized the same thing. She could feel the body move in certain ways that signaled to her that a cataclysmic orgasm was building. She hurried it along, pushing hard. When Dotty went over the top the slave’s mouth was tight against her, shaping the orgasm, directing it and finally releasing it as a non-stop, magnifying multiple climax that literally took Dotty’s breath away. Donald leaned forward, ready to pound her chest, when she drew in air and expelled it in a long shuddering sigh. Her eyes remained closed and she gave no other sign of life. The other slave knelt back, immediately forgotten.
The three chatted for a few moments, discussing Donald’s blowjob and Dotty’s orgasms. As they talked, Dotty came out of it and opened her eyes. When her breathing had returned to normal, Stella raised her skirt to her waist and spread her legs.
She caught Dotty’s eye, “My turn.”
“In a pig’s ass!” Dotty blurted, and before she had time to think she added “Go fuck yourself!”
Stella snapped her skirt down and loomed over Dotty in time to hear, “No hair dresser is going to get ME to lick her pussy!”
The other slave knew better. She dove for the nearest corner, as far out of the way as possible. She had been a slave long enough to have seen several slave rebellions but she sensed that this was going to easily outclass anything she had experienced.
Donald was absolutely furious. Being married to her he knew that Dotty had prejudices but this was the very first time that she had erupted in this manner. As he came off the couch he reached underneath and brought up a modified cattle prod.
Stella was in a quandary. Her instinct was to slap and keep on slapping until Dotty was on the floor begging for mercy. But, she was in someone else’s house, a regular customer at that. It was enough to make her hesitate, but not to hide the hatred that flowed from her eyes toward Dotty.
Dale got up, considering the same points that Stella was dwelling on. He knew at once that this went well beyond the typical Master/slave relationship and demanded some really serious retribution. The immediate solution was to calm everyone down.
“Stella, Donald, and you too, Dotty - everybody just calm down. This is not the first time we’ve been involved with a rebellious slave and it won’t be the last.”
“Remember, she has been in the torture suit for going on three days. She hasn’t slept in 72 hours and I imagine she’s on a starvation diet. She just survived a multiple orgasm on top of a hard day of practice. Give her some slack and then if she still wants to be uppity, take her hide off.”
He looked down at Dotty. “Apologize now, or it gets worse.”
Dotty realized she had no options, but pride ruled. She shook her head. Furious, Donald jabbed the prod into her belly, straddling her clit, and pressed the button. Dotty jerked, her legs doubling up against her chest. She was deathly afraid of electricity in any form, so the shocks got to her where a whip might not. Unable to breathe, she nodded her head frantically.
When she opened her mouth, Dale interrupted her, “On your knees.”
Warily eying the prod, inches away from her clit, she lifted off the table, got her legs under her and knelt, not directly facing in Stella’s direction.
“This slave apologizes for her words and begs punishment for any insult.”
Dale was watching Stella. Her hand rose, as if to strike out, then fell to her side. “Apology accepted. Punishment deferred.”
Dotty wasn’t at all thrilled. “Punishment deferred” is to be worried about, like anything unknown.
Donald also apologized, promising Dale and Stella that Dotty would received appropriate punishment for insulting his guests. He saw them to the door after they recovered their slave from the corner. Stella saw the slave eying Dotty and slapped her, drawing her attention where it belonged.
When Donald came back to the living room he was swearing a blue streak, directing his ire straight at Dotty. “You dumb slut! What the Hell got into you to break discipline like that. This is a stunt your mother would pull, not you!”
He burned her with words for several minutes, all the time waving the prod closer and closer. She shrank away as far as she dared, but moving away from him would only heap fuel on his fire. In the heat of the moment she couldn’t remember ever seeing him so angry. Perversely, his anger thrilled her, as she interpreted it as his innate domination coming to the fore. More and more she was enthroning him as her Lord and Master.
Abruptly she dropped to the floor at his feet, kissing his shoes with unusual fervor. She spoke into the leather, “Master, your stupid slave deserves to be punished. Your slave has deliberately provoked you to earn your wrath. Your slave is sorry she did this.”
“You learned this pretense from your mother, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Master, your slave is ashamed to admit it.”
“One more outburst like this and I’ll wear out the batteries on your hide.”
He watched her head nod vigorously.
“Master, punish your slave. I fear the jolt, but I deserve it.” She rolled on the floor, spreading her legs in open invitation. He swung the prod into position, the arms above and below her clit. He waited for a count of ten.
“Beg me.”
There was no escape. No avenue of retreat. She had taken herself to a dead end.
“Master, your rebellious slave begs you to correct her faults with your wand. Please, punish your slave until she can no longer breathe.”
He silently counted to ten again, watching the fear grow in her eyes. She feared the prod, but for how long? Anger persisted as he pressed the button and watched as she contracted into a ball, gasping for breath.
His anger showed as he ordered, “You’re going to live with this prod, night and day. You will have it at the ready whenever I decide that you need another obedience lesson.”
He dropped the prod onto her stomach and walked away. She dared not move until he returned. She suffered the aftereffects of the shock for some time, but it was much later when he returned to the room.
“You’re still setting your own punishments, subject to my approval. Just how do you plan to appease Stella and Dale?”
A half-formed idea rose to the surface of her mind. With some obvious distaste she shared it with Donald.
“Master, my next appointment is Wednesday. If it pleases Master, I will be ready to ‘pull a train’ for all of the girls.”
“You’re definitely NOT going in that frame of mind and with that look on your face. Sour is not going to placate them. You screwed up your chance for a private session for your maiden experience. Stella is not going to let you get away with it a second time. You are going to be up against a whole group of thoroughly experienced muff divers and if you think your amateurish tongue is going to satisfy them, you’re nuts.”
“If it isn’t beneath your dignity to use your tongue on a slave, you’d damn well better get that slave of theirs over here and cram as much knowledge as you can into that thick skull of yours. Otherwise, you don’t get to touch anyone and they stay mad. If I were you, I’d be bracing for a lengthy stay in your latex creation, which Stella controls.”
Dotty squirmed like a pronged fish at the mere mention of the suit. It was incentive enough for her to beg, “Master, if it pleases you, your slave would like to learn from Stella’s slave.”
“You remind me of a weathervane, turning in every direction. We’ll see.”
The first hint that he had done something came when the doorbell chimed the next evening. Dotty greeted Dale and Stella, carefully refraining from addressing the slave. As usual she was ignored, greetings reserved for Donald instead. Once again the slave was left standing in the middle of the room and Dotty was put on her stomach in the doorway. The quartet talked for nearly an hour on every subject except bondage, leaving the two slaves hurting more and more from their immobile positions.
At last Stella shifted position and eyed the two slaves. Pointing at her slave she ordered, “On the table. On your back.”
Pointing to Dotty, “Get between her legs and get that tongue out.”
Dotty carried the prod and moved into position. Stella snarled at her slave, “Do I need a forceful reminder for you to remember that you are the teacher?”
“No, Mistress,” the girl hastened to assure her, spreading her legs even wider.
Dotty’s heart sank as she heard Stella dominate her slave. She felt a pang, knowing the slave was taking the punishment because of her. The evening was young and she had a feeling it would not turn out well.
Stella turned to the others and resumed their conversation as if nothing had happened, ignoring the tongue training session in front of them that began immediately.
The conversation continued interminably as one slave taught the other, over and over until Dotty was letter perfect. If there was any lingering aversion to hair stylists, she was careful to keep it fully concealed. Her one problem was that despite her training and despite her just-earned prowess, she could not bring the slave to a climax. She had no way of knowing, beyond the classical slave denial, that the girl had been warned several times between when she was released from the car trunk and when they reached the front door, that an orgasm would earn her a ‘stork,’ standing on one leg for the rest of the night.
At a silent signal from the slave, Stella interrupted, “Just a minute.” She pulled her skirt up to her waist, spread her pantiless legs and announced. “My turn.”
It was the command Dotty had been dreading, but there was no way around it. Twenty-four hours before she had refused, loudly. Now, meekly, she spun around, asked permission and buried her face in Stella’s neatly trimmed pubic hair, tongue flashing with renewed vigor.
Above her, the conversation resumed, Stella holding up her end with no difficulty despite the activity below her waist. Dotty lapped and sucked, dutifully using every trick the other slave had taught her. Stella continued to converse as if there was no connection between her head and her pussy.
Dotty’s frustration was growing at the same rate that her energy was waning. She was moving into desperation when she finally got some reaction. She bit gently on Stella’s labia. The nibbles caused her to stutter. Dotty bit harder, Stella moaned, excused herself and shouted her ecstasy. Dotty continued to lick until Stella frantically pushed her head back. Grudgingly she acknowledged the unexpected. Dotty had learned her lessons well.
As the three left, Stella looked down at Dotty, not quite willing to forgive. She warned, “We’ll be waiting for you Wednesday. We have the whole afternoon scheduled for you.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
As their car disappeared down the driveway, Dotty sighed, as the opportunity to beg to be let out of the latex suit never occurred. She had hoped for a fleeting moment that Stella’s orgasm would put her in a generous mood, but it hadn’t happened. There was continued resentment there that she would have to overcome.
To make matters worse, Donald seemed suddenly to be in a foul mood. He taunted her, “Didn’t get your wish - to get out of that suit - did you?
“No, Master.”
“I have it on good authority that you’re stuck with it - in more ways than one - for some time to come. Your comments were not considered funny. Now that you’ve stooped so far as to eat out a slave AND a hair stylist, you ought to be proud of yourself.”
Not a question, so no answer required. Dotty hung her head, trying to drum up enough courage to face an indefinite future, locked in latex with sharp pointed hairs constantly puncturing her from all sides. The oil, in addition to making her skin sticky, was softening it, making it easier for the hairs to stab her. Her day was not yet over.
Before being caged for the night she had to provide her Master with the obligatory blowjob, which Donald treated as a ‘gift’ to his slave. Dotty didn’t see it that way. Normally she got a measure of enjoyment out of the physical contact, but of late Donald was so hypercritical of her every move that it became more of a dreaded chore than mutual enjoyment. Tonight was no exception and Dotty was in tears when he finally loosed his sperm into her throat. And still her day was not yet over.
Donald helped her into the cage. She was firmly clutching the prod to keep it with her. As she bent her legs the latex pinched her, in a spot where the oil hadn’t penetrated or had dripped away. She exclaimed angrily, drawing unwanted attention to herself. Donald poised, ready to jump her, but she resumed her silence. He debated whether to punish her and decided to be merciful.
An hour later he was feeling anything but, after a series of noisy breaths that were just short of being a complaint. Something metal had hit the cage bars. The crowning touch was the very recognizable sound of the prod being shoved against the bars in a vain effort to gain more room for her cramped body.
Donald snapped on the light and stormed out of bed. He opened the cage and grabbed Dotty and hauled her bodily out of the cage. She dropped the prod during the unexpected assault. He held her with one hand and picked up the prod and shoved it into her hand with a redundant warning of the consequences of losing her grip on it again. It was a carbon copy of the traditional punishment of having to sleep with their dirty rifle that so many Army recruits suffered through.
Donald handled her like a feather, carrying her to the basement where he had discovered an unused cistern some time ago, buried under a pile of lumber. He had cleaned away the wood, for just such an eventuality, The concrete tank was less than four feet square and about eight feet deep. He and his burden were a tight fit climbing down the ladder he had set in place. He dropped her several inches to the floor, as if daring her to protest or make a noise.
Without a word he climbed back up, pulled the ladder up and walked away. She had just seconds to glance around at her prison before the light went out. She panicked and began calling his name, rather than his title. The light came back on. The ladder dropped down and Donald climbed down into the chamber. He pulled the prod from her nerveless fingers, tipped her on her side, opened the flap at her crotch and zapped her clit. He snapped the flap shut, shoved the prod back into her hand, drew the ladder up and walked away, confident that his slave had learned her lesson.
Dotty crouched in her tight chains in utter silence, staring into the blackness, afraid that a loud breath would bring him back to punish her. She blamed herself, rather than him, for her problems, silently cursing herself for making such a stupid mistake as calling him by name.
There was a lot more room in the cistern than in her cage, but there was no benefit for Dotty, who remained chained with her feet pulled up to her collar, unable to stretch out even a little. The space seemed to mock her.
Donald was watching her on an infrared screen. A highly sensitive directional microphone was monitoring her breathing. Dotty had seen only the walls, not the array of electronic gadgets that surrounded her.
It would have made little difference, as Dotty was going down a roller coaster of emotions, swinging from deep depression to being unbelievably thrilled by her bondage. She could feel her wounded clit swelling and rubbing against the latex, dangerously close to a forbidden orgasm that she could neither beg for, nor control. She began to pant, but she stopped, horrified that he would come back again, with worse.
She didn’t close an eye all night. Donald set the alarm on the monitor to wake him if Dotty was having problems, and promptly went to sleep. The ghostly image of her bundled body remained on the screen. When he awoke, she was in the same position. Had she dared she could have moved, but any different position would be even more uncomfortable.
Wednesday came all too soon for Dotty. She spent three nights in the cistern as a penalty for her outburst, before Donald allowed her back in her cage. Her daily training sessions continued. Donald deliberately worked her beyond her capacity so that he could correct the inevitable mistakes.
Dotty was despondent, her picture of life as Donald’s slave slipping away from her grasp. Every time she progressed to the point where she felt she could relax a little, Donald was on her case with some new program. She was unable to get through a complete day without at least one zap from the prod, which she faithfully carried with her everywhere she went, as she performed her household duties. Donald tried it on her nipples and found that it was equally effective and her nipples were less subject to damage due to the tougher skin.
She didn’t realize that Donald also was learning from her punishments. Each day’s training sessions taught him something new that he could utilize to dominate Dotty. Imperceptibly he was tightening his control over her, both with what he had learned from her and from the several evenings spent with Dale, Stella and their slave. While she felt that she was slipping, he was confident that his hold on her was strengthening. His key concern was that she hadn’t shown the trust needed to make her slavery work. The incident with the cage and the cistern had shown him that topping something bad with something worse sent a powerful message of domination to his slave.
Dotty dressed in her standard ‘uniform’ - cape, shoes and cuffs. Donald saw her off, warning her one more time that the slightest hint of prejudice would cancel the session and have all sorts of repercussions.
“You could live for months in that latex suit,” was his final admonition.
Dale opened the door to the shop for her and mocked her with a deep bow.
“Thank you, Master,” she got out, her face bland.
He took her cape and hung it up. He nodded to Dotty. She lifted her head slowly, gathering her waning courage and announced, “I’m here to suck pussy. If you want the best tongue in town, follow me into the back room.”
The girls and the customers clapped and yelled, jumping up to follow her, forming an impromptu conga line. Three recliners were lined up. The first three girls in line made for the chairs, hiked up skirts or pulled down their pants and got comfortable. Several of the girls had anticipated the session and divested themselves of their panties.
Dotty went to her knees at the head of the line. The first pussy was shaved smooth. Dotty bent her head, running her nose up and down the girl’s slit, and then began licking.
Two hours later her tongue was numb, but she had satisfied every girl in the place. However, the reviews weren’t exactly raves. Most of the girls were satisfied, but there was an undertone of a lack of fulfillment. Some of the more experienced girls recognized the problem, blaming Dotty for being straight, in a den of lesbians. It was only when Dotty’s tirade was repeated in whispers that the girls realized the real problem.
Stella was the last in line. Finished, she stood and got everyone’s attention. She pointed at Dotty.
“This slave doesn’t like hair ‘dressers.’ While she satisfied all of us, I don’t think her heart was quite in it. Therefore, I’m going to take a vote. How many think she should continue to enjoy the confines of the torture suit for another week, until her next appointment?”
All but one hand went up, with a chorus of approval. The one holdout had been punished in the suit herself for cussing out a customer. As she said later, several times, “I wouldn’t wish that fucking suit on my worst enemy.”
Stella turned to Dotty with a wide grin. “Sweetie, it looks like you’re stuck.”
Dotty dropped to her knees again, “Please, Mistresses. I beg of you, be lenient with this miserable slave.”
Stella dramatically stuck out her arm, raised her thumb, then twisted her arm until the thumb pointed straight down. The other girls turned thumbs down and one began to chant, quickly picked up by the others, “One more week! One more week! One more week!”
Dotty was crying, sobs wracking her body. She moaned, “No,” as one of the girls walked toward her with a box of hair clippings. Another girl joined her, holding the spray bottle of oil. Dotty collapsed on the floor as they opened the access flaps and replenished her coating of oil and hair. Dotty got the full treatment, including the oil enema and stuffed urethra. Stella made her squat on the toilet in full view as her bladder voided and her intestines repelled the oil.
Still dripping, Dotty was at last wrapped in an adult diaper and sent home in disgrace. Stella made no bones about her fate. “Tell your Master that you didn’t earn release, so you’re stuck for another week. I’m sure he will take some appropriate measures to improve both your tongue work and your view of hair stylists. If you don’t pass next week, we’ll replace the human hair with horsehair. I’m sure you’ve heard of its reputation.”
Dotty shuddered at the mere mention. A suit full of horsehair would put her in a mental hospital in nothing flat. At the moment the hospital looked like the better option.
Stella sent her on her way, giving her a box of hair and a spray bottle to give to her Master. Dotty’s first reaction was to throw them into the first trashcan she passed, but Stella or Dale would be in touch with Donald and his first question would be what she had done with them.
Dale and Donald were becoming fast friends and Stella was included. The two were frequent visitors at Donald’s house and a considerable amount of their time was spent discussing Dotty and her training in front of her. She stood the humiliation without question, knowing that as long as Stella had a hold on her she was in jeopardy. Privately, when she was out of the room, either in her cage or the cistern, they also discussed her, including some plans for her future that she would have found of considerable interest.
Dale had broached the subject.
“Ever heard of the Dalewood Rehabilitation Center?”
“You mean the one up the highway north?”
“That’s the one. They do drug and alcohol treatment.”
“Which has nothing to do with Dotty,” Donald argued, “she won’t touch the stuff.”
“You didn’t let me finish. The drug end is just a cover to give them an excuse for the razor wire and guards. Inside the compound, in a separate building, they have a rehabilitation and processing unit for slaves. They train them, discipline them and finish them to your specifications. A stay there would be ideal for Dotty. Knock some of the ideas out of her head and bond her for life to you. It’s expensive, but worth every nickel.”
“Remember the slave we brought over? She went through their training course. She flatly refuses to talk about what they did to her, but I can tell you, she came out of there about 180 degrees from the way she went in. She refused orders, cussed us out and generally screwed up. Since she came out she hasn’t refused a single order and she would lay down her life for us.”
Dale paused and took a sip of his drink.
“There are rumors. About the place.”
“Such as?”
“Well, one that our slave almost, but not quite confirmed. Seems there’s a third facility, underneath the central building. It’s supposed to a private prison. One version had it that if you wanted to have a rival or an enemy disappear, all you have to do is cough up the money.”
“Here? In this country? They can’t do that.”
“That’s exactly why I keep saying these are rumors. The stories are unbelievable. I heard one guy in the coffee shop claim that they had the wife of the Police Commissioner down there, permanently locked in a steel framework that only allows her to crawl on her hands and knees. There might be some truth to it, as she hasn’t been seen for a couple of years. According to her husband she ran off with another man.”
“She’s by no means the only one. At least six young women from right here in town have turned up missing in the last several years. The police make a big flap over finding them, but most folks forget about them after a couple of months.”
“A little over the top, but it sounds interesting. Any literature on the place?”
“For obvious reasons, only on the drug treatment. Get in touch with them. They will explain once they are convinced you’re not a cop.”
“Well, thanks. I’ll look into it.”
When Dotty arrived home, she faced a grim Donald. He already knew the facts, but he made her kneel before him and fill in every last detail, every humiliating comment and every fault that she had committed, even including the girl she almost refused to do because she hadn’t showered.
Donald listened. When she was through, he led her back through the entire afternoon, chewing her out for each item on her list. By the time he returned to the ‘thumbs down’ scene he was almost yelling. Dotty was first worried, then scared as his anger became more and more obvious, imperceptibly backing away from him. She shrieked in fear when he suddenly reached out and grabbed her.
“Damn it! Don’t you run away when I’m talking to you! You’ve earned a lot more than a scolding! You...”
He stopped, almost revealing the plan to send her to the rehabilitation facility. That could wait until all the paperwork was finished. At the moment he didn’t have a firm commitment that they would accept her. He was about to punish her when the phone rang. He glanced at it, then back at Dotty.
“Get supper,” he growled.
As soon as she finished cleaning up the kitchen Donald sent her for her punishment helmet. It was a tight fit over the latex hood, and even tighter after Donald exerted all his strength to stretch the straps taut.
The doorbell interrupted as he finished. Through the thick padding in the helmet she was unable to understand the lowered voice conversation at the door. Had she been able to see, she would have been shocked at the sight of her nude, very embarrassed mother locked in a matching helmet, with a leash running from her posture collar a few inches to her husband’s hand.
Bringing up the rear was Dale and two slaves. Like Maude, they wore only heels and cuffs, but without the hobble that kept Maude’s legs close together.
The clank of chains was loud enough to penetrate the helmet, adding a new, but very puzzling facet to Dotty’s expected punishment. She strained her ears but was unable to identify the persons, or what they were talking about.
A firm hand drew her to her knees and she crawled in her darkness, each moving knee tentative as if the course led straight to a wall of cactus. When she stopped, her nose was inches from a hanging sheet, the fresh aroma paining her as she tried to think when the last time was that she slept on a sheet, on a bed.
The springs creaked as the slave girl moved onto the bed, bringing Dotty up behind her by tugging on her leash. The girl leaned back, lifted up to slide a pillow under her ass, and spread her legs, using both hands to direct Dotty’s helmeted head into close range. She unfastened an earflap and with her lips an inch away informed her, “You are about to give the best head of your life. You will put everything you’ve got into doing it to MY satisfaction. I don’t give a fuck if you enjoy it or not. As a matter of fact I’d advise you NOT to enjoy it, because that means you’re wasting energy that should be spent on MY pussy. This is training, but it’s really different. You’re expected to be letter perfect from the first lick, not the last. Your test begins now, not after you’ve had a week of practice!”
Dotty bent to her task, her resolve fired up by the day’s events. She realized all too well that if she screwed up the prospect of endless days in her latex cocoon lay ahead. Her earflap snapped shut and the slave’s hand bounced off the helmet, signaling her to get her tongue busy.
The flap didn’t stay closed for long. The slave, not the one who had previously trained her, had no patience for even the slightest mistake. She was faulted for stopping to breathe, warned that allowing a hot pussy to cool even for a second spoiled the effect her tongue was trying to establish. The slave grabbed a short whip and began reinforcing her criticism with snapping blows that left Dotty’s ass cheeks stinging.
A nearly identical scene was taking place in another bedroom, where Maude was being trained. Almost a virgin in giving head, especially to a woman, Maude was struggling to satisfy both the slave and her husband, who was watching with an eagle eye. She had no idea where she was, concentrating on trying to learn enough to satisfy her two overzealous teachers. Both the slave and Phil were wielding whips that usually landed simultaneously as both teachers caught a goof at the same instant. If she showed the slightest distraction from her assigned task the whips landed even harder.
Dotty didn’t know it but she was getting off relatively easily. She had already enough training and enough practical experience to do a passable job. Her task was to upgrade her skills to the extremely satisfactory level that would leave the lickee totally sated and exhausted. Up against a slave under strict orders not to come, Dotty was between the proverbial rock and a hard place. The unspoken rule was that she had to make the slave come in order to pass her test and the slave was ensuring that she didn’t pass by suppressing her orgasm.
Dotty was whipped when she admitted defeat. The slave’s eyes glittered as she spoke between blows. “With that sorry excuse for a tongue you are never going to really satisfy another woman.”
“You sure as Hell aren’t going to make a slave come.”
“Even a MAN could do better than that.”
Tears formed in Dotty’s eyes and ran down her face below the helmet. She was lashed for “displaying softness.”
Meanwhile Maude was suffering the slings and arrows of two angry teachers, with whips to match. The verbal abuse quickly had her in tears and earned her double lashes for breaking down.
For Maude it was an earth shattering experience. She had never allowed the thought to remain in her brain for more than a fraction of a second. She just plain didn’t want her tongue within a mile of any other woman, let alone buried in her pussy. To be forced by a woman, with a MAN standing there closely watching, was simply too much. She rebelled, quickly learning that a whip carries everything before it. After repeated whippings for a lack of enthusiasm, she locked her brain and blindly lapped, faking the enjoyment that would - or should - earn her a passing grade.
Phil and the slave communicated silently over her head. Both were well aware she was faking. Both were anxious to punish her for trying to con them.
Nodding, the slave grabbed Maude’s head and pushed her away. Maude briefly struggled when she was repositioned on her back on the bed. The slave rapidly tied her spread legs to the corner posts. Kneeling between them she informed Maude, “We do not appreciate a student who fakes enthusiasm, let alone fakes enjoyment. I’m going to demonstrate giving head with enthusiasm. However, you are - as I am - forbidden to come.”
‘When you come - Not, if you come - you will be punished in a manner that will encourage enthusiasm for decades. Every time your tongue comes out you will think one word - enthusiasm!”
The slave bent forward, tongue at the ready. Maude grunted as if she had been shot. Her legs twisted in their bonds and her cuffs rattled as her body tightened. Seconds later she was panting, suddenly hoarse, and even more suddenly climaxing with a scream, part anxiety, part ecstasy and part fury at her own body.
“Could you feel my enthusiasm?” the slave demanded.
“Yes, Mistress. You were very enthusiastic.” Maude seemed bewildered by the ease with which she had been taken.
“You came. You will be punished for that later. Right now, while the feeling is fresh in your mind, you will eat me with your newfound enthusiasm. Frankly,” she sneered, “I doubt that you can even come close.”
Maude changed places with her, gritting her teeth in determination, anxious to prove she could do it. Her inhibitions fell by the wayside as she stuck her tongue out and curled it in anticipation.
The evening ended with more of a whimper than a bang. Dale and Stella returned from the shop and instilled new life into the slaves, who, even tired, had been performing at well over the norm. The slaves in turn re-encouraged the two women demanding more and more from them.
Dale was pacing from one room, across the house to the other. He had watched only the few seconds that it took to confirm that Phil was well versed in mastering his slave. Of Donald, he was not as sure. He was going through all the motions, and doing an effective job of dominating Dolly, but there seemed to be one or more elements missing. Watching the panic on Dotty’s face as she spread herself for a fresh licking on a clit that was untouchably sore, he hit upon the missing trait.
He also noted that the slave was moving with the slightest bit of awkwardness, legs well apart, testimony to having refused to give in to her student’s best efforts, thus avoiding punishment. She was not out of the woods yet, still facing punishment if her lessons didn’t ‘take.’ The slave was well aware that, depending on events, she might well get more punishment than her student. It was grossly unfair, but fairness is a concept that is alien to slavery.
He met Donald, coming out of Dotty’s room. Dale motioned toward the library. Donald sighed, almost relieved to relax for a few minutes. He complimented Dale, “Your scheme worked perfectly. Neither one has caught on to what we are doing to them. Swapping slaves between sessions has them utterly confused, but by God they are learning!”
Dale nodded, “This is one time when a crash course gets the job done. He paused, staring at his drink, and then stated, “Donald, as a friend, I need to talk to you about a very important aspect of your having a slave. You are doing all the right things, giving her the domination she craves, but there’s one thing missing... Trust.”
Donald jerked his head as if he had been slapped. “Trust? I’m sure she trusts me. What makes you think that?”
“I’ve had slaves, 24/7s and day trippers for nearly 20 years. You learn to read body language and their reactions to situations. Watching Dotty I was sure something was wrong. She needlessly panicked at a crucial point just now that I recognized. She is scared, rather than trusting, so you need to do something to turn her around.”
“For God’s sake! I’ve leaned over backward, done everything by the book. She has no reason to be afraid.”
“It’s her that you need to convince. And, she’s not a book. Some of it will work, but she’s an individual, different from everyone else, so you are going to have to learn what winds her clock. Otherwise, you will end up with a slave that means very little or nothing to you, instead of a very special person who has given her very life to you to control and run. All too many couples get into a Master/slave relationship for all the wrong reasons. Worse, it’s almost impossible to break off a relationship without permanent damage to one or both parties.”
“Point taken. I may - will - have to start from scratch to resolve this. You’ve opened up a whole new train of thought that I need to follow up on.”
“Really, I don’t think it is going to be a serious problem. Sit down with her and talk it out. She’s a top level masochist, so you will need to separate out her desire for domination and what you need to do to gain her full and complete submission. I strongly suspect that she is still playing this as a game. She may well balk and back out of your relationship when she finds she can’t play games. Unrestricted, absolute obedience is a concept that this generation has never - and probably will never learn.”
Dale admitted, “She’s learned a lot from our double team training. We can come back in three days for another session. I won’t say it’s the best way, but it works. Getting her own pussy eaten has taught her a lot, but the reciprocal munching is going to keep her walking bowlegged for a couple of days. Those two slaves have tongues that must be cast iron.”
He finished his drink and got up. Donald took his glass and put them on the sideboard for Dotty’s reincarnation as a French maid, to take them to the kitchen and wash them.
Stella slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll get the job done. I envy you with a slave to be, like her. She’s a dream come true for any man or woman she hooks up with.”
“I’ll do my best, so don’t hang around waiting for her to defect,” Donald joked. “Besides, you already have two very sharp slaves.” He teased, “You know, we might be able to work out a swap.”
“Oh, no! Don’t even think that. They are mine for life.”
“Well, let’s go see if they are making any progress.”
Dotty had quickly caught on that there were two slaves and that they were alternating her training with someone else. She caught a whiff of perfume when the second slave came in, It smelled familiar, but on a different body there was enough of a subtle change to keep her for a time from realizing that it was her mother’s favorite, that she reserved for special events.
The revelation came quickly after that. All the commotion at the door must have been her folks and the two slaves. That meant that Maude must be in the bedroom on the other side of the house and Maude was being ‘educated’ just as she was. What nearly blew her mind was the obvious fact that the two slaves were alternating and either being tongued or tonguing both of them. She couldn’t believe that two women could be made to teach other slaves the fine art of cunnilingus. Dotty already considered herself a slave and she knew her mother was probably already a full time slave. There was also the humiliation of knowing that her father had seen her naked body, bound to the bed.
At the moment her biggest concerns were two parts of her body. Her tongue felt like she had been licking sandpaper and it had simply collapsed in a puffy heap in the bottom of her mouth. The other part, again the analogy of sandpaper, was her clit, on fire, feeling like it had been scraped raw. While the slave was giving her one of her regular whippings for failing, she was taunted, “Wait until your master punishes you with a cat, which has a tongue like steel wool. A couple of drops of milk on your clit and you’ll be screaming fit to wake the dead.”
Dotty got an all too vivid picture of tongue damage and she shifted position slightly, drawing down the wrath of the slave.
“You moved! I’ll start over.”
Dale walked in, ignoring Dotty, speaking to his slave. “Finish her. Time to go home.”
The slave gave her the last three lashes. She ordered, “Tilt your head back as far as you can get it.”
“Too far. Move your head forward a little. Stop!”
“Now, stick your tongue out as far as you can get it, then curve it down on your chin. This is a punishment to remind you that a slave ALWAYS carries out an order. You were told to make me come. You didn’t. If you leave your tongue in position you will avoid five more.”
“Whap!”
Before Dotty could react to her words, a wooden ruler had struck her tongue, numbing it to the roots. She tried to yell, but she did succeed in keeping her tongue in position. Without a word the slave walked out of the room, leaving Dotty helpless on the bed.
Maude didn’t fare as well. She got the routine whipping for failure, then the slave announced, with a hint of glee in her voice, “You are due a special punishment, for a lack of enthusiasm and faking enjoyment.”
She held up a glittering metal clip, showing it first to Phil. He nodded.
“You get to wear this home to instill enthusiasm. Your Master will decide when you have changed your attitude and he will remove it. Any whining, begging or other noise I’m sure will only delay release. She bent down and opened the jaws, sliding the teeth up the side of her pussy lip, closing dangerously close to her clit. Maude grunted, in obvious pain.
“Next time - if you are stupid enough to do this twice - I’ll make sure it is better centered.”
Maude didn’t need a road map to know where it would go.
“And, you express your appreciation by...”
“Thank you, Mistress!”
She actually said it with enthusiasm, although her voice was close to cracking.
The slave knelt before Phil, returning the whip she had been using. Phil remained silent, uncertain whether he should acknowledge the offer. He took the whip and as the slave loosened Maude’s bonds and replaced the hobble chain, Phil speeded her off the bed and on her feet with the whip. At his nod the slave replaced the gag, ensuring that there would be no communication between the two women. Maude was still blindfolded and still unaware of where she was.
The next day, on the phone, Phil told Donald, “She stayed quiet as a mouse the whole ride home. I tied her on the bed and then just for kicks I got between her legs and offered to eat her. She threw a conniption fit, rattling off at least five things that she would do for me, or I could do to her, just begging up a storm to keep my tongue off her clit. She won’t forget last night for the rest of her life. She finished me off with a blowjob and damned if she wasn’t enthusiastic about doing that! Swallowed every drop without making a fuss.”
Dotty sailed through her training with pep and vigor, equally as motivated by the previous evening’s session. Donald found it difficult to fault her, even though she was obviously nursing her sore clit. Supper was superb, almost drawing a compliment from Donald. He had spent most of the day watching for the lack of trust that Dale had discussed. He wasn’t sure if he was talking himself into it, but he saw enough subtle signs to decide to have a talk with her.
When she finished in the kitchen he called her into the living room. She crawled from the door, kissing his feet when she reached her spot in front of him.
“Put the slave mode away. Until I tell you differently, you’re a wife rather than a slave. We need to talk and I want detailed answers.”
Suiting his actions to his words he reached down and drew her up to sit beside him on the couch.
“Does this mean I can get out of this damn suit?” she said with a giggle.
“Try taking it off if you are ready to keep your nose buried in the carpet forever.” His tone was as light as her giggle, but there was an undertone of “Don’t mess with the Master!”
“Dotty, like I said, we need to talk. I don’t think you trust me enough to be a Master for you.”
“I... No... Well, yes. I’m not able to keep up with your - to say the least - novel punishments. You keep surprising me, startling me, unexpected things, like putting me through the wringer at the hair shop. Having a slave train me to give head.”
“Frankly, and not bragging, you are getting excellent training, from me, from the girls at the shop and the slaves. As a slave you have to expect the unexpected at every turn. I’m beginning to suspect that the reason you are scared of the consequences is that to you, becoming - and being - a slave is just a game.”
“No! Absolutely not! It’s too serious to be a game!”
“Dotty, I’ve been married to you long enough to know when you are lying. Not only that, we talked about lying when we got married and we mutually promised never to lie to each other. You are lying like a rug - and if I remember correctly, we agreed on a spanking with the severity to be determined by the size of the lie. If there isn’t an immediate correction your ass is going to be sorer than your clit, if that’s possible. Care to reconsider your answer?”
Dotty blushed, caught out. Meekly she responded, “I do consider it as a game. A fun way to satisfy my masochism. I... I don’t want to face the reality of a life whose every moment is devoted to obeying your orders.”
“That’s where trust, and a few other things come in. Obeying orders is only one small area. The biggest part is devoting yourself to my happiness. Simply put, when your Master is happy, you are happy, enjoying a sense of accomplishment.”
She seemed genuinely puzzled. “What does trust have to do with that? I don’t expect you to choke me to death tomorrow for forgetting to put the coffee on. I just need to know where you are coming from.”
“Then, you do have some trust, or you wouldn’t be concerned with getting choked. I think you are missing some important parts of the relationship. For one thing, you will live to serve me, but I will spend a substantial amount of time ensuring that you are housed, clothed, bandaged if you get dinged - all things that I will do for my most prized possession.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek while she digested his words.
“I suspect you have a mental picture of yourself, naked, loaded with chains, attached to the wall downstairs, only of interest during the rare times I demand a blow job or deign to fuck you. That idea went out with the Middle Ages. You will lead a perfectly normal life, fully clothed, out and about, except for the symbol of your slavery that you will wear proudly. There’s a big bunch of mutual respect involved here. I am proud to have a beautiful woman as my slave. And you need to have pride in the Master you serve, who satisfies you at every turn.”
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t look at it that way - and of course you are right - I dream of a dungeon in the basement where I’m held captive at your whim.”
“Hardly any point in locking you up if it fulfils your dreams.”
“There’s a vast difference between fantasizing and the real thing. Chains can get uncomfortable in a few minutes. Fantasies, thank goodness, don’t hurt.”
“I’ve read of women whose dreams were so vivid they woke with welts from the fantasy whipping.”
“Sounds like my kind of fantasy. At least better than this fucking suit.”
“Dale is going to be unhappy if he finds out you don’t care for his torture suit. If I were you I’d be extremely careful of remarks like that. You can hurt, outside your fantasies.”
“I’m sorry. This is the worst itch I’ve ever had and it won’t go away.” Dotty was almost in tears.
“Be honest now. Don’t you think you deserve it?”
“Well... yes. But it’s been so long...”
“Part of your problem is that you’ve been referring to them as hair dressers. That went out years ago. They are hair stylists now. Can you say it,” he teased.
Dotty pouted, and then said it, her voice neutral.
“Meanwhile, back at trust,” he changed the subject.
She didn’t want to change.
“You put them up to all those things they did to me. I can’t trust you to send me somewhere without spoiling my day.”
“You said it, I didn’t. You weren’t sent to enjoy, you were sent as a punishment, for MY enjoyment. You earned some ‘specials’ along with the haircut. If you had looked at it from that perspective you would have made certain that I enjoyed your plight. I did, but not because you were ‘earning your pay’ so to speak.”
“You needed to look at the entire incident as a duty to your Master, trusting that if you behaved I would end the punishment. You’ve been festering ever since, unaware that I kept a close eye on you and made sure they didn’t exceed your capabilities. You should have heard some of the things they wanted to do that I stopped. For one thing I didn’t want you coming home looking like a ring toss game. You’ll get them in good time, rather than bunched up with a locked chain threaded through them.”
She shuddered at the thought. “I can see where I was wrong. I do trust you, I just never applied it to this slave thing.”
“Then that’s your first priority. Trust me to rescue you from a burning building, a sinking ship - and a bunch of angry hair stylists.” He paused.
“Would a slave share her Master’s bed tonight?”
She slipped into slave mode and was kneeling before him in a moment.
“Yes, Master!” With enthusiasm.