Slave Girl (11 page)

"We'll leave them on while we whip her. They add a certain—intensity. Don't worry, Barry. It does no permanent harm. Just makes them a little sore. Nothing she can't handle. Not a well trained slave girl like Jill.” Again the subtle challenge in his voice. Barry stiffened and stood back. Paul smiled and handed Barry the crop.

He leaned over and kissed Jill's mouth, whispering, “Do this for me, slave girl. I love you.” And then he used the crop, smacking her breasts and belly, avoiding the swaying chain and the clips that held her poor nipples captive.

He smacked her thighs and the tops of her breasts. He smacked her flat belly and the sides of her lean body. The chain swayed between her breasts with each blow from the crop, but the clamps stayed firmly in place. Jill found that the pain had lessened and her nipples felt almost numb. She could take this! She let her head fall back, and let her body flow with the crop, riding the pain, feeling it transmute to pleasure.

Suddenly her nipples were on fire! She opened her eyes and saw that Paul had released the clamps. She hissed with pain as the blood flowing back into her nipples made all her tortured nerve endings scream. Watching her, knowing exactly what she was experiencing, though Barry did not, Paul aimed and then smacked first one and then the other nipple, hard, with the crop.

Jill's yell pierced the air and pain exploded from her nipples like red hot fire branding her psyche. Her head fell forward and Jill was gone. She had fainted.

She came to moments later and found herself on the chaise lounge in their playroom, a blanket tucked up around her shoulders. She heard the men talking out in the hall. Then Barry heard her stir, and ran over, kneeling next to her.

"Are you ok, sweetheart? You passed out."

"I'm ok, I think. What happened?” She felt confused, disoriented.

"I guess Paul was a little rough. He didn't realize how sensitive your nipples are, I guess. I'm sorry, darling. I shouldn't have let him...” She stopped him with a finger to his lips. She didn't like it when he apologized. In her mind, a ‘real’ dom didn't apologize, no matter what. But also she was glad he was concerned, and that he was there protecting her from that bully.

"Well,” he said, “if you're ok, I'll just go say goodnight to Paul.” When he returned, he carried her to their bed and made love to her with a fierce passion. When he made her come, they both thought of Paul. Jill's orgasm was searing and left her completely spent. And when Barry ejaculated into her soon after, he cried out with passion, riding her like a beast. Yes, Paul had left the house, but he was still with them.

The weeks passed and Barry had to return to work. Each morning he locked his slave girl into her chastity belt, forcing her to wait all day to pee. She learned not to drink during the day. She did her exercises at home, not able to workout in public with that contraption possibly showing beneath her shorts. Because her pussy was encased, she was constantly aware of it, and constantly aroused. When Barry came home, the first thing he did was unlock her belt, and then feel her hot wet pussy.

He liked to watch her pee in the shower, and then he would make her come. Sometimes she would come by her own hand, right there on the bathroom floor. He would smile and ask her if she had behaved that day, knowing of course that she had, since she had no choice. “Come for me, slut,” he would demand.

She would lie back, naked, and spread her legs for him so he could see her pretty pussy. Then her long fingers would swirl and play until she let her head fall back, sighing sweetly. She liked to play in front of Barry, knowing he loved to stare at her lithe body and her own hands making her hot. She would come fast, because of waiting all day for this release. He would let her, just to ‘take the edge off’ he would say. And then the real fun would begin.

He would bind her, gag her, whip her, fuck her, and all of it was fun. But it was play. Somehow they both sensed this now, and somehow, unspoken between them, there was a sense of dissatisfaction. And it had to do with Paul. Jill found herself thinking about him. What would Paul do in a certain situation, how would Paul react, what would Paul expect from her? Barry was so head over heels crazy about her that he often let his romantic feelings overcome his dominant ones. She would press the envelope, test or challenge him secretly, by disobeying some rule or command, and he would overlook it, because she was his sweetheart and really he just wanted to please her.

Not that he wasn't a good lover, or a dominant one. He still used her and beat her, treating her like the slut she was, and she loved it. But the edge wasn't there. That edge of, what was it? Fear? Perhaps it was the fear, the uncertainty, of not knowing just what would happen. The risk factor, the danger. The same sensation she had unknowingly sought when she had those brief affairs. She was looking for that element of risk, that willingness of another to take her farther than she herself felt she could go.

Paul had hinted at these limits, and she was sure he could take her there. And yet she felt disloyal and confused for having these feelings. And she didn't even like the man! An arrogant insufferable person who thought only of himself and his own pleasure. And yet, when he had been there, she had been alive! Thrilled and excited to her bones. Vibrant and ready for a challenge.

Barry also felt that something was lacking, though he was more content than Jill. He sensed that Jill wasn't as enthralled as she had been with their arrangements, and that sometimes she almost seemed to just be ‘going through the motions.’ He loved her passionately, and wanted to get that thrill back. He couldn't bear the thought of her turning elsewhere for her pleasures, as she had before.

Barry still deeply admired Paul, and they communicated regularly online via email and instant messenger. But their talks were mostly limited to esoteric discussions about the art and poetry of Domination and submission. Paul rarely asked after Jill, and didn't seem to take much interest in her, which piqued Barry slightly, as he was used to other men ogling and coveting her. And Paul had seen her almost naked!

One day while they were chatting online, Barry dared to voice some of his concern. The spark, he worried, might be leaving their relationship. What did Paul recommend?

"She's soft, Barry. She isn't a slave. She's a lover. She's your slut. But I think she needs more. I watched her when I was there. She needs to be pushed, and she can go much farther than you've taken her. What you need, I think, is a higher plane of submission. You need to teach her to suffer."

Their typing was too slow, so Barry called Paul on the phone, and they talked long and seriously. Barry was shaken, but intrigued, by what Paul suggested. Paul told him about his own slaves, of which he had a number over the years. Sometimes he had more than one, but he found that just one at a time was best, because then he could really focus on their training without the added overlay of jealously between the women that served him.

He didn't focus on sexual pleasure the way Barry did. He outlined specific training plans, where a woman was reduced in stages from slut to whore to slave. Debasement and humiliation were as crucial as the whip, he explained. “They have to be willing to do anything for you.
Anything
, do you understand? There is nothing you would ask that they would not willingly do. And that includes eating your shit, if you ask. It includes servicing others, for pay or for free, if you ask. It included branding, piercing, or anything else you choose to do to their flesh, because it is your flesh, yours to do with as you please.

"For me, Barry, it isn't a game. It isn't a diversion or sexual pastime. It's a calling. It's a duty to the slave, to give her not what she thinks she wants, but what she needs. And I know what they need, Barry. They are so easy. And if you can give a submissive woman what she truly needs, then she really is yours, totally and completely. And there is nothing, nothing more intense in this world, than the kind of bond that can be formed between a willing master and his willing slave."

And to his credit, Barry tried. He was rough with Jill, and demanded that she do shocking things, like let him pee on her back and her cunt. She acquiesced to everything he demanded, and this emboldened him to try more. But he couldn't go past a certain limit.

He couldn't beat her till he drew blood, for example, which Paul said was essential if you were to push their envelope, to stretch their limits. He couldn't piss in her mouth, even though she knelt before him like a little bird waiting, when he had told her he was going to do it. He couldn't stand to have her sleep on the floor; he needed her in his arms. The problem, he realized, was that he loved her too much, and he couldn't reconcile her possible need for debasement with his own romantic feelings toward her. And then an idea slowly formed.

Paul could do it. He wouldn't be confused by love, as Barry was. He could give Jill what she needed, and leave the loving to Barry. But would Jill fall in love with Paul? Barry didn't think so. She didn't like the man, and had said so, openly and often, after he had left. But she would respond to his torture, and Barry would be right there to make sure things went the way he wanted. If Paul would agree.

When he broached the subject he was hesitant, afraid of overstepping the bounds of their friendship. But Paul was open to it and even intrigued. “You know, I have my own slave at home. I wouldn't want to bring Jill here."

"No, of course not!” Barry said. “I wouldn't want that either."

"Barry, if you want me to do this, you can't always be there hovering like some old nanny. You're going to have to trust me. And to trust Jill. The first step is to turn her from slut to whore. That means you need to give her to me to use, sexually. You need to extract that from her, that willingness to give her body,
your body
, to someone else. Someone she doesn't like."

"Oh, Jill never said..."

"Stop, Barry. Of course she doesn't like me. She isn't supposed to like me. I don't want her to like me. That makes it more of an act of submission, don't you see? She is going to submit to you, by allowing herself to be used by another. If you can get past the idea of another man with your wife, if you can appreciate that what you are doing is taking her down to the level she needs to be at to be fulfilled, then you will be taking a vital step in your relationship as master and slave. The first step is to give her to me. I will use her and teach her some humility. I will keep her for a weekend. If you can agree to that, I will agree to help you with the next stage, of turning her from whore to slave. When that happens, she will be yours forever."

Barry wrestled with his own jealous feelings, and with the longing he realized he had for the security of what Paul was offering. His forever. Never having to second guess and wonder if his Jill was with another man, or thinking of another man. He would become her world. He wanted it so bad he could taste it. He said, “A weekend. You stay here. I trust you."

"Aren't you going to ask Jill?"

"No. I'm going to tell her."

It was 8:30 on a Friday night. Jill was dressed like a whore in a tight black leather skirt, no panties, high black heels. Her breasts were pushed up and forward by a black leather pushup bra and her face was bright with garish makeup. She was waiting in their front hall for Paul to arrive. She felt ridiculous in this getup which Barry had purchased and insisted she wear. But beyond that, she was afraid. Afraid, and if she were honest, excited.

When Barry had informed her that he was ‘giving her’ to Paul for the weekend, Jill's first reaction was a horrified, “No!"

Barry was calm as he reminded her of the terms of their contract, and informed her that he wasn't asking her permission, as she had relinquished that right some time ago. “We need to move to a new level of training, Jill. It begins now. Paul will be here this weekend, and he has my permission to use you as he sees fit. Just think of him as an extension of me. He will be doing my bidding by teaching you what he has to offer. I trust him, and that should be enough for you."

Jill had stilled while Barry spoke, feeling almost hypnotized by his words. She had never been able to get Paul out of her mind, though she never spoke of it. Her feelings confused her because she didn't like the man. She didn't like his looks, or his arrogance, or his seeming indifference toward her considerable sexual charms. And he was nearly twice her age! Yet something about him was so compelling, so attractive to her that she often found herself wondering what he would do or how he would react.

And now Barry was speaking in his deep sexy voice, telling her this man was going to have complete control over her this weekend. And she would be safe, because Barry would never let him really harm her. After all, he would be right there. Then Barry said, “I'll be staying in the city this weekend. I'll have my phone, of course, if you need me, but I expect you'll be, uh, occupied.” He smiled and let his finger trail down her check to her breast.

"What? You won't be here?"

"Of course not. It would only interfere with his training. And listen, Jill. I'm giving you totally to him. That means sexually. If he wants to fuck you, or have you suck his cock, you do it. And do it with grace. This isn't about you. It's about him and me. If you deny him, or resist him, then you disgrace
me
. Am I understood?"

Jill stared at him, stunned. This possessive man was
giving her
to someone else? Sexually? While her mind rebelled, her body had already gotten the message, sending little shivers of anticipation to her pussy. She pretended outrage, and then submission, but inside she was deeply excited and even eager.
Now
she would get the upper hand at last. She was confident that sexually at least, she could control that strange cold man. This was her area and she had never yet met a man she couldn't ultimately control with her pussy.

Now Jill was kneeling by the door, thighs spread, pussy peeking out from her short tight skirt. She felt embarrassed in this obvious whorish outfit, but she also realized that that was the point. As the door opened, Jill felt her insides clench, but she held her head high, waiting for Paul to enter.