The Slave (23 page)

Robin instantly knew more about Chris than
she could have ever dreamed he would reveal.

She gasped, and he turned to her, his face
as stonily disapproving as always.

“
Easily distracted,” he snapped, even
as Reynolds belted the robe and walked back over to stand above the
two slaves.

“
No, she completed her task,” he said,
examining Leon over the boy’s shoulder.

Chris’s voice was gruff. “Turn and present
your cunt.”

A simple turn, and then her head went down,
and her ass up, and her thighs spread apart. An easy pose to
remember, with that added thrusting of her hips that put a slight
arch in her back and raised the soft mound of her cunt up for
inspection or chastisement or penetration.

Or all three.

“
Go to it, boy,” came Gordon’s deep
voice. “And hard.”

And in an instant, that cock she had so
gently kissed and covered was sliding into her, filling her from a
different angle, thrusting deep from the first stroke. She mewed
like a cat, and buried her mouth against her clenched hands as Leon
began to rapidly slam his cock back and forth along her moistened
walls, the friction pulling at her lips.

She felt the waves growing
again, and with the punishing speed of his rutting, she cried out
again.
Like
master, like man
, she thought with a dizzying wave of pleasure.
Oh yes, take me,
fill me, fuck me!

His own climax came shortly after hers, as
he extended his body against her back, pushing his knees against
hers, opening her up further, and pressing her down to the
floor.

And there they lay, gasping together, wet
with their sweat and Robin’s juices.

And Robin dared, as she felt the weight of
Leon move from her back, to shift in her position long enough to
raise her head just a little bit, her mouth open and panting, to
look toward the bed. Once again, what she saw was like an
electrical shock through her body, sending tingles of awareness to
parts of her she thought were finally sated.

For Gordon and Chris were kissing now,
Gordon leaning forward, one arm wrapped comfortably around the
younger man’s shoulder. Chris had one arm wrapped low, around
Gordon’s waist. The other hand was inside the robe. It was
strikingly erotic, like watching something she had only dreamed
of.

When they broke their embrace and turned to
the two slaves, it was Chris who broke the silence.

“
You may play with Robin if you wish,
Leon. But we will have coffee and brandy at one o’clock in the
living room, with the two of you nicely displayed. I’m leaving the
details up to you.”

“
Yes, sir! Thank you, sir.” Leon’s
smile returned to his face in all its glory.

And the two men left, without another word.
Robin stared after them, her mouth still open, her eyes bright with
confusion. Then she looked at Leon, who was getting up to examine
the wall of toys exposed by one of the locking cabinets. Bouncing
on the balls of his feet, he picked up a riding crop and a gag
shaped like a bit. With that same familiar grin, he turned back to
her.

“
Play?” Robin managed to gasp
out.

“
Yep! Ever play horsey with a Texan,
darlin’?”

Robin could only shake her head.

“
Oh, good! Been a long time since I
broke a filly!” In an instant, he was down next to her again,
turning her forcefully over onto her back and pinching her nipples
roughly. She gasped, but submitted to his touches, even when he
brought up the evil little clamps that bit into her and hurt so
much. But on they went, despite her whimpers of pain, and she only
bowed her head as he put her back on her hands and knees and pulled
her ass cheeks apart. She felt him press some lubrication into that
tight crevice and moaned.

“
Why?” Her voice was ragged, overrun
with lust and fear. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“
Because I can, sweet stuff. I ain’t
had my pole in a hole since... Hell, at least since Christmas. And
you’ll see, darlin’. Once you’re in the service, you’ll love takin’
care of the new puppies.” He came around in front of her and
slipped the bit into her mouth and licked playfully at her tears.
“Oh yes you will, sugar. You know we all do.”

Robin’s Story: First Contact

Much later, when the two visitors had
dressed and gone back to their apartment and Chris had freed her
from the stringent but decorative bondage that Leon had devised to
display her well-marked and well-fucked body, Robin finally
collapsed in harsh tears. Her shoulders shook as the sounds of
crying wrenched through all of her self-control, and the very fight
against them made the tears flow even faster.

To her numbed surprise, Chris did not stay
in the room when she cried, but left her silently, offering neither
chastisement nor comfort.

But when she raised her head and sniffed and
wiped her tears on a napkin, he returned, holding a glass of water.
With a gesture that instructed her to keep her hands at her sides,
he allowed her to sip some water while he held the glass. And when
he sat down and crossed his leg over his knee, she eased back into
a comfortable kneeling position and sniffed again.

“
I’m sorry,” she said
softly.

“
You should be. Losing control like
that is almost inexcusable. Almost, of course, because some owners
not only expect it, but cultivate it. Others may use it as an
excuse for more sex play. But most would consider it to be an act
which effectively barred them from being able to make productive
use of you.” He looked around, patted his pocket absently, and then
glanced at the hallway. He turned back to her. “Go get
them.”

Robin got up, her knees still shaky, and
went to the master bedroom. The huge, dark bed held a tangled and
rumpled pile of blankets. One pillow was on the floor, and two
condom wrappers. The cigarettes were on the nightstand, next to a
cock ring. The room smelled like salt and tobacco and something
slightly sweet. It was heavy, oppressive, and utterly
masculine.

She shivered suddenly, and went back to the
comforting light of the living room. Chris lit up immediately and
waved the smoke away, pointing back to where she had been sitting.
“Now tell me about the tears.”

There was a comfortable silence between them
while she thought. How normal this little ritual had become,
talking about things which she had held as tightly as secret oaths,
she on her knees, shorn of any covering, while he sat in fully
clothed comfort, his head crowned with smoke.

“
You couldn’t have known...” She stopped,
blinked, and organized her thoughts again. “It was always a fantasy
of mine. To be given away. Or, not really given, but
loaned.”

“
Go on.”

“
It was something that Maria used to tease
me with, but I always knew―really knew―that she wouldn’t do it. I
used to imagine what might happen if she did, but I couldn’t
suspend reality to see her actually do it. So I tried not to think
about it anymore. I figured that the less I used it in my
fantasies, the less I’d be disappointed when she teased me about it
again.”

“
But we’ve spoken about Maria,” Chris
interrupted. “This is more than your memories of her.”

“
Yes. Yes, it is.” Robin prodded herself a
little, searching for more tears. But they had all been cried out;
she was calmer now. She took another deep breath, rubbed her
reddened wrists absently and met Chris’s eyes with her
own

“
It was Troy,” she explained. “When
Troy mentioned one day―and it was an idle thing, just off the cuff,
‘I’m thinking of loaning you to her,’ I believed him.
Utterly.

“
I suppose I should start at the beginning.
This happened while we were still a strong couple. We were at his
place one night and he started talking about an old friend who was
living in another state. He hadn’t seen her in a few years, but it
sounded like they’d had a little history together. He mentioned
that she had contacted him and that she was going to be in the city
on a certain weekend, and that he was looking forward to seeing her
again, to catch up on what she’d been doing. And then he said that.
That he was also thinking of loaning me to her, to let her play
with me.

“
The first thing I thought was, ‘Oh,
no! I couldn’t do that!’ The next thing I thought was, ‘But that
would show that I really belonged to him, wouldn’t it?’ And in that
instant, I felt a need I never had before. He voiced it, and his
intention became my desire. Even though I never met the woman, even
though she might have been of no interest to me sexually. All that
mattered was that he had set a new boundary....”

The woman never materialized. Whether she
had changed her plans or Troy had forgotten his intentions, Robin
never found out. But the idea remained. Robin remembered Troy’s
casual announcement with a combination of anxiety and contentment.
Anxiety over how it would eventually happen, and with whom. But
content in the knowledge that Troy had such confidence in her
obedience to him and in his ownership of her that he would so
casually suggest such a thing. She could hardly wait for the
opportunity to come up. She would have a wonderful way of proving
her loyalty and devotion to him.

And
certainly
,
she thought at the time,
Troy would not loan me to someone without some
mark of ownership on me. Perhaps a collar. Perhaps―something
else.

As time passed, Robin kept herself aware of
Troy’s friends, making notes about their preferences and habits in
her mind whenever she had a chance to learn them.

Not only will I be
obedient
,
she thought with a sense of satisfaction
, but I will be on my best behavior
and whoever gets me will think that Troy has to be the best master
in the world. They’ll think I was the best trained, most eager
slave they ever met.

But Troy never brought up the subject again.
And as their relationship continued, Robin began feeling a familiar
sense of doubt. Unlike Maria, Troy always maintained that certain
distance, keeping them apart as master and slave. There was very
little of the slipping of roles that had threatened and finally
ended her previous relationship. But at the same time, there was
little forward movement either. As soon as she learned certain
things, Troy’s regular training sessions halted.

“
You’re just about perfect,” he told
her one evening, when she dared to ask him why this was so. “If I
trained you any further, there wouldn’t be enough left for you to
be punished over.” He chuckled and she had smiled,
blushing.

But when she thought about it, it was clear
to her that she was nowhere near perfection. Her behavior did vary,
sometimes depending on her mood and sometimes because she just
forgot something. And even though Troy could usually be counted
upon to notice and react, his reactions started to shift toward
acceptance of her faults and forgiveness rather than reinforcement
of correct behavior.

One night, at the ending of yet another
seminar about their sexuality (during which Robin struggled to stay
awake and look intelligent and happy), Troy and Robin ended up
involved in a discussion with some other couples about roles and
behavior. Robin was surprised to hear Troy bragging about how well
schooled and behaved she was, and how genuine she was compared to
other women he had played with in the past.

“
No, this one’s for real,” he had
said, placing an arm around her shoulders in an uncharacteristic
gesture of pride. “I don’t know how much longer she’ll be content
with me! I’ve already made her perfect.”

And the people had laughed and the topic
turned to someone else’s relationship. And Robin went home that
evening with a profound sense of confusion.

The questions compounded with every minute
of thought she devoted to her situation. Why did Troy believe that
she was perfect in her role when it was patently clear to her that
she was not? And why, if she was indeed so “perfect,” did he not
choose to make their relationship more formal, to place some sort
of visible claim on her? Thus far, the closest he had come to that
was using a high training collar during some of their sessions. But
it was a toy, and not a mark of ownership.

Among their friends, they had seen many
examples of such distinctions. Collars were common to be sure, but
even they varied in form and substance. Simple leather bands that
fastened with buckles, silver and gold chains with delicate locks
on them, steel bands, woven and beaded chokers; each one showed the
nature of the people using it as well as the style of relationship
they had.

But collars were only the most obvious.
Other people wore everything from bracelets to body chains to nose,
nipple, cock, labia, or even belly button piercings. Still others
had markings made on their flesh with tattoo inks or scalpels or
even heated iron. In fact, they had been to at least two
demonstrations of such arts, and acted as formal witnesses to the
binding pact between two friends of theirs.

(Who subsequently broke up three months
later, but that seemed somewhat beside the point.)

And what about the things that Troy spoke
about but never did? One was his announcement that she would or
could be loaned, but there had been others as well. He spoke about
extending his control over her to such a point that she would be
going to work with some kind of harness beneath her clothing,
holding some kind of penetrating toy within her body during the
day. Or once, he spoke of the possibility of their attending some
kind of fundraising mock slave auction, where he would offer her to
a crowd of strangers, stripping her on a stage under bright lights
and showing her off.