The Slave
by
Laura Antoniou
Published by Luster Editions
an imprint of Circlet Press, Inc.
Cambridge, MA
The Slave by Laura Antoniou
Copyright © 2010 by Laura Antoniou
Smashwords Edition
An earlier edition was published by Masquerade Books in 1994 and a second edition by Mystic Rose Books in 2001.
First Luster Editions release February 2011
Ebook preparations by JimandZetta.com
Cover Art Credits:
Art Direction: Madison Young
Photography: Malia Schlaefer
Models: Minx, Simon, Saxon MacLeod, and Lilac Wine
Location: The SF Armory: The Upper Floor
Published by Luster Editions, an imprint of
Circlet Press, Inc.
39 Hurlbut Street
Cambridge, MA 02138
www.circlet.com
License Notes
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The Marketplace Series
The Marketplace
The Slave
The Trainer
The Academy
The Reunion
The Inheritor (forthcoming)
Contents
Chapter Three: Robin's Story: Games of Youth
Chapter Five: Robin's Story: The Soloist
Chapter Seven: Robin's Story: Maria's Girl
Chapter Nine: Robin's Story: Troy's Real Thing
Chapter Eleven: Robin's Story: First Contact
Chapter Thirteen: Robin's Story: Bank Shot
Chapter One
New York City, Autumn
The traffic in the streets below the hotel echoed upward, pushing through the window, which was cracked open for fresh air. The city was restless; the pulse of the weekend had reached its frenzy. The customized horn of a wedding limousine blared out the identity of the newlyweds that the dark-haired woman had passed in the lobby. The sound made her want to jump, but she held herself still with practiced tension.
The man sitting in the high-backed chair paid no attention to the tacky sound of the horn, or to her for that matter. His eyes were busy scanning the papers in front of him, turning them over in patient, careful movements that didn’t betray the slightest interest in their contents.
The urge to speak, to cough, to shift her body into a more relaxed position, to pour a glass of water from the sweating pitcher on the room service tray, all hit Robin at once. She had been standing still since she handed the file to him; he didn’t seem to notice. She pushed all the thoughts aside with an almost angry strength. I will be patient, she chanted inwardly. I am patience.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” His voice was a rough tenor, a singer after a grueling concert, a student at four a.m. It was also loud; it broke the silence and Robin’s efforts to be calm.
“Please,” Robin said. Her own voice shook, almost imperceptibly. When the man looked up, she swallowed hard and continued, “I’m unsure of the proper courtesy to show you, sir.”
He nodded. “Very nice. Why don’t you sit down on the couch for now? It’s already been a long night.”
Robin nodded and sat, smoothing her skirt neatly down her lap. Sitting made it easier to relax into a more proper attitude. She took a long, softly casual look at her inquisitor.
He was older than she, but had the kind of face that refused to betray its years. His short, black hair was very thick, and showed a slight tendency to curl, but was trimmed back so severely that Robin knew he would get it cut again soon. A sparse mustache and the vaguest of five o’clock shadows gave him a scholarly look, or, as she remembered in the dim light of the bar last night, the look of a terrorist. He wore tinted glasses in heavy steel frames. Today, he was dressed in a crisply clean, long-sleeved shirt and a muted tie. His jacket was draped across the arm of the other chair in the sitting room.
There was no sign of the leather jacket he had been wearing last night.
He finished with the papers and stowed them neatly back into their folder. Then he sat in silence, until Robin began to imagine that she could hear the swishing sound of the second hand on her watch. The silence was as oppressive as any heavy hand she had ever felt. She wanted to bend to it. For a brief moment, to her horror, a flush of shame and thrill passed over her, as clear to her interviewer as the strident horns of the taxis below.
The corner of his mouth rose in a twitch of a smile.
“You’re very good,” he said, leaning over to retrieve his jacket. “Tell me what your instinct was telling you to do.”
Robin’s mouth went dry. She licked her lips and coughed a little to clear her throat. “I wanted to kneel,” she whispered.
“I know that. But there’s more.” He pulled a cigarette box from one pocket and snapped it open.
“I wanted to make obeisance at your feet.” Robin’s voice was still at a whisper. Her blush fairly glowed.
“Show me how you were trained to do that,” the man said, leaning back into his chair.
Robin rose, quickly but without any jerky movements. In two steps, she was in front of him, but still outside of arm’s reach. With grace, she knelt, lowering her body to the carpet, and then continued the movement seamlessly until her forehead brushed the fibers. She could smell the chemical scent of the cleaners. It struggled with the richer scent of the well worn, polished leather boots now within her reach. She held perfectly still.
“You may,” came the voice from above. The man sounded faint, his tones overrun by the pounding in Robin’s ears. She raised her head a few inches and placed one careful, soft kiss on each boot, firm enough to let him feel her presence, light enough not to leave the faintest smudge of her lips. Then, she retreated back and lowered her head again.
“Very nice,” the man repeated. “Please seat yourself again.”
She rose up to her knees and looked at him, her eyes meeting his. “Thank you.”
“Oh, you’re quite welcome.” As she sat down again, he lit a cigarette. “Do you smoke?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s good. You would have to quit, you know.”
Robin leaned forward, her heart pounding. “Does that mean that you’re accepting me?”
“Yes. Your records are acceptable, your spotter is well known to me, and your behavior is impeccable. I just wanted you to realize that when you enter the Marketplace, you are not permitted to retain any addictions.” He smiled suddenly. “Except of course, for the obvious one.”
She smiled back despite the echoes of panic which resounded in her. “The addiction to submission?”
“To being owned, yes. That’s a prerequisite. We weren’t formally introduced last night. I am Chris Parker.”
“Thank you,” Robin said politely. “I’m sure you know all about me now.”
“What, this?” He waved his hand over the folder. “No, that doesn’t tell me much about you. It tells me how you’ve experienced some minor forms of service, which is helpful, but it couldn’t possibly tell me anything about how genuine your devotion is, or how serious you are about a potential commitment, or how profound your need for this kind of life is. Those things I can only learn from you. I will need to test you some more, and to train you in the specific areas of behavior and service that I require any client of mine to possess before I present them for sale.”
Client! Robin swallowed hard. When they called me a slave, I wasn’t, and now that I am, they don’t call me one. She resisted the urge to giggle, but her shoulders relaxed just a little bit more.
“I would love to have the opportunity to show you my dedication.” Robin’s eyes danced. “These are things I’ve been thinking about for years. No, not only thinking about, but dreaming about. Trying to do, in some way or another. This is something I’ve wanted all my life.”
“All your life? That’s impressive. Tell me.” Chris flicked ashes into the glass ashtray beside him.
“Everything? From the beginning?”
“That’s the traditional place to start a story.”
Robin frowned for a moment, considering. Where do I begin, she wondered. What is the real beginning here? When I was little? Those games we used to play? Or when I first realized what power the fantasies had? Or with Maria? Or Troy?
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, suddenly aware of time moving around her. Parker hadn’t moved an inch, except to bring the cigarette up and down again.
“I’m so excited... so, relieved, I guess. But scared, too. This is turning out to be harder than I thought.”
“I won’t tell you to relax,” Chris said with a slight smile. “But you shouldn’t be trying to impress me with your story. I’m much more interested in the things you remember as important.”
“But I remember everything,” Robin laughed. “And I’m not sure what’s important. I mean... it all was. And... and... nothing was.” She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “I’m sorry. Now that I have a real chance, suddenly I’m nervous.”
“Naturally. It’s all right to be nervous.” Chris ground the stub of his cigarette into the glass, twisting it down until the last sliver of smoke vanished. “Tell me about your first sexual experience as an adult, if that makes it simpler.”
Robin nodded gratefully. “That’s easy. But you’ll laugh.” When Chris remained silent, she blushed again and lowered her head. Everything depends on this interview, she reminded herself. He’s accepted me for now, but I can still mess things up. I have to be perfect.
“I was at college,” she began.
* * * *
“Greg? Do you have the... things?”
“Sure, baby, right in my pocket.” Greg Carneson, basketball player, drummer, and communications major, patted his hip pocket with a knowing chuckle. “I wasn’t going to forget. I mean, how could I? With you writin’ it down and everything. That was a nice letter, babe. No one ever wrote me nothin’ like that before.” He grinned and shifted his knapsack onto one shoulder. “I wish we had a nicer place to go, though.”
Robin laughed nervously. People passing them raised their heads to follow the sound and saw a really cute couple. Greg was tall, with raggedly cut blond hair and a tight T-shirt that displayed his team number. Robin always looked like she stepped out of a soap commercial, her face bright and slightly pointy, her burnt mahogany hair swinging free around her shoulders in soft curls. Neither one would ever be picked out as a beauty, but they were young and healthy and seemingly happy, and that made up for all their minor imperfections. They complemented each other, tall and slight, massive and elfin, fair and dark. Even their eyes―Greg’s an uncomplicated bright blue and Robin’s a deep amber-brown―were as different as possible.
“We’ll just have to make do,” Robin replied, eyeing her boyfriend’s pocket.
Oh no, was her real thought. I don’t believe it. He just brought condoms, the idiot! What the hell did he think I was writing about?
As she followed him to the parking lot, she tried to remember everything she had written about in that oh-so-hard-to-write letter. I was as clear as I could get, she thought desperately. What do I have to do, scream it out? Serves me right for going out with a jock. She bit her lip, trying to figure out what to do. Damn it! I shouldn’t have to do all this! Doesn’t he get it?
They had been dating for about two months. They had met in the gym, where they had been eyeing the same karate class. In the end, he didn’t have time to take it, but Robin enrolled. And since she was in the gym so much anyway, she came to watch him shoot baskets and drill with the coach. Soon, they were going for lunch together, and then, wham, they were dating.
And of course, everyone knows what eventually happens when you date someone. What Greg was absolutely oblivious to was the fact that Robin had never gotten to that “eventuality” before. Nor, apparently, after all of her careful hints and coaching, had he gotten around to understanding her more specific desires.
A terrible, nervous weight settled in her stomach. Oh God, why am I doing this? was the thought that rustled through her consciousness as she followed Greg silently to the car, smiled blankly when he sang along with a love song on the radio, and then nodded when he pulled into a parking space near the off campus frat house where his friend was going to let him borrow his bedroom.
In the end, all that Greg had brought was the condom in his pocket. No scarves, nothing to bind her or to blindfold her, or anything. And if he’d seen any of the movies she had suggested he rent and watch or bring with him, his style certainly didn’t show it.
Because the minute he closed the door behind him, he was all over her. His big hands encircled her body in a rush, and he kissed her hard and long, the way they kissed after at least twenty minutes of warm-up stroking, nibbling and licking. As he slid his fingers up inside her sweater, his sole concession to romance was whispering “Oh, babe, I’ve wanted this forever.” Followed immediately by, “But we gotta get outta here by eight.”
Robin tried to think of what she was doing as submitting to his desires. She allowed him to lead her to the bed, passively standing and turning for him as he pulled her clothing open, up, down, off. She closed her eyes to his kisses, to his glee as he fingered and then gently kneaded her breasts, but it just didn’t work. Her disappointment over his lack of attention to her careful hints was so overwhelming, and his eagerness was so clean-cut and so achingly stereotypical!
His own body was as handsome as his face, a strong chest and beautiful long legs. And her first sight of an erect male organ wasn’t disappointing; it was about the size she had expected, and Greg was fresh from showering after practice. She reached out to touch it, and he fairly purred.
Her imagination switched on, and she heard his purr change to a growl. “Do you like it, baby? Tell me you like it, slut. Tell me how much you want to kiss it. Get down there and make me believe that you love this cock. ’Cause I’m gonna slam it right down your throat, baby, and you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna take this cock any way I give it to you, aren’t you?”
Instead, in cold reality, he quickly guided her backwards to the bed and practically fell on top of her. He shifted to find a good position, trying not to lean an elbow on her, kissing her when he could, trying to keep at least one hand on her tits. And then, he remembered the rubber in his pocket and had to go back to get it, leaving her lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She looked over to one side of the room, where the frat boy had pinned up about a dozen overlapping beer posters, all featuring big-chested girls in skimpy bikinis, running around at the beach, their hands full of dark, sweaty bottles. She looked back down at her own body, with her small breasts and her short legs, and felt a sudden wave of inadequacy.
By the time Greg got back, fumbled around in his idea of foreplay for a little while longer and then heaved himself up to put the condom on, she found herself wishing that the experience would be as painful as some of her romance novels suggested it was; instead, it felt a little like a lightning-fast cramp.
She then tried to imagine that he was someone else. Her very distant and cold Italian teacher, for example. Or maybe, if she squeezed her eyes really tight, she could believe that he was a pirate, a dashing serial villain, holding her maiden’s body in his rough, churlish hands, breathing the scent of rum into her face, growling curses and taunts.
Yes, that was it! Or, maybe, when Greg was done, he would leap off of her, pull a pair of handcuffs out of his knapsack, and snap them on her while she lay back in an exhausted swoon. Then, with a leer, he would tell her that the price for the room was her body―and that all the boys in the house would be by to sample her charms. And they would come, first to ogle, and then to paw at her, and then to finally thrust their way into her body, again and again...Yes... yes....
But before she could work that fantasy into a proper orgasm, he was done, his body heavy and sweaty over hers, his breath as stale as any pirate’s, a wet, limp bag of latex dripping across her thigh and onto the musty sheets.
And to make matters so much worse, he nuzzled her throat gently, whispered, “Oh, baby, baby, that was great! Was it good for you, too?”
* * * *
“And it took every ounce of strength I had not to laugh in his face,” Robin remembered, her own face finally showing her amusement. “I went to bed that night thinking that if I couldn’t get this all-American jock to tie me up and spank me, then I wasn’t going to get anywhere. It was such a letdown!”
“It was better than what many people have,” Chris commented. “You did choose him, and he did not harm you.”
Robin blushed, but nodded. “I know. But I still feel like I really messed that up. I should have waited... I should have been clearer about what I needed. I mean, I wrote these little coy phrases in this love letter, about wanting to be swept away, and be made powerless―but I never really said, ‘Hey, Greg, I want you to tie me up and pretend you’re a pirate, OK?’” When Chris didn’t respond right away, she leaned forward a little and continued. “If I had waited, I might have been able to give it to someone―maybe to Maria, or Troy. It should have been special. And I threw it away.”
“Having mediocre sex is hardly something to mourn several years later,” Chris said.
“It’s just that now, with this chance to really live it, I feel like I made this incredible mistake. Wouldn’t I be more... valuable if I were still a virgin?”
“Certainly not. An oddity, perhaps, but not especially valued. Experience is what counts, Robin, and you should know that. You’re allowing your fear and anxiety to distract you. You’re over-compensating. You don’t have to do that with me.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” She looked genuinely ashamed. “I’m really very nervous. I talk a lot when I get nervous.”
“I can see that. And you’ll speak a lot more before we’re through. Just keep in mind that I’m not interested in hearing excuses or explanations. By the end of our time together, I want to know all about your past experiences and dreams and how you felt about them.”
“All of them? My entire history?”
Chris Parker nodded. “As much as is relevant. I’ll let you know when you’re telling me something I don’t need to know.”
Robin glanced up and looked out the window. The late evening darkness was cool, enveloping. I could still walk out now, she thought, catching the shadow of her reflection in the glass. I could just tell him that I must have been mistaken, insane, I have a job to do. I have to go to Italy in two months. I can leave and just go on like I was. I was happy. I am happy. I can find someone new.
But if I leave, I’ll never know. Never know if I was really ready for this. If I could have been....
Robin turned back to Chris and lowered her head. “I’ve always been strong,” she said, her tone a sharp contrast to her words. “I did what I wanted to, and never let someone run my life. And I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to be a slave.”
“Good,” Chris said smoothly. He rose, and with a speed she could have never suspected, pulled her up off the couch by the front of her jacket. She gasped at his strength, and rose to her toes, her eyes just barely above his. His fist was tight against her throat, his body terrifyingly close.
“Maybe I can make you into one, girl,” he said softly. “What do you have to say to that?”
Robin gasped in another breath. Oh God! Oh, I want this! What do I say? What does he want me to say?
“That was a question!” he barked. “When I ask you a question, I expect an immediate, honest reply!”
“Yes! I mean, thank you, sir, yes, I want you to make me a slave!” Robin gasped again, her heart pounding, and her throat pressing against Chris’s knuckles.
He let her go, and she fell back onto her heels, but kept herself erect. She tried to control the urge to pant; her breath returned in short gasps.
“Strip.”
Robin took her jacket off immediately and cursed her trembling fingers. She laid it on the couch and tried to be graceful as she unbuttoned the silk blouse. She was glad she had decided to wear the garter belt and stockings rig instead of pantyhose, but Chris wasn’t even watching as she took her skirt off. He had gone into the adjoining bedroom without a word.
Robin looked down. He hadn’t said strip to your lingerie. So she unclipped the expensive stockings and rolled them off, and then wiggled out of everything else. Almost as an afterthought, she unclipped the gold necklace and dropped it and her watch and earrings on top of her clothing.
Now she was as naked as the day she had entered this world. She drew herself up into a standing posture that seemed appropriate, with her hands behind her back, and then fretted about whether she should kneel. He didn’t tell me to, she reminded herself.
He kept her waiting for what seemed to be a long time. She jumped a little when she heard his voice in the bedroom, but it was clear that he wasn’t talking to her. She could hear pauses, and the sound of his light laughter. He had to be on the phone.
I wonder who he called. Maybe he’s calling someone else to come and... look at me. Or maybe to try me out. Oh, get a grip, Robin, you should be over those fantasies! It’s just a phone call. He’ll be back in a minute. A slight chill built in her upper arms and spread across her shoulders, raising goosebumps. As the first shiver ran through her, a tightness settled around her nipples and drew them achingly up.
This is only a test, she thought, trying to calm herself. I am being good. I am being patient.
I am patience.
When Chris Parker returned, he paused to examine her. He had taken his tie off, and unfastened the top button of his shirt, but that was the only change. His eyes registered neither interest nor appreciation.
Well, of course not, Robin thought. Think of where you met him, girl. This is one man who is just not interested in the temptations of the female form. And besides, if what they say is true, he’s seen hundreds of slaves. Amazingly beautiful ones, men and women. So there’s not much to be impressed by here.
He walked around her slowly, not touching her. When his finger finally did land on her shoulder, she jerked a little more upright, and a faint shuddering ran down her arm. He didn’t comment, but slowly ran that finger along her collarbone and down her spine.
She couldn’t help it. She freed a slight moan, an exhalation of pleasure and tension.
“You’re very sensitive,” Chris said, drawing his hand away. “Turn to face me.”
She did, and met his eyes. She instantly dropped her eyes down, but kept her shoulders back.
“That was careless. You should have kept your gaze up, or turned with your eyes already cast down.” Casually, he pinched one nipple. The sudden sharpness stabbed into her and she gasped again, feeling a flush rise along the back of her neck, and a familiar thrumming between her legs.
“Do you have to return home tonight?”
The sudden return to real issues startled her, but she recovered quickly. “No, sir.”
“Then you will stay here. Go and lock the door; put the Do Not Disturb sign out.”
He sat down again, and watched as Robin approached the door, hesitated, and then maneuvered her way around it so anyone standing in the hallway could have only gotten a glimpse of her bare arm and shoulder. She slipped the chain lock into place, fighting back the familiar fear that came every time she played with someone new. Of course, this time it was far stronger than it ever had been before.
Hundreds of questions resounded within her in an instant. Would Chris Parker demand new or unfamiliar service from her? Would he be as brutal as his appearance last night had suggested? Was he really worthy of the trust she was about to give him? Would he want to have sex?
Can I get out of it if it gets to be too much for me to handle?
“Now come back here―” Chris pointed to a spot on the floor in front of him, “on your hands and knees. With grace.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, dropping to her knees. Concentrating on moving her limbs cleanly and guiding herself around the corner of the chair without awkwardness took over from the morass of concerns which had temporarily flooded her, and she relaxed in the performance of that simple task. She halted in front of him, and let his hands guide her to the precise position he desired.
His hands swept over her body in an examination. While she held herself still, her hands and knees pressed firmly in place against the carpet, he touched every part of her that could be reached. His hands circled her throat and then stroked it, trailed across her shoulders and down her arms, probing at the muscles in her upper arms, tapping the inside of her elbows. His fingers tickled her ribcage on the way to gently cupping her breasts, pressing them up against her body lightly, then letting them fall.
Robin moaned, and dipped her head low.
Ignoring her, Chris placed one firm palm on her lower back while the other hand stroked and probed her midsection and her belly. A tap from that hand and she pushed her knees further apart, and then still further, so that one hand could comfortably reach between her thighs to explore the tenderness of her pussy. She had shaved only that morning; it was a habit left from her time with Troy. But Chris gave no indication as to whether he approved or disapproved. He did cup her entire sexual delta in one hand and compress his fingers around it until she moaned again. And when one finger slipped along the edges of her lips, she gasped, and lifted her ass just a little bit more, her face flooding in shame.
“Ah, hungry little cunt...” Chris whispered. But he left off teasing her in that fashion and continued his examination, cupping her round buttocks, squeezing her thighs and running his fingers across the bottoms of her feet.
She felt his hands suddenly leave her, and the creaking of the chair as he leaned back into it. Her entire body felt primed for attention. Every inch ached for another touch; her skin felt like it was alive with electricity. And this just from being so lightly handled! She drew in one long breath and said, “Thank you, sir!”
“I was wondering where your manners had gone,” Chris replied. “There are much harsher ways I could have conducted that examination.”
Robin cringed. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Just for comparison’s sake, then. Up, girl!” He snapped his fingers, and Robin drew her body up, coming off of her arms. But before she could complete her turn to face him, he grasped a hand full of her hair and dragged her toward him, throwing her off balance, sending her crashing into his knee.
“Keep yourself up, you clumsy idiot,” Chris snapped, pushing and pulling her into place. She winced and he jerked hard on the fistful of hair he still held. With his free hand, he cuffed her lightly across the mouth, and she gasped in the shock of impact. No one had ever done that to her before.
“And don’t let me see such exaggerated reactions, either. I know what you can take, girl.” He cupped her chin and forced her mouth open. “That’s it, show me what your teeth look like!”
Humiliated to her core, Robin tried to allow her body to follow his manipulations, but it was hard, because he moved quickly this time, never allowing her to fully relax. He twisted her head one way and then the other, and then dropped the hand from her face and slapped her heavily across her left breast. Before she even had enough time to gasp, he slapped her right breast and grasped the nipple between his fingers, pressing tightly.
Robin bit her lip to keep from moaning, and the heat from the slaps seemed to rise through her chest and into her face. Her breaths came in short gasps, punctuated each time he compressed that captive nipple, and when she whimpered at the pain, he switched and took up the other one and did the same thing. His hand went back and forth between her nipples, twisting and pinching them, while he still maintained a tight grip on her hair, bending her backward.
“Do you like this?” he asked suddenly, pulling her head forward so she could look at him. “I asked you a question, girl!”
“Yes! Yes, sir, I do!” Robin managed to get the words out all in a rush.
“Then you should be thanking me.” He jerked her head back again and slapped her breasts, harder this time, and as he savagely twisted one nipple and pulled it up and away from her body, she wailed and threw her hands behind her body to keep them still. Dimly, through the haze of intoxicating pleasure and pain, she heard her own voice offering thanks, again and again, until Chris pulled her back forward and touched her lips with his fingers. She panted, her chest rising and falling heavily, her nipples burning and itching with pain.
“You’d do better if you simply remembered to offer your gratitude on a consistent basis, rather than waiting for commands or invitations,” he said calmly. He released her hair, and she wavered a little, catching her balance, but managed to press her lips against his hand, lightly.
“Thank you, sir,” she breathed. “For the lesson.”
“It’s not over yet.” He pushed her back, and when she fell onto her arms, he nodded. “That’s it. Now raise your hips. Present that hungry cunt to me, girl, lift it high. And don’t you dare fall until I give permission.”
Robin followed his instructions, so that she was still resting on her calves, her back curved like a bow. Her legs were still wide apart, and this position opened her pussy lips before Chris, giving him a perfect view of the wetness his treatment had drawn from her.
He leaned down and opened her, carefully, keeping his eyes on hers. When she looked away, unable to bear his gaze, he thrust two fingers inside of her, slipping through her folds like a hand sliding through thick layers of glossy silk. Robin opened for him easily; she was hot and soaked with her own excitement, and her entire body shook with hunger and ecstasy.
In the same quick motion, he withdrew the fingers and snapped a lightning fast slap against her swollen cunt lips, and then penetrated her again. He repeated the motions again and again, pushing into her and then slipping out to deliver another stinging blow.
Robin thought she would go insane with the pleasure and the agony! She lifted her hips in surrender and fell slightly back with each blow. Her nipples, still aching from their torment, felt as though they were still being crushed, so tight was their arousal. And with each invasion, her clit seemed to nearly explode with the pressure, only to feel the sharp sting of his fingers a moment later. Her hip movements began to get more exaggerated, rising to engulf his fingers, jerking back in reaction to their impact.
Her arms shuddered with the pain of the position, and she knew that she couldn’t take much more of this without falling, but she bit her lip again and straightened them out, fighting for the strength to keep going. And when finally, she was trying to prepare the words that would let her tormentor know that she had reached her limit, he stopped, and slapped one thigh.
“Over! Hands and knees again!”
She turned, trembling. As her thighs met, she felt the amazing warmth and the flood of her own juices which covered her sex and her upper thighs. When she knelt again, and Chris pulled her legs apart, she whimpered.
“Oh, I’m not finished with you yet,” Chris said, reaching under her body. He seized her achingly sore and needy cunt in his right hand and let the left one rest against the curve of her ass. Without warning, he began to spank her, but not in the manner of her past lovers, who used this particular form of chastisement entirely for pleasure. No, Chris’s hand was heavy and punishing, and each time it fell, his fingers under her body accepted her thrust forward and hurt her in some way. At first, he would strike, and then pinch her lips, tugging her backward again. Then, he began to flick his fingers harshly across her engorged clit. He would go back to pinching after a while, and then spread her lips wide and press one finger up against the hood, until she wriggled with explosive agony.
And meanwhile, his hand on her ass cheeks gave rise to first a flush of heat, and then an insistent stinging pain, and then the awful, jarring pain that brought up red marks and left a lasting warmth.
Robin fell forward, onto her elbows, whimpering, inarticulate sounds of endurance and reaction mixing with every stimulus. And when the rhythm of the actions built up to a peak from which she could not escape, her hips thrust back and forth, her fingers gripped the carpet, and she gulped in breaths that couldn’t sustain her until the next shock. The wave was coming, it was building up like pressure in a sealed bottle, and each new strike, each new twist, each torment drew her closer and closer!
And then Chris stopped.
“Wait there,” he said as he drew his hands from her body.
Robin gasped, and it took all her strength to keep from collapsing face forward onto the floor. As Chris rose from the chair and walked behind her, the slight breeze caused by his passing swept between her legs, chilling the skin that was so covered with moisture. She moved slightly, and scraped her nipples against the carpet, and bit back a moan. Carefully, she pushed herself back up onto her arms, and stayed there, her head low, and waited.
I don’t believe he stopped, she thought, feeling tears in the corners of her eyes. I don’t believe it! I am so ready... I could have come in an instant! I haven’t been this ready this fast in ages. Oh God, he is good. She tried to ignore the throbbing between her legs, and around her nipples, and the glow of the beating on her ass. I will be good, she reminded herself. And when he is finished with me, I will get what I’ve wanted all my life.
Dimly, she heard him speaking again, but not to her. It again took him a long time to get back, and she was amazed that in that time, she had not lost the edge of her passion. She was still as excited upon his return as she had been when he left.
“Come here,” he said. Robin looked toward him. He was standing by the window, his foot resting on the edge of a low, narrow table positioned underneath it. She crawled to him, not sure what other way might be permissible.
“Good. Now come up―” He guided her with a hand in her hair again, and pointed at his boot. “I want you to straddle that. Yes, get your cunt over it, nice and comfortable. Put your legs on either side of the table, and wrap your arms around my leg.”
Robin did as he instructed, and the feel of the polished leather between her legs sent a shudder throughout her body. She gladly wrapped her arms around him, feeling the warmth and strength of him, the smooth fabric of his pants.
“That’s it. You know what to do now, girl. I want to see you get off. So move your body, hump my leg, just like the little hungry pet you are. I want to feel you fucking yourself on my boot, bringing yourself off just like a bad dog in front of company. And you’re going to do it quickly, girl. You have three minutes.” He gripped her hair and showed her that he was looking at his watch. “Begin.”
Robin couldn’t think; she didn’t dare think. Every word he said, the images he invoked, the incredible humiliation of it all was too overwhelming to believe. But the need within her was also overwhelming, and the need to obey, to do as she was told, was also incomprehensibly strong. Slowly, she shifted her position, trying to figure out how to do it. The first time her weight settled back onto his boot, the leather pressing against her, opening her up, she moaned at the intense surge of joy that raced through her. The position was odd, and the command heavy, but she moved her hips and body, and grasped his leg and whined, and soon she had built up a rhythm that would satisfy.
“Ah, such a good girl,” Chris murmured encouragingly. “Such a good little pooch. Come on, hump it out; let me see how much you need it, you’re just like an animal in heat, you need to fuck it out.”
“Oh, oh, nooo!” Robin whimpered, clutching him even tighter.
“Yes, yes, that’s it. Do it. You may come at any time, girl, but if you don’t before the time is up, it may be a long time before I permit it this opportunity again.”
“Please! Yes! Yes! Ungh! Oh God!” Robin writhed against the leg and against the boot, feeling the leather grow slippery underneath her, and feeling the wetness of tears against the cloth she was leaning into, and then the rush hit her as fast as lightning. Her entire body, aching, hot and tight, drew tightly against Chris’s leg and her cunt ground into the top of his boot and she seemed to explode! Her eyes tightly shut, she still saw bright bolts of light, her hands gripped compulsively, her toes dug into the carpet, scraping back, pushing her forward. She panted, and thrust herself forward again, only slower, and felt the shudders rise into pleasure again, only this time fainter, and as she drew back, she felt Chris’s hand lightly stroking her head.
This time, she let the tears come and knew they were there, and she sobbed and gulped air as he gentled her down, putting her back onto the floor. When he lowered his leg, and nudged her with the boot that was now covered with her own essence, she didn’t hesitate, but raised her head up and began to wash it over with her tongue. She didn’t stop until she covered every inch, and her tears added a different taste to the leather where they fell.
He took it away when he was satisfied, and she felt something light fall across her shoulders.
“There is money on the table by the door. Give it to the housekeeper when she comes, and then lock up again and come into the bedroom.”
As he walked away, Robin sat up, still a little dizzy. The object across her shoulders was a shirt―the one Chris had been wearing. She pulled it on just in time to hear the gentle knock on the door, and she followed his instructions, giving the five dollar bill to the woman in return for the blankets she bore.
Chris, his muscular shoulders now more evident in the white T-shirt that was tucked into his pants, pointed at the floor at the foot of the king-size bed. Robin nodded, and, feeling more than a little bit disappointed, laid the blankets out on the floor. I should have expected this, she thought, folding them into a semblance of a bed. It’s in all the books, isn’t it? I’ve dreamed about it, haven’t I? But somehow, the cold reality of a hard floor next to a wide, soft bed with plump pillows and the warm body of a man who had just given her a magnificent orgasm was just too jarring. She trembled slightly, trying to form the words in her mind, trying to decide whether begging for the privilege of sleeping next to him would be presumptuous, and then just allowed the thoughts to subside. She would not―could not!―tempt fate. When Chris came up behind her, she knelt absolutely still.
“Do not remove this during the night,” he said, slipping a soft blindfold over her eyes. “If you must rise to answer a call of nature, you will manage to find your way without removing it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Please―I’m sorry, sir, I should have thanked you. After...I mean, thank you, sir.”
“Yes, you should have. But I’ll make an allowance this one time, because of unfamiliarity. Go to sleep. I will tell you when to remove the blindfold.”
He guided her down into her cocoon of scratchy wool. She pulled the blankets around her and―despite the strangeness of the place and the circumstances―fell at once into a deep, deep sleep.
Chapter Two
Robin awoke to the sound of a shower running. For a moment, she felt confused. Where was her pillow? Why did her body ache so much? But the entire evening flooded back into her conscious memory, and as she stretched a little bit, she fairly purred with satisfaction.
Of course I’m sore, she thought with a grin. I was well used and slept at the foot of my master’s bed, like a good slave. Immediately, she curled back with a rush of embarrassment at her own thoughts. Why not just rush things, she asked herself angrily. As far as I know, last night was just a little test of my reactions, and I am not a good slave, and he is not my master. But he has to be pleased! He did accept me. He could have thrown me out. I don’t even know if camping out on the floor is supposed to be a reward or a punishment! Troy thought it was silly. And Maria would just send me home....
Home! How am I supposed to take care of my apartment? I should have packed more stuff. I should have given notice. I have to call the super! Robin turned over onto her belly and leaned her head into her folded arms. Oh God, I am such an idiot. Ken Mandarin told me to get ready to leave right away―why didn’t I listen?
Because you didn’t think you’d get in, answered the voice inside her. Because you figured that the Marketplace wouldn’t be interested in you. So you didn’t even warn them at work, and you didn’t talk to the landlord, and you only packed up some of your things, leaving days of work that will have to be done before you can just pick up and leave your life behind.
They never talk about what happens to a person’s life when they just vanish into thin air, Robin reflected. They just start the story with the slave arriving at the master’s house. You never really find out how many people they had to say goodbye to, or if they just decided to leave everyone they knew with this mystery.
I guess there aren’t a lot of people who really have to know anything, she reflected. People leave jobs for better jobs all the time. And it’s not like I have loads of personal friends who are going to miss me. She grimaced at the self-pity that swept through her, and continued her inventory. The landlord won’t care; all I have to do is leave my security with them. And if I never attend a meeting of the WISE Women again, no one will ever know the difference. But there are a few people who would want to maintain contact with me, even if I told them I was taking a new job and moving away... She didn’t want to think about them. How am I supposed to tell my family? Oh Mom, don’t expect to see me at the holidays this year; I’m going to be a full-time slave, and slaves don’t get vacation days.
Her stomach twisted into a knot, and she slumped down. This business of creating a reality out of what I assumed to always be a fantasy is too hard. Of course I didn’t prepare, and of course I never really tried to think about what to tell everyone. I might as well have been trying to figure out how to tell people that I was going to Mars to live with little green men. At that moment, she realized that the shower had long since stopped running. Without thinking, she held herself still, and listened.
Rustling and clinking noises, the sounds of a man getting dressed. Around the corners of the blindfold, she could tell that the light in the room was artificial. Was it still very early morning, or did Chris Parker just dislike sunlight? He walked past her, into the other room, and she heard him open the outer door. She stopped trying to figure out what he was doing, and just remained still.
When he came back, she felt and heard the bed shift as he sat on the edge. The heavy sliding sound and the light thump could only mean he was putting his boots on. Robin decided that she had wasted enough time feigning sleep, so she raised herself up on one elbow and tilted her chin up.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, her voice slightly cracking. Oh, I need a cup of coffee, she thought, clearing her throat. At least they’ll have good coffee here. It’s a great hotel.
But there was no response from the man, only a moment of silence, held suspended as she realized that she had just done something that was very, very wrong. She tried desperately to think of what it was. And then Parker was off the bed, and she heard a sound like a long, ragged whisper, and felt his strong hand close around her upper arm.
She yelped, but he merely pulled her up and halfway out of her wrapping of blankets. Her feet were caught and tangled, but it didn’t matter, because he pushed her powerfully against the bed, forcing her head down to the sheets with one hand, bracing her body against his leg. She barely had enough time to gasp when he brought his doubled-over belt across her ass cheeks, hard, with an explosive crack! that filled the room.
Robin’s yelp of surprise became a wrenching cry of pain, and she buried her face into the bed, pushing her mouth against the surface to try to contain it. Chris paid it no attention. He merely used that belt on her bent-over form, again and again, each stripe glowing white and then red and then fading back until he struck her in that same spot once more. She writhed, and clenched her teeth into a crumpled wedge of sheets, but never tried to escape him. And when he stopped, and the ringing in her ears and the pounding in her chest threatened to send her toppling off the bed, he solved her imbalance by pulling her back and letting her fall to the floor, her feet still tangled in her own bedding.
He began to slide the belt back onto the loops around his waist.
“When you awaken,” he said, his voice betraying just a hint of breathlessness, “you will only speak when spoken to.”
“Yes, sir,” she managed to whisper. Her ass glowed with a painful heat.
“I have left instructions for you in the other room. You may get up and remove the blindfold when I have gone. Do you understand?”
Robin drew in a deep breath. No! she wanted to say, no, don’t go! What comes next? Do I have time to make my arrangements? May I call the auction house? Can I go home? But she drew all the questions in and held them tightly, and concentrated on trust. She had to trust him! “Yes, sir.”
She felt him pushing the toe of one boot next to her face, and she twisted to kiss it gently. She felt him change his posture, felt the nearness of his body as he squatted down next to her, and shivered when his hand gently stroked her hair.
“Good girl,” he said. “That’s a good girl.”
And as the tears came and dampened the inside of the blindfold, she felt him rise again and leave her. Minutes later, she heard the outer door close, firmly.
“Oh my God,” she whispered out loud, curling into the blankets as shudders drove their way through her body. “This is so good. This is so right!”
* * * *
The instructions were precise, and Robin read them while she ate the bagel and strawberries that were left on the breakfast tray in the outer room. If Chris Parker had actually eaten anything, there was no evidence. Not a crumb or a wrinkled napkin to be found. But then, Robin thought mischievously, he was so neat and proper, crumbs probably sprang away from his body and self-destructed. He did leave an empty coffee cup by the window, though, leaving her to wonder just how long he had been awake before she stirred. She had to shift in her seat from time to time, favoring sore spots on her rear, but this only made her smile.
The note was written on hotel stationary in (of course) a steady, refined hand. It read:
You will pack my personal belongings and deliver them to the address below. I will not expect to be there until eight o’clock this evening, whereupon you will deliver yourself and one personal bag. You do not need to pack a wardrobe.
In the meantime, you may consider yourself free to conclude whatever affairs necessary to facilitate your exit from your current life. You will of course conduct yourself with utter discretion concerning your future plans.
Parker
It was nine o’clock in the morning. The address on the bottom of the page was on the Upper West Side, in the low 100s, and there were two keys on a silver ring in the envelope. Robin thought for a little while, lingered over her own coffee (it was good, as she had guessed earlier), and then got up and got to work.
There wasn’t a lot to pack. Chris had left one change of clothing and his suit jacket and several ties. There were no personal items in the bathroom. In the closet, she found a garment bag. He had already checked out, via the computerized system in the room, so after she showered and dressed, she picked up the bag and left. She couldn’t resist looking at her rear in the mirror. It was still blushing slightly red, and several marks crossed both cheeks from his belt. If she didn’t have so much to do, it would have been nice to stretch out on that bed and pleasure herself for a while, pressing those sore spots down to get the most satisfaction. But she contented herself with the knowledge that she had things to do, and left the room awake and slightly aching and perfectly happy.
She left the garment bag with the bellman downstairs and took a cab all the way home. It was extravagant, but soon she would have no need for the money she had so painstakingly saved over the years. Why not splurge, she thought, sitting back and watching the traffic. I should go to town! Have lunch at Lutéce, maybe. If there’s time.
Home was a modern building in the financial district, not far from the South Street Seaport. She looked around her one bedroom with a moment of indecision, and decided to make her calls first. Might as well get the really hard part out of the way. She changed into jeans and a T-shirt, pulled her Rolodex out and started calling.
It was a regular roller-coaster ride of reactions. Of course her boss at the auction house was pissed. Couldn’t she at least give them two weeks’ notice? And who was it? Was it Christie’s? Would she at least give them a chance to match the offer? Robin bit her lip and lied, and felt a little guilty. But in reality, she knew that they would have no problem filling her job, and that after a few days her co-workers would get used to her absence as they all got used to the eternal shuffle in the art world.
That done, she called the super and told him that she would be vacating within the week. As expected, he stuttered and shouted his own outrage and swore dire circumstances should he have to place a call to the owner corporation, but her willingness to let the security deposit go caught him by surprise.
This is not so hard, she thought, dialing the third storage company and getting their prices. I guess it’s really kind of easy to leave town in a hurry. Not that I know I’m leaving town. Hmm, that’s a thought. Do Marketplace slaves ever go out? What if I don’t leave town and I end up seeing people I know? What would I say if they invited me out for a drink, asked me what I was doing?
“Hey, lady! You still there? I said you can get the lease as long as you want.”
“What? Oh, yes, yes, thank you. I’ll call you back later,” Robin said, returning to the present.
You think too much about the wrong things, she scolded herself, laying the phone down. You didn’t think about how to manage this properly, but now you’re thinking about what might happen if you get accepted and if you get sold and if that person lives in town and if and if and if. And meanwhile, the next number on the list was her Mom and Dad’s.
She decided to spend some time packing.
That job wasn’t easy at all, and by lunchtime, she knew that Lutéce was out of the question. She called one of the Chinese places that delivered menus under her door every week and ate General Gau’s Chicken right out of the box while she divided her belongings into Pack, Give Away, and Throw Away piles. Then, she spent more time on the phone, calling various charity organizations that provided pick-up service. Only one could send someone today, so they got several boxes and bags of clothing, kitchen items, books and office supplies. The young men were very friendly and grateful, and she was even more pleased with herself when they gladly accepted $50 to take her “throwaways” as well, and dispose of them somewhere.
And it was only after they left that she realized that not once did she imagine them overpowering her and ravishing her on the floor of her apartment. She giggled and dove back into her work, trying to get as much finished as she could. The Rolodex remained next to the phone, stubbornly flipped open to the card she left it on.
By 5:30, she admitted defeat. There was no way she could get anything else out of the house today. So she showered again, dressed simply, and threw a carry-on bag onto her bed. She had thought all day about what to take, and the items she put in the bag were gravid with memories. Three books went in first. One, an anonymous Victorian novel, the second a fairy-tale romance, the third a collection of short stories about gay men. All were about surrender and mastery. All of them were worn with handling. A leather collar, bearing a golden “M” in gentle scrollwork followed. A small box of jewelry. A woven leather wrist-cuff, worked into a complex mystery braid. Her favorite pillowcase, dusky rose in color, a whispery cotton that felt smooth and comforting beneath her cheek. Then, she tossed in her latest journal and a box of her favorite pens, her address book, wallet, and banking items. Her passport and ID. Her prescription medications she tossed in just in case, and followed them with her spare reading glasses.