Blues For a Slave

She kept her legs apart, both feet on the floor, knowing her Master would punish her if she crossed them without permission. She knew he was enjoying her arousal, and that she would not be allowed to satisfy herself even slightly until he was ready.

So she kept her hands on her drink, and her knees about a foot apart under the table at this chic blues club. Not spread wide like a slut, just open, accessible, and more importantly at this moment, providing no stimulation to her aching cunt and throbbing clit. The club's overactive air conditioner was sending faint currents of cool air up her short skirt, cooling her already damp thong against her shaved cunt.

Blues piano made her wet, almost instantly. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift back to the last time her Master had played piano for her. A few nights earlier he'd come to her in the living room where she was watching a movie, clicked her leash to her collar, paused the movie, and led her out of the room on all fours.

She was already naked, as it was a warm night and her owner had told her to strip as soon as she'd gotten in from work. Her skirt and blouse were still folded neatly on the bench by the door, her high heels beneath them in one of the shoe cubbies, and her bra, stockings and lace thong folded next to them. He led her up to the pile of clothing, and said, "Your underwear."

She turned the lacy underwear over with her lips until she could grasp the crotch in her mouth. With her own scent filling her nose and mouth, she crawled behind her Master as he led her to the music room. She knew what was to come and she could feel her wetness leaking down her thighs.

He led her to the piano, and indicated a spot on the floor, next to the piano stool, on the left side near the bass notes. He raised her legs and slipped the underwear on, and without being told, she scooted her ass up until her cunt was pressed directly against the leg of the piano.

It was a magnificent grand, top open, facing the window. Her Master clicked her ankle restraints together and then reached for a leather strap, already attached to the piano leg at the far end of the instrument. He attached it to her ankle restraints and pulled it tight, pressing her cunt hard against the leg of the instrument. Then he placed a wide leather strap around her thighs, and tightened it, so her legs were tightly closed around the leg of the piano.

There was a mark visible on this leg of the piano that she noticed every time she was in the room, where the ebony varnish had been discolored by her sweat and pussy juices. Her Master always had her wear underwear when he did this, so the varnish would not irritate the sensitive skin of his property.

He teased her for a while, playing soft jazz and slow blues. The bass notes came slowly, the vibration of each one traveling directly to her cunt and clit, and making her moan. He began playing only one bass note in every measure, sometimes skipping them altogether or playing them in a higher register. She listened intently, waiting for the first beat of each measure as if it were Christmas, praying that Santa would give her the gift that her cunt wanted so badly.

He played a few jazz standards, romantic songs, and sang them to her. He wasn't a singer, but she loved hearing his voice singing to her, and the slightly faster tempo felt good on her cunt. She moaned. She could feel that her panties were completely soaked through, and the cheeks of her ass were wet, meaning that she was probably adding to the faint stain in the carpet also visible here.

Then the music changed. He played a couple of fast ragtime tunes, leaving her breathing hard, and then began a fast stride number. His left hand pounded out the walking bass line with the same authority that disciplined her, and every note went straight to her cunt, as if he were fucking her with the music. He had a book about blues piano players called "A Left Hand Like God" and that's what he was to her at that moment, her God in the form of a left-hand walking bass, her God that was giving her permission, encouraging her, and she closed her eyes and cried out and came in waves, in an orgasm that went on for what seemed like hours. Finally he slowed down to another soft blues, again singing to her, and she lay back, exhausted.

And now, in the club, her eyes closed, she was listening to another slow blues, and getting wetter and wetter and wetter. Her Master met her eyes and smiled; she looked into his eyes and pleaded silently. She was wearing no butt plug tonight; there was no way to stimulate herself at all.

Her owner let another song go by, then stroked her hair, pulled her close, and kissed her. "Go ahead," he said. "Oh Master, thank you," she whispered. She took her purse from under the table and went to the ladies room. In a stall, she removed the dildo he'd told her to bring in her purse. It was medium sized, with a plastic protuberance simulating the balls and another to stimulate the clit. Its size and shape were perfect for her purposes. She moved her flimsy underwear aside, inserted it into herself, working hard to resist the urge to fuck herself senseless (he would know, and she'd be punished), then stood up, legs together to hold it in, and straightened her skirt and underwear. She went back to the table in small steps, keeping her legs together and the dildo in place.

She sat down next to her owner and, as if he knew, the performer began a fast boogie-woogie. She crossed her legs around the dildo, closed her eyes, and began rocking slightly in her seat. Her owner watched her, admiring how good she was at maintaining external composure while she worked her way up to an orgasm. No one around them would guess what she was doing, what she was, that under the fashionable scarf around her neck was a leather collar, that his initial hung from a piercing in the hood of her clitoris, that he'd chosen those clothes for her as she knelt naked on the floor with his come in her mouth, or that her naked breasts under her blouse were covered with the come she'd not been allowed to swallow.

But she was aware of nothing but the music and the dildo between her legs, and of keeping her face still as she came again and again, grateful to her owner for this release. She drifted through waves of orgasm and arousal, losing track of the songs and the music.

When the performance concluded, her owner took the long sweater from the back of her chair and held it for her as she stood up. He helped her into it, concealing from the rest of the patrons the huge wet spot on the back of her skirt. She walked carefully back to the bathroom, and removed the dildo in the stall, licking it and deep throating it, and licking the protuberances, cleaning every bit of her juices off of it, before returning it to her purse. She left the bathroom and found her Master, and kissed him deeply so he could taste her, and know that she'd followed the rules.

He hailed a cab outside, and she sat next to him, curled into his arm, on the ride home. "Tonight, my slave, you may swallow all of me," he said. She sighed happily and rested her head on her owner's shoulder.