Prisoner Ch. 04

When they arrived at the open door, Licia urged him to go outside. The terrace was large. Half of it lay in the sun. There were potted trees, a hammock and a set of rattan chairs around a low table. She made him circle the terrace twice. Then she slid off of him. He felt the evening breeze cool the wet spot she left. He just stood, not knowing what to do. His jaws started to hurt more intensely from the ball. Suddenly all went black. A velvet hood slid over his eyes; he was blindfolded -- standing on all fours he crouched in perfect darkness. Hands cupped his covered face.

"Now be my sweet doggie and wait," a soft voice whispered.

He waited in the evening sun, feeling its rays on his skin. He still waited when a cooler touch of shade replaced the sun's warm fingers. Then he waited some more as the fat red ball sank behind distant buildings. Not that he saw anything of that; he saw nothing, he could only hear. But hearing he did extremely well.

He heard the rustle of textiles, the plodding of naked feet and the screeching of moving furniture. Later on he heard the tingling of glasses and ice cubes. But above all he heard agitated whispers and fragments of conversation, laced with giggles and carefree laughter. He heard the wet sounds of kissing and licking; and finally there were gasps and moaning -- the high-pitched climax of female lovemaking.

He stood and listened, slowly turning into a statue -- a static receptacle of impressions. But inside his perfectly still frame a myriad of pent-up emotions boiled. All his life he had dreamt about being here, belonging to the secret inner circles of womanhood, listening in. By now his dream was close to becoming true, tantalizingly close. Being depraved of sight only enhanced the experience. Scents added to the sounds, building feverish images on the screen of his mind.

"Ah, look," Licia's voice said. "How touching -- he drools!"

Slightly moving a hand he felt a slick puddle on the tiles; saliva must be seeping from his helplessly stretched mouth.

"Bad boy! Don't touch!" He heard bare feet running towards him, and the quick breathing of the girl. Suddenly vision returned to him as she removed the hood. Her shaven pussy was right in front of him; it glistened and the lips seemed slightly swollen. Her fingers clawed into his hair and shook him violently.

"Bad, bad boy," she said. Her face replaced her crotch as she sank to her haunches. She frowned, studying him with her chocolate eyes. Then she suddenly smiled.

"Shall I remove his muzzle, Mistress?" she asked, calling out to be heard.

"Whatever you want, honey." Miss A's voice came from the inside. "He's your pet, isn't he?"

Busy fingers loosened the straps. She tried to pry the ball out, encouraging him to open his mouth wider, but he couldn't. Pain shot through the hinges of his jaws as she put pressure on it. He cried out when at last the dripping gag slipped past his teeth.

"Ah, poor boy," she crooned, kissing his brow as she pulled him against her soft chest. She massaged the sore joints. "Is this better?" She stepped back, her eyebrows raised with expectation. He worked his tortured jaw and nodded. Then he hung his head.

"Why don't you reward him, honey? Make him lick your cunt," the voice suggested from inside. "Dogs love pussies!"

The bout of laughter was loud and gleeful. The girl chuckled too. She pressed her face into his, holding his ears.

"Now would you like that, doggie?" she asked. "Lick the sweet pussy of your little mistress?" Without waiting for an answer she turned around in front of him and went down on all fours. Looking over her shoulder she smiled.

"Let's do it doggie style, doggie," she said as she sunk on her elbows, jutting out her tight ass. Her swollen pussy hung like a plum between her thighs.

"Come, doggie, doggie, lick, lick, lick," she chanted, sinking even further until she rested on the side of her head, her chest and shoulders. Her fingers grabbed her ass cheeks, spreading them. He came closer until his face was almost against her crotch. A pungent mixture of perfumed sweat and female come made his nostrils flare. "Lick me, Brynn," she coaxed, shoving her vagina backwards and into his face. "Make your little mistress happy." He heard the sound of heels approaching from behind. A hand rested on his bare ass cheek, rubbing in circles. He opened his mouth, bringing out his tongue. He shivered all over.

"He is so shy, honey cunt," Miss A's voice commented from right behind him. "Isn't that cute?" Suddenly a hand slapped his ass cheek hard, making his face bump into the girl. Licia giggled, gyrating her bare cunt lips over his tongue and nose. She started singing a vaguely familiar children's song. He started licking harder, his tongue dashing against her clitoris while his nose bumped into her anus. He groaned into the flesh when the invisible hand started raining slaps on his behind.

"Lick her, dog, lick her and make her come," Miss A told him over and over again.

The girl's singing voice became unsteady, breaking down in off key syllables as he licked on, now slipping a stiff tongue into her. She started fucking back until she came with a cry. The cunt lips squeezed around his tongue as the girl wildly humped his face. The slapping had stopped, but now a hand slipped between his legs, cupping his balls; then holding his penis.

"Limp, honey," Miss A informed. "It's amazing, but even licking your sweet little cunt doesn't arouse his gear. Isn't he just one ungrateful dog?" She slapped him again -- hard. "Bad, bad doggie!"

The pain and the overload of emotions made him crumble to the tiled floor -- exhausted by the relentless onslaught of slander and humiliation. It made him break down, sobbing so loud that he didn't hear the clucking of tongues or the chorus of mock compassion.

***

After leaving him on the terrace for maybe an hour, Licia came out, wearing a thin silvery shift. It streamed like liquid from her poking nipples to just below her crotch. She walked carefully on tall white whore-hooves, carrying two metal bowls.

"Mistress takes me out tonight, doggie, so I have to leave you alone. Here," she said, bending low to put the bowl in front of him. "Food for my darling Brynn to keep him strong." She kissed his brow, chuckled and turned to leave, swaying her tight bum.

The food smelled delicious; there was beef teriyaki, stir-fried vegetables and rice in one bowl, fresh water in the other. He wondered what was expected of him. He decided they might not want him to use his hands. He also supposed they wouldn't return before the wee hours or even early morning. So after emptying the bowls, he took a blanket from the hammock, wrapped it around him and went to sleep on the bare floor in a corner of the terrace.

He assumed they wouldn't want him to sleep elsewhere.

The new sun didn't wake him, as the terrace was to the west and south. But the twittering birds did. He stretched the stiffness out of his joints, shivering from the cold that rose from below. First thing he noticed was the weight around his neck and the cold metal chain dangling down from it. The second thing he felt was an almost hurting fullness of his bladder.

He crawled towards the large doors, finding them closed. Looking around he saw the big tree pots. He pondered if they might be the next best solution. Was a dog allowed to piss against a tree? He groaned, not so much at the thought, but at having it at all. He played the dog to please the girl and her mistress -- that didn't make him one, did it? There was no reason to crawl around and act like a dog when they were not there -- so why did he?

He rose to his feet.

Shifting his center of gravity must have affected his bladder as he felt a sudden increase in pressure. A squirt of urine streaked his inner thigh before splashing on the tiles. It seemed to lessen the urgency for a minute, only to return with a vengeance. He cupped his genitals with both hands, pushing them against his crotch. It helped for another minute. He danced around with tightly closed thighs, looking hard at the closed door and the emptiness behind. The pauses between attacks became shorter and shorter, and when another squirt escaped, he ran to the first tree, releasing the stream of piss even before he arrived. It caused a dark line straight up the side of the terracotta pot. He didn't care. Pent-up air rushed from his lungs as the hot yellow liquid blasted into the dry earth. God, oh God, how incredibly good it felt.

"Wow," he heard from behind. "I thought we bought us a house-broken puppy, you dirty, dirty creature."

The voice was Miss A's. The words hit a nerve deep enough to trigger guilt and a strain of shame he hadn't felt since childhood. It was the shame of having been found out, and the guilt of being a bad, bad little boy. He didn't look back. Sinking to his knees, he slid forward in his own spilt piss. He covered both ears not to hear the accusing voice. It meant he also didn't hear the quick tattoo of heels approaching. He wasn't prepared for the hard push that forced his head forward into the soaked soil.

"That's what we do with bad puppies!" she cried out, rubbing his face in the stinking dirt. He gasped, inhaling a mixture of urine and dank, wet earth. It made him gag. It also broke him.

Crying like a baby he held on to the rim of the pot. Snot and tears mingled with the crust of wet earth on his face.

"I am sorry, Miss," he sobbed. "I am so sorry to have let you down." Miss A stood over him, arms folded under her breasts; the tip of one of her heeled mules tapped the floor.

"You are one sick puppy, you know, André?" she said, using his proper name in a soft and friendly voice. "You really have no self-respect. Look at you -- a grown man pissing on himself, wallowing in it and crying his eyes out. My God, I really don't know why I put up with you." Despite her harsh words, her tone was still gentle, like a mother, disappointed by her wayward son.

"Sit," she said. "Go down and don't move."

She went to a corner beside the potted plants and unrolled a coiled garden hose. After opening a faucet she aimed the wide nuzzle on the crouching man and watched the cold, hard stream hit him full on. He had to grab the big pot with both hands not to be blown away -- gasping from the cold and the sudden impact.

When she at last considered him clean, she watched him shiver for a while before throwing a blanket. He rubbed himself dry, then huddled in a corner of the terrace wall, staring at the floor. His mind was a shambles; there was no up or down anymore, no forward or backward. Wherever he went, doors seemed to slam shut, goading him towards the open windows he feared, but was unable to stay away from. He focused on the pattern of the tiled terrace-floor, amazed at how it resembled the maze of his mind. A mouse he was, running around -- a fumbling little creature being pushed and nudged towards its destiny.

Miss A walked over to one of the rattan chairs, sitting down and crossing her legs.

"Get over here, honey," she said, still friendly. "I guess we have to talk." He looked up; there was fear in his eyes. She smiled, nodding.

"Over here, darling," she said. "I hate having to shout."

He rose, clutching the wet blanket, and started walking over. She clucked her tongue and shook her head.

"No, no, noooo, darling. Who told you to walk?" He at once fell to his knees, crawling the last meters.

"Kneel with me, André," she said when he arrived. "Let's be all cozy and sweet on this lovely morning." He knelt, feeling aware of her closeness. Her hand rested on his head, fingers running through his wet hair. Then she pulled him closer and made him rest his chin on her knee. He groaned under his breath, eyes closed -- little mouse running.

"As far as I'm concerned, André," she started, "this might be the last time we have an adult conversation." He looked up at her. She smiled. It made him tremble.

"You see," she went on, "this thing we started went greatly out of hand. Its timing sucks and so does your gender." She stopped, but her nails kept scratching his skull. Her words gave him a sinking feeling.

"I...," he said, his voice croaking.

"No," she said. "Not yet, I haven't finished." Her hand left his hair to join the other in her lap. He suddenly felt alone.

"I told you at the start I don't do men," she resumed after a minute of silence that seemed like five. Birds had tried to fill the pause, and so had the city's awakening noises, but he hadn't noticed. He'd focused on her silence and waited for her voice.

"Now I don't think you are much of a man, thank God," she resumed. "But nevertheless you claim too much of my time, and at the moment I have none to spare." He swallowed, never letting go of her eyes -- he was a little bird blinded by the sun.

"You see, André," she said softly, her hand returning to caress his neck, "sweet little Licia is starting her Journey to become a slave. She has been begging me to make her my slave for months now. But, you see, a true slave girl must love me and I doubt if she does. I do, however, love her. I know that a mistress should never love her slave, and that it makes me weak where she's concerned. So I am not at all sure if I should take my chance with her." She smiled ruefully.

"But why am I telling you this?" She sat up straighter. "It is none of your business. Nothing concerning Licia and I really should be your business." Her hand was gone again; her eyes stared into the distance.

"But I need to be fair with you," she suddenly said, returning her focus on him. "At least this one last time." Last time? The phrasing chilled him. His skull echoed with the sound of slamming doors.

"Let me lay out your future for you, honey," she said. "At least, the future you'll have with me..." Her words stopped as her gaze drifted off to the house. Her eyes lighted up.

"Look who fell out of bed," she said. "Good morning, sleepy head." He turned his eyes to the house's entrance, seeing Licia in a white T-shirt wide enough to hang off her bare shoulder. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were sleepy. She stretched her body. It caused the shirt to expose her shaven crotch. He noticed that he felt annoyed with the girl for breaking up the moment alone he'd had with Miss A.

"Run over to me, honey," Miss A said, waving her closer. She pointed to the floor opposite from where he knelt. The girl ran to them on bare feet, her hair dancing as freely about her head as her titties did inside their loose cotton wrappings. She smiled, went to her knees and kissed Miss A's legs.

"Good morning, Mistress," she gushed, slightly panting. "I hope you slept well."

"I did, sweet honey cunt," the woman said, running her fingers through the unkempt riot of black hair. "But right now we have more important matters to discuss."

"Oh?" the girl said, looking up.

"For one thing: what on earth are we going to do with your naughty, incontinent puppy?" Miss A chuckled as Licia turned her eyes to the kneeling man, acknowledging him for the first time. He looked pale and nervous; the collar was like a black slash across his throat. Licia turned from him to her mistress and back.

"Today, honey tits, you start your Journey, remember?" Miss A went on. The girl nodded and smiled, embracing her mistress's legs tighter.

"I'm so excited," she said.

"So am I, darling," the woman agreed. "But it means we won't have much time for your new pet. I guess we'll have to get rid of him, but I'd hate to take him to the vet and have him put down." She chuckled at the girl's alarmed face.

"Don't worry, honey cunt, I'm not as cruel as that. Maybe we can tie him to a tree by the highway, what do you think?" She grinned while patting his head.

The girl pouted. She slid like a snake past the woman's legs and hugged his chilly body. Her warmth went straight to his core; her lips were soft and wet on his cheek's stubbles.

"Whatever you say, Mistress, but isn't there a way to keep him?" she begged. "He is soooo sweet." She hugged him tighter. Miss A seemed amused.

"Get on all fours, doggie," she said, clapping her hands. Licia let go of him and he got on hands and knees, trembling. The sun sent its first rays past the rooftops, but the terrace would still be in shadow for hours. It was really too cold to be naked.

"Do you see his cute, useless gear dangling, honey? Oooh, it's all shrunk and tiny; I bet he'll blame it on the cold," she said laughing. "Go and see if you can heat him up and get him going; seems you succeeded last time?" She chuckled, pushing the girl in his direction. She went down on her knees and crawled under him, reaching for his cock and balls. The fingers of her left hand disappeared in his thick bush of wiry hair, while the other hand closed around his limp shaft. She started squeezing and rubbing while uttering half-whispered encouragements:

"Mmmm, doggie... there's such a pitiful cock on my doggie... all shrunk and shriveled... will you grow for Licia? Mmmmm, yes... I know you can do it..." Miss A looked on, smiling.

"Use your mouth, honey cunt," she then said. "He'll grow in your lovely tight mouth, I'm sure."

André stood frozen, eyes closed. The warm hands and hotter mouth felt like heaven; they sent glorious ripples to every niche of his chilled body. Thoughts of fear and desire tumbled through his narrowing mind, bumping into walls and doors. What did she want, Miss A? What was he supposed to do? Get hard and come? Stay soft and be derided? Ah, God, little trapped mousey, where to go? What is up, what is down? Miss A had forbidden him to come and she'd never withdrawn that order. He'd disobeyed her last time; was this maybe his punishment? He moaned and sunk into madness -- running, running around in his shrinking world. Then his head was pulled up. Miss A's dark frown was right into his face.

"Don't you dare," she hissed, spitting a glob of saliva in his eyes. Her hand let go. He hung his head as relief washed through him -- word spoken, dilemma solved. All feeling left his genitals.

He heard heels click on the tiles, not daring to look. Miss A's legs moved along his side. He felt a warm hand on his left buttock.

"Maybe he needs more encouragement, honey tits," he heard her say. The sucking of his penis and the squeezing of his balls intensified, but even the slightest onset of arousal had gone completely by now. He groaned, knowing why. The mouse reached the end of the maze, its little heart pounding. It bathed in the glaring lights of the open window. Then he was torn back to reality, feeling a finger press against his tightly closed anus. His startled reaction caused the girl to stretch his scrotum painfully.

The finger was wet and slippery. There was no pain when it slid past his sphincter. Soon a second finger was added, stretching him further. A splash of hot saliva trickled down his crack. All his attention was by now focused on the prodding; he hardly felt the girl's mouth anymore.

"It seems your sucking is no good, honey," Miss A said. Licia responded with an annoyed sigh, letting go of his genitals. The cold morning breeze made them shrink even further.

"Bad doggie," the girl said, pummeling his ribs with her tiny fists. Miss A chuckled.

"Run inside," she said, "and get me number four, darling, if you please." He heard the bare feet run away. All the while the fingers prodded deeper, wriggling and spreading. A third one had been added. He felt incredibly full, but it wasn't hurtful like the dildo at the mansion had been. Once more he heard her mouth gather spittle, sending it down his crack. The fingers rubbed it in, smoothly. He moaned again. Then he leant into the intruders, making them go deeper.

"You like this, eh, doggie?" Miss A asked.

He didn't know, really. He didn't think anymore. Maybe he did like it, or maybe he just liked the illusion that she cared for him -- or at least that she gave him a bit of her attention. Was it an illusion? Of course it must be. He groaned louder, leaning in harder.