A Slut's Education Ch. 05

Deanna, We haven't met, but I am Kelli's boyfriend. I wonder if I may ask a favor and enlist you as a co-conspirator in a special surprise I have planned for our friend?

Apart from my cellphone number, I leave it at that.

Within minutes, the eager-sounding SoCal blondie is at the end of the line, chirping brightly in my ear. "... Of course, I know you're 'out there' somewhere, but she won't ever talk about you. It's funny, we share so much, but when it comes to you, it's like she's locked up tight..."

I chuckle at the irony. "Oh, I bet she's just ashamed of me on account of I'm a lawyer. You know."

Deanna laughs, but I don't think it was at the joke I intended. I briefly harbor doubts that I can trust this girl to get her part right and not blow up my plan.

But I go on. "You probably know as well as me, how stressed our Kelli has been. I remember how first semester freshman year was for me, too. She's been killing herself over midterms, and it sounds like there's not much of a break before she gears up for finals. Except the long Thanksgiving weekend, right?"

"Right."

"Okay, so I know she plans to be with her family up in Santa Rosa for the Turkey Day feast and all, but I don't know if she's made any plans for the rest of the weekend. What I do know is that she'll give herself that break from her studies and she'll be prepared to relax. Your job, Deanna, should you decide to accept it, is to make that plan for her."

The roomie giggles at the thought, for whatever reason. "What do you have in mind?"

"Tell her you and a couple of girlfriends have rented a seaside vacation house up by Mendocino, starting Thanksgiving night, through the weekend, and you want -- no, you need -- her to come along."

"I get it," she giggles again. "Except it won't be us when she gets there, it'll be you."

No shit, Sherlock. "Exactly. And she needs that as an excuse to get away from her family late in the day, instead of staying over like they're probably going to offer."

"Awesome!" she exclaims.

"So you're in?"

"Well..." she pauses. "Listen, let me be straight."

I hear her voice change. The goofy, chipper cheerleader is gone, replaced by something more composed, maybe even calculating.

"I won't lie, I know you're not the average, run-of-the-mill boyfriend. And before you start thinking I know that from Kelli -- no, I didn't lie, she doesn't talk about you. What I know is from what I've seen on her body when she doesn't know I'm looking. I know from the books she's left lying around -- 'Story of O,' these trashy sci-fi 'Gor' books --"

I can see where she is headed with this, and I'm not sure how worried I should be.

"-- And I know from what she leaves up on her computer, like the airhead she can be sometimes, when she heads out to class. Like, the Tumblr site you two share?"

I put on my firm, lawyerly negotiator's voice. "Your point being?"

"You're him, right?" The Master?"

"What if I am?"

"Well, if you are, then maybe I'll help, but for a price."

I think she's waiting for me to bite, but I am just listening.

"Because, if your weekend 'surprise' is anything like what I think it is," she says, her voice growing serious with calculation, as well as arousal,

"I want in."

**********

The next night, Wednesday, I drive my slut home to Berkeley after training. As is customary, when I park in a secluded spot within a block from your door to let you off, you reach into your shoulder bag and remove the C-belt, expecting me to lock it back in place. You have no excuses between now and our next session, Friday night, so this has been one of the now-rare times there has been no haggling, and you are accepting of your pussy-bondage. You offer the belt to me, but I do not move to accept it.

"Master?" Your eyebrows raise up quizzically. "Don't you wish to --?"

I shake my head. "On the contrary."

I reach out with my jeweler's screwdriver in hand, and remove your right wrist cuff, then your left. Urging you with taps to your thigh, I have you lift your left leg up on the seat so that I can undo the ankle cuff, then do the same on the right.

You are confused, perhaps a little distraught as I do this, but dutifully hold your silence. I wonder what thoughts whirl through your mind as you feel your longtime companions, the cool, smooth steel badges of my ownership, stripped from you without ceremony or explanation.

Lastly, with a gentle hand, I tip your face forward and smooth your hair away from the back of your neck. I spin the tumblers with the combination I have memorized, and a moment later, your throat is free of my collar.

At this, you gasp and make a tiny noise... perhaps a sob?

"Kelli, look at me," I command, and you do, eyes moist. "I have been unfair to you, and to myself, and I have decided to remedy this. I release you from my ownership and control -- temporarily, that is -- until your semester is done and your last exam is completed."

Now I take hold of the chastity belt and, along with the other cuffs and collar, toss the metal into the back seat. Your eyes follow them, watching them disappear into the dark... your eyes moist like those of a child who is watching a beloved pet go away to the vet, never to return.

"Master...?"

"I see you are disoriented, my slut, but understand this is for the best. Your first semester of college is the cornerstone of your education, and therefore, of you career. On the one hand, I have been selfish in creating a distraction, from which your grades may suffer. But on the other, I am selfish in making this decision, because your divided attention has left me poorly served as a Master, and dissatisfied."

You blush, bow your head. "Your slut is sorry, Master," you say softly.

"You should be," I reply curtly. "And when I reclaim my property in December, you will be all mine -- no excuses, no distractions -- I will tighten the grip of my ownership and control over my slave in ways you can't yet imagine." I look you in the eye. "And you will make amends."

I see that the tone in my voice, its firm, masterful and slightly menacing cadence, has aroused you. I see it in the measure of your breath and the smoky, dancing light in your eyes. Good. I have given you a taste of what you will miss.

"Master," you say. "May your slut ask?" Will we have no contact until then?"

"That is my decision," I say. "You needn't even text me to negotiate when to remove your earrings, since that's the only thing I'm leaving you that affects your playing. Simply do what you must. But I encourage you to do what you can."

Briefly, you look away, contemplating the meaning of that prospect.

I add, softly, "Does my slut trust her Master's judgment in this?"

"Yes, Master. Always."

I cock an eyebrow. "Always?"

You see my point. "Except when I am difficult."

"Yes?"

"And a cunt."

"Yes?"

"And a brat."

"Yes."

At this, I drop my stern façade and smile into your face. I take your hands, lean forward and kiss you affectionately on the lips -- which I rarely do -- and continue:

"Cheer up. I am leaving my slut her ear and pussy-rings as reminders of her Master's control. You are free to think of me, provided you exercise the discipline you need to remain focused on your studies through the end of finals. Think you can manage that?"

"Yes, Master. Your slut was a good student long before she was a good slave."

"Well, I trust you will forgive me if I make sure."

I take the now-familiar miniature padlocks from my coat pocket and dangle them in front of your face. I am going to lock up your pussy-rings. I may have my generous side, but I'm not Santa Claus, after all.

"Hike up your skirt, pet."

****slut***

I moan and stretch beneath my blankets, awakened by the bright sunlight of Thursday morning. The fingers of my right hand are laced into my pussy rings. My left hand teases my nipple. I smile.

I decided last night to skip my morning class. By the time I got back to the apartment, showered, and stared blankly into the night through my window as I dried my hair, it was well past 1 a.m. I hadn't done the reading for the class anyway.

I heard Deanna leave some time ago. I have the apartment to myself this morning. All to myself. I have time to myself. I smile again and stretch, my limbs free to do anything I want.

I sigh contentedly, as my left hand leaves my nipple and reaches up to my neck, now collar-less. I hold my hands before me, now cuff-less. Beneath the blanket, I use my big toe to search my ankle, feeling only skin, no steel.

I take a deep breath, trying to understand. For months, there was only Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, the occasional Monday. Those were my training days, the center of my life. All other days were just days to recover and look forward to the next session with Master.

Yes, I admit, at first I was scared as Master took control, but fear was replaced by apprehension, which was replaced by acceptance, which finally became need. Thursday was the day before I would be with Master. Nothing else mattered. But not today, not this Thursday.

I know I am not truly released. The tongue stud, heavy steel earrings and pussy locks are constant reminders of him, of us. Us. I have to admit, I like that word. It means I am not alone, and he understands me, I understand him. There is meaning to my life beyond school and basketball, both of which seem suddenly secondary. A commitment between a man and woman -- even if it's a Master and his fuck-slave --is far different from commitment than to grades, or the team.

I have lost my starting position. The coach is clearly disappointed in me, saying I seem to lack focus. It's true, of course. How can it be anything else? I can't argue. I simply nod with my head bowed, submissively. I cannot be a tiger on the court, and a pussy-slave off.

I decide to use these weeks ahead to commit myself to raising my grades, which have fallen to B's in all my classes, and to regain the starting point guard position. After all, though my parents have not seen me since I left for school in September, they would certainly be horrified if I was kicked off the team and my athletic scholarship revoked.

I uncoil myself from under the blankets and walk to the bathroom. I stop at the full length mirror, as I have for weeks, admiring my body and knowing that it pleases Master. *Sigh.*

Something is new this morning. There are untanned lines around my wrists, ankles, and neck. I trace my fingers along the perfectly circular white rings --

I recall something I said to Master in a restaurants, months ago, talking about the collar: "I would feel it if it were gone."

I do. Feeling suddenly saddened, as though more naked than naked.

As I pee, the liquid amber flowing through the rings, I stare blankly at the shower door. I do not feel lonely, exactly. Neither am I exactly sad. What do I feel? I continue to stare blankly, just sitting on the toilet. I realize that what is feel is separation... and I am suddenly quite sad after all.

**********

I walk through the day in a fog. Even at practice, I try to be intense, wanting to show Coach that even though she has me playing with the second team, I will not sulk. But twice I dribble the ball off my foot and once have the ball stolen by a third string guard. I fear my days on the team are numbered.

When I get home Thursday after practice, I fall on my bed and cry. Inconsolable. Empty. Nothing to look forward to.

I try to masturbate, but the locked rings are unyielding. I frantically try to penetrate their closure, to rake my clittie, but it is hopeless. Angrily, I pull and twist my pussy rings, just to feel the pain and release my frustration.

Naked, I walk to the fridge, looking for anything to fuck my mouth hole. Out of desperation, I take a bottle of beer, and try to simulate Master's cock, but it is a poor substitute and just makes matters worse.

I turn the bottle around, trying for the wide end first. I smile to myself, thinking not even Master's cock is that big. That moment of happiness, smiling at my joke and remembering Master's cock, saves me, because the next thing I do is raise the bottle, intent on smashing it against the sink.

With the bottle raised above my head, anger, sadness, and sense of loss bubbling within me, I suddenly realize that I have totally lost control, that I could do something so stupid as to smash a beer bottle, probably hurting myself, indicates I have to get control. I have to take it back. I have to!

Master is out of my life for more than a month. I have to prove that not only can I survive without him, I can thrive.

Without him to control me, I must control myself.

Quickly, not to lose a moment, I redress in my riding shorts and top, racing down the steps to the storage room for my bike. I make no attempt to warm up, just speeding down the driveway and along University Avenue toward the Bay.

Hours later, I return to my apartment. Deanna is home. We greet each other, as I strip off my top, leaving only my sports bra. I reach for some vitamin water in the fridge.

"Hey, what happened to your necklace and bracelets?"

"I just decided to take them off," I lie. Suddenly reminded of Master. I suck air deeply into my lungs and to shake off the melancholy. I look from the fridge to Deanna, who has a wry smile on her lips. I want to say something like "What?" but I do not want to get into any deeper discussion. I have made my break from Master and I want to leave it like that. I am free, totally free, every day is mine.

Thursday is not the day before Friday. It is just Thursday.

I leave Deanna standing there, retreating to the bathroom to shower.

********

My days with Deanna have been kind of strained. Without the sexual release that Master enabled, I feel a certain emptiness. I like Deanna. She has a strength about her. Not the strength of an athlete, more the strength of personality. More than once I have considered her subtle though undeniable advances. I see her lips and want to feel them, wrestle with her tongue. She and I often walk around the apartment topless.

I want to taste her nipples and tease them with my tongue stud. But if it were to go any further, my pussy is locked and I don't want to explain why. All this makes for awkward moments. I wonder what she thinks of me.

She has invited me to spend Thanksgiving weekend with her and some of her friends. I know most of them. They are all cute.... Hot, I smile to myself. I try to back out, saying I need the weekend with my parents, who are expecting me to spend quality time with them after all these weeks.

I remember Deanna's exact words. "You can be with them Wednesday night and Thursday, girl, but you are coming with me from Thursday night on."

She stared into my eyes with confidence, allowing no argument, and after a moments hesitation, I nodded okay. And I felt good about it, the same sort of feeling when Master issued an order that I could not refuse.

Strange, I think. But I did want to spend time with Deanna and her friends.

I want to Master to release my pussy locks. He knows I will be home with my parents, and surely won't deny me that simple request.

THANKSGIVING, MENDOCINO COAST.

**MASTER**

Behind the shroud, sitting on a low stool, I watch my prisoner begin to stir.

Outside, the wind howls and the surf crashes distantly against the jagged cliffs of the Mendocino coastline, the air is wet and cold, and the night is black and moonless under a leaden blanket of fog. But inside, it is warm where the prisoner lies, close to the heating grate. I suppose sooner or later after it awakes, the wretched thing may appreciate that I am keeping it warm.

But that won't be the first thing it notices. What it notices first will probably be what I've done to its face, followed by what I've done to its hands and feet. Followed by the sight of the cage in the corner nearby, its gate open and waiting to take in the captive slavebeast. Followed by an awareness of its complete nakedness and helplessness.

Followed by the small sheet of notepaper I've left lying near its face, which reads:

"WELCOME TO OBEDIENCE SCHOOL."

FOUR WEEKS EARLIER.

I am at Mr. S Leather & Fetters, the finest purveyor of quality bondage and fetish gear west of the Mississippi, allowing the sales assistant to demonstrate the advantages of the gag I am considering. I've been handling most of the planning, purchasing and other logistics for my Thanksgiving surprise at the front end of my period of absence from Kelli. I don't exactly know why, since I've had weeks to effectuate my plot. I suppose it's to occupy the time I was so accustomed to spending on my slave's training, almost as if I need this as a kind of withdrawal from the habit she had become for me.

"You see," says the rubber-shirted, heavily face-pierced clerk, "the head-harness is the fixed base, but everything else is detachable and replaceable."

"Modular," I offer.

"Sure, whatever... These rings here, see, you can clip in the horse-bit, the ball or the ring-gag. You don't even need to buy them all if you don't want them. And the muzzle-panel fits on top of the whole thing, up over the nose, so that half the face is covered --"

"Dehumanizing," I nod.

"That's the idea, right..."

I am mesmerized... and looking ahead to when I will use this on my captive, aroused.

Just as arousing is the time I spend at home, on the internet and phone, fine-tuning my plan, searching a suitable location and securing the dates I want, purchasing more goods... researching chloroform... even though this is straight-up logistical, "brain work." But I've always known this about myself: As an innately meticulous and exacting man, naturally I'm a meticulous and exacting Master, and I find sexual stimulation in this. I always have. More than this, I know my arousal is sharpened and focused specifically on my slut, and the thought of what I will do to her. And, connected to this thought, I discover another: I miss her.

The realization comes unexpectedly, as I am scrolling through the online catalogue of a BDSM gear site in search of additional restraints. As it sinks in, I realize I hadn't expected it, and it surprises me... I guess I had focused so much on the effect of my absence from Kelli's life, trying to guess and gauge its effect on her, that I forgot to imagine how it might feel to me. Perhaps this is another reason I have busied my time with fussy planning: to put aside my feelings of separation and loss.

I miss her.

I blink my eyes at the computer screen, realizing I have been scrolling without actually looking at the content flashing past my eyes. I shake my head and stand up, cross the room and walk down the hall to the kitchen, where I pour myself a neat Jameson. I pad out into the darkened living room and stare at the intersection of Bay windows that converge in the corner, overlooking the street below.

It is late night, and normally I would have pulled the blinds after sunset, but tonight I was too preoccupied with my planning to leave my office since the moment I returned home. I see the occasional car speed by, the light-rail train hissing past on the electric cable just below my view. A waxing gibbous moon peeks in and out of sight behind the drifting fog bank. It is very still outside, very quiet and calm.

I wonder what caused this surge of feeling for Kelli, and I quickly realize: As I was shopping online for restraints to use on my slut, I was concerned that they should not damage her skin.