Ashen Master Pt. 01

I picked up the phone and called him. Maybe I could flirt again, and tinker with him like he was my own personal Lament Configuration.

"Hello, Pet." His voice sent desire pulsing through my clit, even soft on the phone as it was.

"Good evening, Dr. Lecter."

He chuckled. "Ah, still on that, are we? You might want to wait for those kinds of accusations until after you try the fava beans and Chianti. They tell me I'm not supposed to take those with my medication, so it's good I'm not on it, Clarice."

I laughed happily. "No one ever knows the real joke behind that quote."

His smile was quite warm. "I'm afraid you're not alone, Pet. I enjoy Thomas Harris and do know that joke, as well."

"Well, at least you're only eating people and not trying to feed a stray cat to an ATM. Honestly, Lecter was sexier than Bateman."

"I think that unlikely to be the image that Harris was going for. But I would agree anyway, relatively speaking. A controlled sociopath does seem hotter than a broken psychopath."

Oh, this was fun. He knew his books and he kept up with even my obsessive references. "I contend that his being hot was absolutely what they were going for in the show."

"You'll lose me on that one. I only know books and opera."

"Gross. Not to the books, but the opera. That's weird. And um... can I show you the show then? I'm bored. I... would like some company, please, sir."

Anytime I would ask for something like that, he would chuckle with this soft way he had. "We can spend some of the afternoon and early evening together, but I will have to be back for the night, as you know, Pet."

Oh. Right. He had to watch over the club and his kinky subjects, rule as their king and god. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Polite. Always be polite. He was inherently teaching me very good manners, and those were even more reinforced by our lack of names. He was Sir and I was Pet, so far. And those names commanded my manners with him almost as easily as breathing. Where once the names had felt like an intimate tether, they were starting to seem more like a protective guard against our real relationship. So that day, when he got to my little college apartment, I opened the door and forced myself to ask him, "What's your name?"

The smile he gave me made me go weak at the knees. It was dark with intent. He stepped over the doorstep and shut it quickly before he caught me by my hair, and I felt sticky arousal between my legs within seconds. "I do have a name, but it is not for young, barely alcohol legal girls who show up in my club on hard drugs. It is also not for girls who show up on a fun date with me with their flesh razored and their eyes swollen red from confused tears. No, those girls get a different name for me, and it is the only name permitted to leave their lips. Those girls had better politely call me 'Master'."

I whimpered, drenching my thong. "But you aren't my master and I'm not your slave."

His wicked smile only grew. "Not intimately, but in a vague sense? I soothe your wounds and I'm a guidance figure for you, can we both agree on that?" I nodded quickly because he most certainly was a guidance figure. He was a sensei, a teacher, who commanded me in things like discipline. "Those figures often go by that name. Try it on your lips. Go on and say it, just to feel how it tastes on your tongue while looking at me."

I opened my mouth, feeling that sensation of flirting and dealing with the devil, especially when he looked down at me with such glittering ice in his eyes. Once again, I had that sensation of a storybook. He was Joe Black and I was the daughter of the man he was sent to fetch, except I didn't think this version of Joe had enough mercy to leave the daughter in the world of the living when he found her.

I kind of didn't want him to, just like I kind of didn't want the movie version of Hannibal, the one where he cut off his own arm to let Clarice escape unscathed. No, I wanted the book version where he so thoroughly corrupted her, so twisted her mind that she finally fell at his knees, and broke to feed on Krendler with him. I wanted to be the purity of Clarice and fall to his corruption.

Alright, well, I certainly wasn't the purity of anything really, but even so. I stared up into his eyes, heart thundering, imagining that he held me hypnotized by his gaze, like the Phantom holding Christine thrall. Angel, my soul was weak. Forgive me. Enter at last-

"I'm waiting." His voice was soft, his eyes intent, and that calmness drew me in so that I forgot my fears and fell to my storybook fantasies.

"Yes, Master."

Hot arousal shot through me like firecrackers through my body. God, looking at him, staring into his eyes and calling him that was heavenly. It was pure eroticism that soothed me to the depths of my chaotic being. He knew, too. His smile turned into something truly sinful. "Such a good girl, with such good manners." I cried out when he twisted my head back a little farther, his hand still in my hair, and danced when he cupped me between my legs with his others hand, stroking me with his fingertips. "Ah, having manners arouses you." He chuckled when I blushed a little. "No, don't feel embarrassed. It should arouse you. Why don't you call me that again, this time while asking me to make you cum on my hand?"

Oh god. There was a reason why this should make me feel afraid, but I couldn't remember it. "Please finger me and make me cum, Master!"

"There's a good girl." He pushed my yoga shorts and thong to the side, making sure I held his gaze, and then he filled me. Two fingers thrusted inside of me, working in a powerful rhythm that made me pant within seconds. He twisted his hand and I choked on pleasure.

And then his thrusts turned harder and I came apart, unable to look away from his eyes as I did. The icy wasteland in them kept me sedated and I wanted to feel more of it.

"Open up. You have a messy little cunt, and you will clean off my fingers the same way you clean off my toys." I opened my mouth automatically and suckled, bobbing my head in the way I had learned from him. I made sure to part my lips and flick my tongue between his fingertips obscenely, made sure to fuck him with my mouth for a few strokes. He wanted a nice, slutty visual when he had me clean with my tongue. "Good girl." He cooed it and pulled away from me, and I had to shake my head, to clear it, while he grinned ruefully. "Wicked little thing. I meant to be on my best behavior."

I blinked at him, still lost in some arousal while he was ever unruffled. He had made it clear that he had interest in me, but how did he do that? Was he even hard? I couldn't tell at the moment and that killed me. But he was interested. The look in his eyes had made me well aware of that.

"Um." Right. I wanted to show him things and tinker with him like my own puzzle cube, wanted to see if there was a Cenobite waiting inside, if I could ever solve it. "Okay. Hang on, I want to try Hannibal first and see what you think."

He tilted his head and nodded, playfulness in his eyes. He was so cold about everything but he had to have likes and dislikes, right? Everyone did. Everyone had some basic preferences, things like if they preferred one ice cream over another. He had to be the same way.

So I started something that quickly distracted me from any kind of drugs or impulsively bad behaviors. He was my curiosity. People were so rarely interesting, but I had actually always enjoyed the interesting ones. They were all their own little puzzle and I liked talking to them to figure out how they worked. See, most people were just so bloody boring. There wasn't any intellectual backing behind their decisions. They just chose random preferences or reality shows, which were the worst. There was nothing to be gleaned from those, no information really there. I lost interest in most people. But I quickly learned that I didn't think I could ever lose interest in him.

He did enjoy Hannibal and he clearly enjoyed it for the darkest reasons. The psychoanalysis bits seemed to bore him, which was understandable, but the manipulation, the cat and mouse play, the flirting. He loved that.

Okay, but that seemed like an "of course he would" thing, so when he left, I got curious again. He had said he liked opera. Why? I went looking through the genre that night to see what it had to offer. Once I got past those damned vocals, I could focus on what the operas were about, see their story. And I realized something.

Opera was super motherfucking dramatic, as a genre. That's why it had those vocals, to add to the drama. If the stories in opera were ever placed on screen, it would either be ridiculous or stupid or... I grinned. I had another show to try with him then. Because opera was highly fantastical, featured romantic settings, and had an old style of lore.

I invited him over the next day and I showed him The Magicians.

My dark king of his underground world fell in instant love with the entire show, and Eliot was his favorite. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. Had he called his playful face a facade? Had he said that other people became uncomfortable around him because he had little in the way of emotion? They were crazy. He gave these real laughs if you knew how to get them from him. I would watch him at certain parts, while trying to not give away that I was watching him, but if I knew something ridiculously dramatic was going to happen, then I definitely wanted to see his reaction. Eventually, after one of those moments, he said, "Would you either watch me all the time or stop doing that? You're giving parts away."

And I had to laugh. I hesitated and then unfurled from the chair I had been sitting on, and went to his knees. I cuddled there in the floor, wrapping up in a blanket instead. "There. Now I can't watch you without awkwardly having to turn and see you."

His gaze held mine for a long moment, before he smiled and stroked my hair back. "Ah, is that the reason?"

I nervously nodded. "Y-yes." No.

He held me trapped by his eyes again, his smile taunting me. "Lying loses you privileges, kotik. Pets don't need clothes. Take yours off." He watched with a lazy smile while I obeyed, blushing to the feel of being naked at his knees. He adjusted the pillows to prop himself up better and relaxed, petting my hair. "You may use the blanket, so long as you let me see you when I say."

I realized my mistake in curling up there about five minutes later. My pussy was drenched, aching, and I made a creamy mess against my thighs while I sat and shifted in silence, watching with him.

He taunted me one more time thirty minutes later. "Your little cunt is so horny from you sitting where you belong that I can even smell it from here, Pet."

I held his jeans and whimpered quietly while he chuckled at the humiliation in my response, but he didn't do anything to ease my suffering. He just continued petting me, watching with me, and it was either the best or the worst thing ever, and I couldn't tell anymore. The control of being like that and being left in that state made me feel soothed again, which made me frightened again.

Deep breaths. He knew I wasn't his slave and this was just... like dating. It was just dating with no strings attached. That's all it was.

Wasn't it? Sometimes it felt like I could feel the rope being slipped over my head, feel it so slowly tightened, centimeter by centimeter. But maybe it was all in my head. Maybe it was just my stupid fears.

————

Ash

I had things I liked!

It was a novelty and oh, how fun! I had always had preferences for things like dramatic music, knew all kinds of ranges for sex club house music. That had been the extent of my personality for... well, since I'd damned myself with a few sins one fateful night. But it turned out that wasn't necessarily all of it. She showed me different things and there were preferences there and I wasn't even bored. I liked stories, had always enjoyed those, and it turned out that things like shows and movies weren't always boring. I just needed a friend to see them with me, so I could talk.

And of course, it made me want her all the more. Every passing date, every evening in a book store where she would ask me questions with those thoughtful eyes, every curious new thing she wanted to show me, became something near pain. Even after she healed, she didn't come to me for that final punishment to get her card, and I didn't bring it up. It felt like something to be left for us, like an event neither of us wanted to start so it wouldn't have to be over. The effect was that she didn't end up with a card for a long time.

But that's not to say that she didn't end up at Sulfur's.

I got the call one night about a week later. She had healed wonderfully and she would have minimal scarring. So it was more than a fair time frame. In fact, I should have already given her that last punishment... "Hello, Clarice."

She laughed in my ear, but it was an anxious laugh. Her curiosities seemed to have been satisfied with me for the time being, but her emotions were still... I thought they were wonderful, but I'm sure to her they must have been torturous and exhausting. Her anxiety would shoot sky high at the slightest provocation. Her fear response was immediate when she heard a noise out of the ordinary in her apartment. Her tears came easily, but were soothed just as easily. Her anger was a fun thing, although I'd never tell her that. It burned to life and then died within 30 minutes at most.

What was more fascinating was the fact that she totally forgot what any of those emotions felt like once she was no longer feeling them. She couldn't remember the feeling of anger when she didn't have it. It intrigued me, because I thought that was why empathy was so difficult for her sometimes.

But all those things also meant she wore her heart on her sleeve. Her little return laugh on the phone had a world of rainbow suggestion in it. Nervousness, excitement, anticipation, some fear. "H-hello, Master."

I leaned back at my desk chair. Expanding the clubs was fun, but there was a world of numbers and random shit that came with renovating to open. I had learned the most sporadic bits of useless information from subcontractors alone. But with my little playmate, I worked more efficiently than ever these days. I was an android of a person, a machine, and I was staring at a spreadsheet of successful accounting when she called, enjoying the fact that she affected me in these ways, stroking a hand over my still caged cock.

"How can I help you?"

She hesitated and I waited it out patiently. I had learned that sometimes she just needed a minute. "Are you only interested in me as a slave?"

I sat forward. "Only? You don't know what comes with the interest of someone as a slave, Pet, if you have to ask that. If I'm interested in you as a slave, it means I'm interested in everything about you, more than anyone ever could be."

"I don't... know what that means."

Huh. That question actually took some of my patience from me. "Ask for what you want, Pet."

"Okay. Um. Okay. Okay, would you play with me or... not play, really. Mess around or something, I don't know. At Sulfur's, maybe? But, like, not in a sexual way, I mean."

She was also not very eloquent when emotions started taking their hold. I loved it. "Well, that clears things up. Why don't you come to Sulfur's, and we'll see what we can do to satisfy a kinda, sorta, not-really-playing in a not sexual way."

Her laugh was shy and breathless in my ear. "I'm sorry. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure, Pet." And it was, actually. I considered her words, thinking of what I knew about submissives, the deep world submissives. There were those who were like the Pet I had first met, ones who chased their kinky desires for fun. But then there were ones who lived in submission. It was their state of being, their kind of therapy. And those kinds would get antsy if they went too long without a feeling of subspace. And it had to be subspace, specifically. Not sex, but the mentality of pleasing someone. It was like they would be all over the place and that magical mindset was an anchor to recenter them. And it was easy to see why. A submissive personality craved to feel approval, craved to see someone else pleased with them, so it made perfect sense.

I thought I might know what Pet needed. She showed up at my back door in perfect time for me to do it too. The dungeon monitors could handle opening Sulfur's, but once it started to get busy, I preferred to be more hands on and personal. That gave me plenty of time to get Pet set up.

I hugged her when I saw her and she gave me a shy, nervous smile. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," she answered back softly. "I'm really sorry. I don't know what I want. I'm really confused."

I touched her nose. "Well, fortunately for you, I've built my life on fetishes and needs of all kinds. I feel good enough to take an educated guess. Come on, Pet." She followed after me and this time I took her to my bedroom.

She blinked. "Is this your dungeon?"

I laughed and pat the middle of the huge bondage bed. "No, this is my bed. Kneel in the center please."

She obeyed but her attention was all over the place. She looked up at the suspension hook over the bed, looked at the sex swing, her eyes wide. "This is where you sleep?" It came out squeaky and I had to laugh.

"Yes, kotik. I'm sure if you thought about it enough you would realize that it's not that shocking. Now, just sit still. Don't speak anymore for a bit until I speak to you. Understood?"

"Yes, Master." She stared at me then and I smiled, getting up to grab the lengths of soft rope I had, uncoiling them and delighting in the feel across my hands. She watched quietly, obediently, while I went to work, ritualistically tying her into a rope harness.

I had discovered from her punishment with the crop that the methodical layering of rope soothed my Pet. It took that terrible chaos she suffered and made sense of it, soothed out all the tangles of it, until it was something more manageable. And rope didn't work for some submissives. It was time consuming to harness someone. The artist types were the ones more drawn to shibari. I couldn't claim to get into the art form of it, but I knew my way around the gist well enough.

The rope started to create a type of collar, then made a knotted frame around her tits. I made diamond patterns around her torso, calmly taking my time. The quiet was an introspective kind, one that drew me into that lovely connection with her. I had her lift up so I could make a teasing little harness between her legs, framing her pussy over her clothes. I tied her wrists loosely together behind her.

When I was done, she was a sensual little creature, bound up and harnessed, and so nicely submissive. In the end, I didn't speak to her at all, because that connection sang between us and said all that needed to be communicated. With every rope, she soothed. With every knot tied, she curled closer to my touch and I had to smile. "Now, how's that for kinda, sorta, not really playing, kotik?"

She arched her face closer to me and I obliged her with a kiss, stroking her comfortably harnessed breasts gently, lovingly. "This is good, Master."

I smiled when her lips pressed up again, holding her. "It's alright, Pet. I know what you need sometimes. I know that this mind just wants to serve, to feel the pleasure of submitting every now and again. I can take care of you, and those needs, anytime you need me to."

For the moment, her fear was fast asleep, as if I had played it Brahm's Lullaby or Moonlight Sonata. Her gaze was totally relaxed and sweetly adoring, with all the power of that wonderful emotion. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

"Now, why don't you just relax and stay here for a while. Are you comfortable?"