His Mysterious Voice Pt. 02

Author's note: I regret spelling and grammar errors in both this chapter and previous as I write these on my phone for my own reasons.

All participants are over 18, and there are elements of mind control which suggests non-consent. Fair warning has been given.

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My body ached, almost at the point of shaking and it wasn't long before I would be, as I was kneeling on the floor. My wrists were cuffed together behind me and attached by a very short chain to the floor forcing my arms back and my body to have to be in its kneeling position. My neck was encased in the collar I had woken up in, and the O-rings on it were now playing host to different chains. One chain was leading down my back connecting the collar to the chains and cuffs restricting my wrists. This worked to keep my head up so it couldn't drop down and keeping my back straight. Two other much thinner chains lead down from the collar to connect to nipple clamps currently clasping my nipples making them feel slightly tortured and throbbing after the amount of time they had been on and I had been forced to stay in this position.

Master had left me like this for the past two hours, something I knew only because there was a clock on the wall in front of me- time else wise had slipped into having no meaning. As he set me in the position, I had voiced my own doubt of my ability to do it - the ability to withstand it. My presumption of speaking out of turn had earned me a ball-gag stuffed in my mouth and Master explaining that it had nothing to do with what I thought I could or couldn't do but everything to do with what he wanted. That from that point onward all that would ever matter is what my owner wanted, even if it meant harm to myself. If I was lucky my Masters, either himself or any he chose to sell me to if he opted to sell me, would care to not damage their own property too badly... But that everyone treated their own things differently.

Slaves, I was informed, were no different in worth from tables or chairs. Objects. Objects that could carry out certain jobs, sexual or otherwise, but objects all the same. My mind wanted to rebel against the idea. Struggled to argue... But his voice was so soft, so consistent, so easy to melt my entire body into. Every time I thought too hard about trying to rebel, to declare my independence, to just think in and of itself... My mind started to unravel.

I knew about BDSM relationships of course; about people submitting willingly to another, the discussion of limits, the agreements in place, the fact that the submissives could call out a safe word or just end the relationship. The difference between a healthy or toxic BDSM relationship and checking if something was SSC/RACK. I knew of predators, and I knew of "the good ones". The stories I had read appealed a good deal from their being fantasy. The difference between the fantasy and the reality being stark.

But knowing all this, knowing the situation I was in and what my Master was telling me was not safe, not RACK, but the traditional, hundreds of years old slavery... The barbaric slavery, the slavery one read of in history books with a modern kinky twist... I couldn't bring myself to fight it more. I could feel the slick wetness of my cunt as I recognised my arousal at what he said, the torture of being made to wait there because it was his whim. The slight tingle of fear running up my spine that he was never coming back and would forget I was there.

It crashed upon my mind, again and again...

And then he was there. At least, I was pretty sure it was Master. Standing behind me where I couldn't see but close enough I could feel the strong presence.

I shivered.

And then I felt something new. Something I had both anticipated and feared.

The light gliding, almost caressing, a touch of a well made a leather crop, the folded over slightly wider pad of leather on the end being used to stroke softly following down the curve of my spine and brushing right next to where the thicker chain was.

The man, I was sure it was Master, continued from the base of my neck to just above where my ass began, then went back up and began down again only a few centimetres over. Goosebumps broke out along every square inch of my flesh as he gently coaxed my body to become alive with awareness, the stroking of the crop moving slowly over every centimetre of my back. Then he began the same stroking movements along my right arm, and then my left arm.

It was like he was carefully and invisibly marking my entire body with his crop, learning every single curve and plane.

I was visibly and audibly shaking now, the chains rattling from the constant if subtle movement which caused the crop wielding tormentor to chuckle.

It was Master. The sound went straight to my middle and turned everything there liquid.

Slowly working his way around he finally stood before me and looked down on his latest acquisition. The whip caresses continued and I kneeled there at first not daring to look up at him, to move, while he worked.

When I did dare look up at him I proved my instinct right as he quickly cracked down causing the end of the crop to bounce hard off the top slope of my left breast and causing myself to shriek then whimper as I looked down, the skin already reddening with the impact burn.

The chains on the nipple clamps jingled as my breasts shook the pulling of the nipples by the clamps causing my whimpering to be prolonged all while I fought to become silent and still again for fear that if I continued to make noise now I wouldn't be able to stop and would begin to moan and cry from the other pains and soreness in my body.

Slowly the crop moved up to under my chin and my Master insistently made me look at him.

"You can be a good girl. You really try little slut even when you fail and that is why I chose you. You have knelt, and one day, you'll be able to kneel like this without the restraints, looking only when your dominant wants you to..."

His soft calm voice whispered and washed over me, calming the aches and fears within my body and mind until I was once more still while looking up at him. I wasn't sure I believed him, but Master was always honest. He had never lied to me. I couldn't figure out what made me so sure he was so honest.. But it felt within me as strong a fact as the Earth having tectonic plates and the air being mostly nitrogen.

"You yearn to please, to serve. The entire purpose of your existence is to be owned and please in obedience to your owner. You know this. It's in your very bones, your DNA, your molecules. You surrender, serve..."

Yes... That was right. That was correct. I was sure of it!

"Even now, you hunger to please me with your body... Your mind is for my use, your will does not exist... Only my will. Only the will of your owner or owners. Your superiors."

How did he know that? How did he know how much I hungered before even I knew? He was right, of course, he was, Master was always right. I did hunger... Badly.

That was when he showed me the most beautiful sight. Unzipping his trousers and reaching in for it.

His cock. Roughly 6in, slightly curved and with a strong proud head. He smiled letting it stand from his body, not holding it at the base as some did. Just letting my eyes drink in its full unadulterated beauty.

My mouth, dry from hours of being forced open by the ball gag that caused my jaw to be stiff, locked, and sore, was now watering once again.

I needed it. I needed to suck his cock. I needed it so badly I could feel it already.

Moving he took the gag off me gently, massaging my jaw for me with surprising gentleness and care. A small loving piece of attention that made me almost cry from my desire to have more... To serve him well and earn more little kindnesses.

My eyes followed the gentle bobbing of his cock, full and pulsing enough it could stay standing straight without having to be held. The smallest bead of precum glistened on the head and no desire in me, in my entire life, was stronger than my desire right then to lick it. To taste him on my tongue.

He straightened and stared down at me and seemed to be almost smirking. Just standing there, right in front of me, as if daring me to move, to take him in my mouth. But he said nothing.

I refused to move. He hadn't told me to. If I were to give in to my desire without his order or his desire for it expressed I would be punished. And that's how it was supposed to be. His desire, his will, that was what mattered. I didn't have a right to have my own desires. I was an object. There to please him. Not there to please myself. That was the natural order.

It had to be, Master had said so.

He didn't speak for a little and then he ordered.

"Open."

I opened my mouth, compliance swift and eager and almost groaned with pleasure as the silky soft touch of the underside from his cock slid home in the sheath of my mouth.

There was no ordering me to blow him, not this time, the first time. Instead his left hand curled in my hair, holding it tight and controlling my head as he facefucked me. Grunting occasionally and more than happy to make me gag. He gently whispered and explained how he liked to be blown. Describing in minute detail how he wanted me to move or use my tongue on him during fellatio, moving my head a little to sometimes demonstrate.

As he began to push to the back of my throat more and more he moved his right hand down and unclipped each nipple clamp one by one. I screamed around his cock, muffled and choked and causing him to chuckle and moan in equal amounts.

His thrusts began to pick up their pace, becoming erratic and both hands moving to hold my head still as he fucked my mouth to completion.

Within five minutes he was cumming down my throat and the taste was at the very back of my tongue. I moaned in pleasure and swallowed it down as the most life giving and satisfying liquid I had ever known.

It took a while for him to finish cumming, an eternity, hours, minutes, maybe 45 seconds. Who could tell? All I knew was that with every single swallow had me yearning for another. When he finally finished I couldn't help releasing a whimper of disappointment that it was done.

Chuckling and ruffling my hair, he undid my chains from the floor and had me crawl, stiff legged, back to the bedroom we had woken in.

Slaves never walked upright unless their Master desired it for a specific reason he explained. Wore nothing but their collars unless their Masters desired clothes on them perhaps for going outside or fulfilling a kink. Always walked or crawled a little behind their Master by the heel their Master assigned them.

As we came into the room he had me sit, almost dog like, on the thin mattress I had woken on.

"Slaves don't go on furniture unless their Master wants them there for a job or the like. Some like to sleep with their slaves next to them. I prefer slaves knowing their place. People get to use furniture. Slaves ARE furniture."

My mind absorbed this, the part that rebelled against it was quieter than it had ever been. No, he was right. I had heard him correctly. Slaves weren't people. Only people got to go on furniture. If a Master put a slave on a bed it was like someone stacking chairs. Furniture upon furniture. Object upon object.

Obviously in that long ago life (days ago? Years? What even was time?) I had lived, I had been living it wrong. Brazenly using furniture as if I were people.

I wasn't a person. I am a slave.

His slave.

I was born thus. I was always meant to be a slave.