Judge Her Not Ch. 1

The note arrived via messenger from Teresa's Master, simply worded yet as commanding as his actual presence. It specified his time of arrival, how she should be dressed, and it also included an extra bit of information: He would be bringing along a friend, who long held the fantasy of watching a session between a Dominant and submissive who had the true rapport. A relation so often attempted and rarely achieved, and she read this for what it was...a warning, not a compliment, not an indication of a particular emotion often encountered in any sexual relationship. It was a warning to be at her absolute best, 'or else'. Such notes in this pairing were the norm.

Oftentimes they indicated what Master anticipated wanting for refreshment, or perhaps that she should be waiting in a certain way, or have a bath ready for him. Instantly her heart thudded against her ribs, she could feel heat rising in her pale face at the very thought of an onlooker in such an intimate environment, and the very real possibility that she would be found lacking in some way. Going to the parties and clubs was one thing, where there were scenes going on all around and one could lose themselves in that comforting anonymity, and any well trained submissive knew that errors were more likely to be seemingly overlooked there, and dealt with afterward. The reason for this was simple; no Dominant wanted to be made a fool of directly or indirectly, particularly by the one they rule over, and the desire waned further in situations where others were present.

Some would consider this pairing to be exceptionally odd. Master, a professional man, highly educated, well groomed, designer suits. She, a pale and 'Gothic'-looking creature of strange dress, whose body was adorned with tattoos of ancient symbols, and gleaming metal piercing her flesh in what many would consider strange or cruel places. What knowledge the girl lacked was, that Master did love her in his own way; he simply opted not to tell her so, lest she become unruly. However, he did pay all of her expenses, including medical insurance and spending money. She would not dare ask for more. To receive so much in exchange for fulfilling his demands seemed more than fair to her, a dream come true.

This was altogether different from anything he had subjected to her previously. Master's hold on her was so complete, that he could predict how she would respond to any given situation in or out of a session. He anticipated her immediate nervous response, and if she was honest with herself, she knew, that he enjoyed it. The dance between him and his submissive was as finely choreographed as a performance in a ballroom competition; they fed from one another's needs, relied on what the other gave in return for what was taken. With true resolve she squared her shoulders and placed the note on the small kitchen table by which she was standing. She told herself repeatedly that she would not fail, she reminded herself of her complete love for and devotion to Master, reminded herself that her sole reason for being in this time and place in life was for his pleasure, no matter what that might be. Teresa was good at avoiding certain realities, such as that Master was under no obligation to love her the way she did him, or that she was nothing more than a collection of places for him to deposit his ejaculate.

In reality only moments passed. Moments that felt to the submissive also known as Teresa as if a small century had ticked by. With a pronounced shiver she left the kitchen and inspected the tiny parlor, and all appeared in order to her eyes. There was a leather sofa that Master had brought, one he claimed to love, and it gleamed softly in the strategic soft light. The cream colored walls were sparsely decorated, save for an occasional Oriental print, and a tall vase in one corner. Feeling satisfied with environmental appearances she moved up the stairs to the bed and bathroom.

There was plenty of time to clean and shave herself, and then go through the specific girly-ritual of hair and makeup (and she was secretly delighted that Master preferred her looking natural, he rarely desired much more than some powder and mascara), followed by adorning her body with the scant clothing specified in today's message. These things she did with a strange kind of detachment, almost as if she was not fully present in her own mind. The mind of the submissive was concerned with more pressing issues, such as her every move being graceful and perfect, her head being kept at a certain angle, and not having the temerity to actually look upon Master's face directly in the company of his guest. Such things she had come to think of as the Danger Zones. Places where an error could easily be made, if she were too full of her own abilities as his pleasure toy. Master was right, when he said that she tended to forget her place in things, and become too confident in his kindnesses.

After completing Body Chores and affixing the band of slave bells to her right ankle...her feet would remain bare with that exception...she slipped the custom corselet of fine velvets and laces around her torso and adjusted the boning. Carefully she began hooking what seemed to be hundreds of fastenings up the left side. The piece was designed to give the appearance of a true corset, laced in the back...but such is impossible to put on by one's self, so adjustments had to be made. It came to just below her large, naked breasts. The metal hoops through her nipples gleamed in the kind light and she allowed herself to feel a moment of pride for this trait of hers. Deft fingers reached up to both hoops as she affixed a fine chain between them, causing a very definite pressure that resulted in pleasurable sensations, and urged her nipples to a heightened state of erection.

Then came the crowning moment of the dressing; she removed the white gold necklace worn as a substitute collar. A 'collar the rest of the world can see'. In its place she put on the thick black leather collar, complete with three rings and two heavy buckles. With an easy series of movements it was buckled in place, and she felt whole again. Just as effortlessly she completed the set with a matching pair of 'bracelets', both of which also sported a large ring. In seconds the chains were all in place, effectively attaching her wrists to her neck but leaving room to move with surprising range. How Master loved this set, that was purchased several summers before at a lifestyle convention in Las Vegas. A quick check assured her that her appearance was as good as it would ever get, and she picked up a perfume bottle with a shaky hand. After nearly dropping the bottle, several sprays of a custom blended scent were applied to her neck, her cleavage, her inner thighs, her ankles. The aroma was heady, intoxicating. In the blink of an eye Teresa was no longer Teresa. Now, she was the slut, the whore, the toy, off to complete her purpose in life.

When Master arrived with his guest, she was as he expected her. Sitting painfully upright on a small metal stool, breasts thrust forward, her back arched in a way that suggested that indeed it was uncomfortable. Her chin was tilted up, her eyes trained downward. The stool was of a perfect height to allow her perfect control of how her legs were positioned. And tonight that position was spread apart, her sex easily visible, hands rested palm side up just above her knees. The scene had begun without the uttering of a single word.

Master's guest seemed unsure in some way, and the slave tried to glean all she could from him without looking directly to him. Peripheral vision had a strange upside to it: that often, one saw peripherally what one did not see in a direct view. There was much information to be had there, and this evening, one of the things she saw was that the man seemed familiar somehow, but she could not quite place why. He seemed to be tall and to have a commanding air about him, the kind of man one such as herself would not want to anger needlessly. It seemed to the girl that the man seemed curious, but uncomfortable, but she could not fathom why. Perhaps he had never realized that people like herself and Master truly existed in places other than the porno movies and fetish magazines. He had gotten so far as discussing such secret fantasies to Master, had he not? The man stood awkwardly in the doorway between the kitchen and parlor while Master circled her, his index finger tracing a line across her jaw before being pulled cruelly away from her tingling flesh, only to give each of the two chains from wrist to neck a gentle tug, a brief flick of the chain suspended between her breasts. Master made a hand gesture to the visitor, inviting him to be seated, and the man took a seat on the aging leather sofa.

The thoughts that ran through the visitor's mind were many and rapid. He couldn't believe this good fortune, that was only the result of a strange series of coincidences and conversations. Here he was, living out one of his favorite fantasies. He didn't care one bit that the experience was costing him a good part of a week's salary. His coworker explained to him that exploiting the submissive is often a wonderful tool in keeping them 'in line'. The visitor was happy to pay, and, also according to his friend, enhance the training of the girl.

The Master spoke to the slave.

"Were you a good girl today?" he asked. "Yes, sir." She replied. Like a bolt of lightning, Master's hand shot out and slapped her face hard enough to rock her head to the side. When his hand fell to his side, the print was already visible as a welt on her face. Both knew from experience that there would be no bruise. "Liar," was the word uttered by him without the first bit of detectable emotion. The visitor watched in amazement as the girl's eyes filled with tears that did not fall. In a harsh whisper she begged of her Master..."Please forgive this girl. She is bad, and dirty, and should know better than to have answered that she behaved." Fascinated, the guest watched as the other man rested the palm of his hand over the welted area, and when he realized that the girl was leaning into that touch, his cock instantly became rock hard.

The Master stepped back, and gave a very slight hand gesture. In a second the girl was on her knees before him, striking yet another painful looking pose for the trainer, only this time her head was averted along with her gaze. Like this they stayed for long minutes, all three participants anxious and breathless in their own way for their own reasons, a movie still from an underground film. "Show me your body," he demanded of his charge, and she stood to her full tall height in a single fluid movement. White shoulders moved with slow grace as the clasps were one by one unhooked by slightly tremoring fingers. In a short period of time, the velvet and lace fell, where it landed to pool at her feet. Much thought must go into the dressing of a slave, one who wears such things as serving sets, an ornament that makes more traditional dress and lingerie impossible.

Every muscle of the girl's body was thrumming with nervous and sexual tension. It could be felt, almost, as a low vibration in the air. Like a man at auction, the Master ran his hands over her body lines. Inspecting her, testing to be sure there was no stubble, no bruising that went unaccounted for, no evidence of disobedience. He was also reminding her who owned who here. She emitted low whimpers and moans as he administered this judging. "Look at how wet this little whore is," Master stated as he pulled his shining fingers away from her inner thighs. He crossed the room to the visitor, a man he worked with every day, and held the glistening fingers in front of his face. "Do you see now why it's a full time job just keeping her obedient?" Master looked at his colleague, the raging hardon beneath his expensive suit certainly not lost to his gaze. The man sat mutely on the sofa, nodding, his piercing black eyes glazed with the lust he felt, the lust reserved for the living out of fantasy. Master suddenly sat beside the enraptured guest, his hand quickly covering the twitching length of cock so blatantly straining to be freed. The man groaned as Master squeezed, Master completely confident in his control of the situation, no matter how temporary it may be. "Take it out. I know you want to, and I think the little whore would like to taste it," were the harsh words issuing from the Master's lips, and without hesitation the man removed his suit jacket and tossed it aside, before unclasping the pants and sliding the zipper down. A huge, uncut length leapt from it's confines.

Without looking at the slave, Master commanded "Suck him." The girl crawled over the wine colored carpet toward the visitor, and this caused him to groan with pleasure. In the back of his mind, the fact that there was a prominent and perfectly formed bruise of an adult human bitemark on her shoulder, at a slight angle from the back of her neck, registered as a further erotic excitement. The bruise would not have been seen if the long hair had not sifted forward and away from that part of her body. For just a moment, the approaching female appeared as a combination of perfectly submitted as well as perfectly wild and dangerous, a stalking animal. The head of his shaft glistened with clear wetness. Knowing how much men loved the power implied and received when having oral sex, the slave licked her lips before taking hold of his cock in a well manicured hand. Without looking up to him, the slave closed her mouth around the pulsing shaft and began to give what would be later classified in the man's mind as the greatest head ever given.

It was all he could do not to empty himself into her mouth; he groaned again as he could feel the head hit the back of her throat, felt her opening to him. Most women just could not accommodate him in oral sex, and he was used to that. It was better to accept it than suffer through the pain of intruding teeth. But this one on her knees between his legs, she knew what she was doing. It seemed as if she was born and made to perform this one heavenly function. Master sat upon the couch beside his colleague, enjoying the view of his whore, even administering an occasional soft touch to her hair. She did not realize that this night could have serious impact upon her Master's career path, and it was probably for the best that she lacked that information. How the Master wished he could photograph this session; unfortunately that was not in the list of options. Cruelly, he commanded of the girl "Stop. Now." Master knew that the visitor was about to explode, and this would not do. Not yet.

The man nearly screamed in his frustration as the amazingly pale fingers released his shaft, as her lips moved away, and the girl resumed that somehow disturbing kneel. Master stood, and went to the center of the room. Before his fingers closed around the closure of his trousers, the girl was before him on her knees. When his own erection became accessible, she immediately began performing another mind numbing act of fellatio. The visitor could not help himself, he took an almost painful hold on his shaft and began working his hand up and down; all the while his eyes darted from the bruise to the slave's mouth and back. Standing there, Master fucked the girl's lips, his cock probing and stroking in and out of the warm mouth. A soft moan indicated to him that his slave was becoming much too aroused, too content, and he commanded her to stop. When she resumed kneeling, he reminded her what a slutty whore she was, look at her, opening herself to a complete stranger. Her mortified expression and contrite body posture brought him almost as much pleasure as when he allowed himself the pleasure of orgasm.

There the girl knelt, body trembling, the scent of her arousal in the air like a subliminal message. A damp sheen high between her thighs betrayed that which was not already apparent. Her submission was complete, total, and very apparent. The visitor knew this was a night worth waiting so long for, because the Master and slave had 'It.'

For a few minutes the only sound in the room was the occasional skin on skin sound made as the man on the sofa jerked off, his gaze glued to the pair before him. Finally finding his voice, he demanded the girl return to kneel between his legs, and she did. The man knew this would be acceptable; the terms of the night were laid out in contract fashion weeks before. So close, the slave came to him, that he could no longer contain the inevitable. His cock seemed to surge forward, and began to pump jet after jet of cum across the girl's face, and as he was told but reluctant to believe, she actually tried her best to catch it with her lips and tongue. He loved the way she stared at his organ, and nothing else. And if he was not imagining things, the girl really was getting off.

He was not imagining things.

Master moved forward, his own erection in his hand now. In moments he too endowed her upturned face with his jism. This was the only accepted situation in which she could tilt her face up to his, without direct permission, and she reveled in it. Before her heartbeat could settle down, both men were again properly dressed, hands washed, jackets on, flies closed. Just prior to closing the door behind himself and his guest, he gave the girl permission to watch the eleven o'clock news.

After she had a chance to go upstairs and clean herself, and put on a comfortable and practical dressing gown, she returned to the parlor and opened the doors to the cabinet containing the television. Picking up the remote, Teresa flicked the power button with her thumb. She had missed the first few minutes of the news, and the broadcaster was announcing the story upcoming after the commercial break.

The remote control tumbled from her grip when she saw a photograph woven into graphics, creating a custom image related to the ensuing story. She barely heard the female voice telling the entire viewing area the sordid details of a landmark lawsuit involving the limiting the sex industry within the county.

She had just blown the mind of the presiding judge.