Mastering Submission Ch. 07

I complied with Master's instructions, somewhat gingerly sliding up and down the purple dildo. The stretching and settling, as well as Master's conversation during dinner, had lubricated my cunt so that my cunt could move easily up and down on the dildo.

"Harder," Master commanded. "Make some nice squelching noises." After three or four minutes of this, Master picked up the bell. "No, don't stop," Master ordered. "Keep fucking yourself till the moment the waiter comes in with the dessert."

The meal was over, the coffee cups were empty, and the catering staff was out in the kitchen waiting to be dismissed. Master of course had one last idea to round the evening off. "Lift yourself off the seat nice and slowly," Master ordered. "I want to see what kind of mess you've left."

I rose to my feet, the dildo making an audible "plop" as it left my body. Both Master and I caught the rank smell of sex, and saw that my seat was as messy as the plates in the dishwasher. My juices were a glistening, sticky pool where they had collected between my thighs.

Master drew his chair closer. "I can see you've been enjoying yourself," Master commented. "Well, do it. You know you want to."

"Want to what, Master?" I asked.

"Don't pretend, Meat," Master said harshly. "You're dying to slurp up those juices. You like the taste of fanny butter almost as much as you like to lap up sperm." Master stood, grabbed me by the hair, and pushed me to my knees, jamming my nose up against the dildo as he sat down.

"Look at all that delicious cunt grunge," Master told me sternly, but with a twinkle in his eye. "Lick it up. It'll give me something to watch while I'm finishing my coffee."

"Yes, Master," I said, resignation in my voice.

As I began licking and sucking up the fluids on the chair, Master dropped to his knees behind me, and fucked my dripping cunt. My mouth was so full of the purple dildo that I was comforted to think that I did not make enough noise to provide entertainment for the catering staff behind the kitchen door.

I really did not want to be tied up at first. Master could have forced me, but that's not his way. He trains a slave with a light touch, playing with her, persuading her, tricking her until she finds herself helplessly begging for more.

"Permission to speak, Master?" I inquired.

Master looked down at me kneeling at his feet, wearing black evening gloves and a picture hat. "Permission granted, worthless bitch," Master said.

"Master, why do you never kiss me?" I asked. "I love being kissed."

"Because kissing implies equality," Master replied simply. "Mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, soul to soul."

"But I never claimed -" I began.

"Shut up, Meat," Master said. "I'm talking. I'm prepared to kiss you. I'm good at kissing. I enjoy it. But I only ever kiss a woman who's helpless."

"You mean I can't kiss you back, Master?" I asked.

"You may return my kisses, Meat, in a modest and docile fashion," Master explained. "But you will not hug me or touch me with your hands, because they will be fastened tightly behind your back."

I rose to my feet, turned, and put my wrists together behind me. "Do it, Master," I begged. "Do whatever you want with me, but please kiss me."

Master took off my hat, and kicked my ankles apart. "Wait there," Master told me, and went off for the ropes. This first time, Master used the very gentlest of bondage, fastening my ankles to a spreader bar and tying my wrists loosely. Even though I had been afraid of being restrained, without Master touching them, my nipples leapt to attention.

Master tied me using soft ropes originally designed as curtain pulls and piping for upholstery, comfortable but far too strong for me to break. It was fortunate for me that I had no idea that later, when I was used to restraints, Master would switch to wire ropes, coarse string, and steel chain.

Master taught me that there are many reasons to tie a woman up: it's calming, it lets her take levels of pain she wouldn't be able to stand unfettered, and it's a way for a slave to forget her troubles and reduce her to nothing more than two tits and a clit, helpless with pleasure.

Later, when my training was more advanced, Master got my elbows to touch behind my back, and eventually forced my arms into an "X" behind my back. As time went by, I would sample all Master's favourite bondage positions, including:

Tying me to a dining chair, facing backwards, with my ankles tied to the front legs of the chair. Sometimes Master tied my hands behind my back, sometimes Master lashed them to the back legs of the chair. Either way, my arse was left hanging out in space ready for thrashing.

Tying me to a dining chair, facing forwards, hands behind my back, ankles lashed to the front legs of the chair, usually with a dildo or vibrator up my cunt. Sometime Master would run great loops of rope around my body and the back of the chair, flattening my tits. Sometimes Master would use the tall carver chair that had a high back, and run loops around my head and the back of the chair to hold a gag in my mouth. And sometimes Master would even tilt the chair onto its back so I was lying on the floor with my knees in the air.

Tying me to the chest of drawers in the bedroom; Master would sling some ropes around the whole piece of furniture, and tie shorter lengths to the handles of the drawers.

Tying me, on my knees, to the banister with my arms behind my back, Master would practice tying different sorts of knots with short lengths of rope.

Handcuffing me to the bedpost, leaving me to sit comfortably for half an hour or more waiting for Master to come up and hurt me, my imagination and impatience both in overdrive by the time Master appeared.

Master even tried renting a cart from the local hire shop. He tied me to it, so he could wheel me from room to room.

Fixing my ankles wide apart to wooden stocks, lashing my hands behind my back, Master would sling a rope round my neck, and run it through a bolt on the floor. Master would shorten the rope every half an hour or more until I was bending over with my arse in the air, and my face down by my knees.

Tying me on my back on a table or a desk, Master would lash my ankles and wrists to the legs of the table, and sling a big loop of rope around my waist and the tabletop.

Tying me bending over a table face down, with my legs tightly bound to the legs of the table from ankle to knee, and then tying my wrists to the top of the table legs on the other side, Master would gag me, and then fuck me.

Tying me at attention with my arms by my sides, so Master could do whatever he liked with my tits.

Tying my ankles to my thighs, Master would secure the rope around my ankles, and then he would make big loops of rope right around the thighs, strapping me up like a frog.

All of this was ahead of me, had I but known it. Thankfully, the first time, Master was content to keep me comfortable, helpless under his kisses.

After kissing came tickling, for which Master laid me on my back on the thick carpet in his living room, and trailed a fingernail across the sole of my left foot. I pulled it away as best I could, but I was tied and Master was relentless. Master took a feather from his equipment case and lightly stroked my belly, making me collapse into giggles. I don't think I'd been tickled for fifteen or twenty years. As I giggled like a little girl, Master was learning where my most sensitive places were, and what my limits were. Ten minutes of non-stop giggling were beginning to affect my ability to breathe.

Master slowed down, brushing the feather gently across my pubic hair, making me gasp and strain against the ropes. Master traced a big circle above my left breast, not even touching the skin, as my eyes followed every movement.

Master watched me with an air of absorption. He rubbed the feather, wet with my juices, under my nose. Master attacked me first from one direction, then another, learning my body, finding my most sensitive spots, treating me like a child, treating me like a woman, and then going on to treat me like a piece of meat.

Master picked up an ice cube in his left hand and rubbed it along the inside of my thigh while stroking the other thigh with the feather. Master covered my body with alternating strokes of ice and feather, with an occasional sharp pinch to remind me who was in charge, and making me wonder what would happen next.

By now, I was aroused, straining against the ropes, thrusting my hips, my eyes pleading. I begged, "Master--"

Interrupting me, Master said, "Got something to say, whore? It had better be important."

I thought for a moment and shook my head, smiling. "Nothing vital," I admitted. "I just wanted to ask you to fuck me."

"Can't have you giving orders," Master said. "I'd better bung up that mouth of yours. It'll save you the bother of thinking up things to say." Suiting his actions to his words, Master immediately put a ball gag between my teeth and fastened it at the back of my head, and then rolled me over.

Master traced down my back with the lightest touch of his fingertips for ten minutes or so before switching to trailing his fingernails up and down my spine, and then Master covered my buttocks with pinches, firm, but still reasonably gentle. Master stroked my body and feet, checking the ropes, and I sighed into my gag.

Master flipped me onto my back. The spread bar made my cunt embarrassingly available. Master turned on an anglepoise lamp, and aimed it between my thighs close enough for me to feel the heat from the bulb, and then spent several minutes just watching his fingers disappearing and reappearing again.

Master produced a tray of implements that I eyed with apprehension and curiosity: a ball-point pen; a brand-new toothbrush, still in its wrapping; a six-inch nail; a wire suede brush. I wasn't sure what to think about the things Master was showing me, but the ropes bound me too securely to do anything except lie there and wait.

Master picked up the pen, which apparently had run out of ink, and trailed it from one nipple to the other. Master drew invisible circles with it round each areola, and signed his name across my belly.

Master scratched me with the nail from throat to pubic hair, leaving a pale line that quickly faded, and then he picked up the wire brush. He began with light sweeps from the base of the breast to the tip of the nipple. And I moaned.

This is one of Master's special skills: to take a woman from one level of sensation to another, climbing from peak to peak, until she is experiencing agony and orgasm simultaneously, so that when she comes back to earth she's addicted to his whips, chains, clamps, and pins.

Master held my left breast in firm fingers and scrubbed the nipple vigorously back and forth as if he were cleaning mud off the toe of a boot. I yelped in protest.

Master grinned at me, "A bit too hard?"

I nodded gratefully.

"Too bad," Master said casually, and scrubbed until I screamed. Then Master switched to the other nipple, and had me screaming again. "Exfoliated nipples are very important in a slave," Master explained. "I like to get the dead skin off so the nerves are close to the surface, and she can appreciate what I'm doing to her."

Master stopped, and I let out a long, whimpering sigh around the edges of the gag. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them once more, Master had unwrapped the toothbrush, and held it in front of my face. I was puzzled, and after the wire brush a little bit scared, but I was consenting.

I tried to ask what Master was going to do with the toothbrush, but the gag was too big for my mouth to form the words. Master pulled back the hood of my clit and brushed it, the first touch so gentle the bristles hardly swept the skin. I whimpered. Master began to stroke harder, dipping the head of the brush into my cunt from time to time to pick up the evidence of my arousal, then painting that thick fluid onto the tip of my clit. I began to writhe about, and shout into my gag.

I was pushing against my bonds, now, trying to spread my legs wider for Master. Only bondage let me be this abandoned. Master clenched his fist in my cunt hair, holding me steady while he moved the toothbrush in slow circles. I felt my juices dripping to the carpet, and the smell of my sex was filling both our nostrils.

Master popped the toothbrush into my cunt, and rubbed my clit with his naked thumb. Master pulled the toothbrush out and applied it to my clit again, harder. I was beyond orgasm now, somewhere between pleasure and pain.

Master slipped the tiny brush back into my vagina, and removed my gag. When Master got the toothbrush good and wet, he popped it into my mouth, saying "Clean your juices off that brush!"

I licked and sucked with vigor, whilst Master attended to my nipples with twists of fuse wire, just tight enough. Master had the right one decorated, and was still working on the left nipple when the phone rang.

"Who do you think that could be?" Master asked. I looked at him mutely from above the gag that had replaced the toothbrush again by then. "No suggestions? Perhaps it's someone to rescue you. Then again, probably not," Master said, with a chuckle as he clicked the phone onto speaker mode and said "Hello?"

"Hi, Martin," said the voice at the other end of the line. It's Wendy."

"Fuckpuppet!" Master exclaimed. "How are you? What can I do for you?"

"This is an invitation, Martin," Fuckpuppet said. "I know you're still grieving for your lovely Red Cow, but you mustn't be obsessive."

"Hang on a minute - " Master began.

"No, you hang on, Martin," Fuckpuppet interrupted. "I've got something to say, and I want to finish. We all know how much you loved her, but life has to go on. You haven't been to one of our parties for ages, and we miss you. All of us. Besides, I've got a sweet little blonde girl I want you to meet. All I ask is that you give her a chance. We want you to be happy again."

"I'm already happy again," Master said, smiling.

Fuckpuppet was silent for a moment, and then said, "You mean you've got a new girl?"

"Yes," Master replied.

"A slave?" Fuckpuppet asked.

"Of course," Master answered.

"That's marvelous, Martin," Fuckpuppet gushed. "I'm so happy for you. Dave will be delighted too. The next party is fancy dress, on Saturday week. Bring her along."

"I'm not sure," Master replied. "This is all very new to her."

"A novice!" said Fuckpuppet. "You're a lucky bastard, Martin. Is she there?"

Master looked at me, squirming on the floor. "Well, yes," Master replied. "She's right in front of me."

"Then let me have a word with her," Fuckpuppet demanded. "We slaves must stick together."

Master smiled. "I'm afraid she's tied up at the moment."

"Literally?" Fuckpuppet said with a laugh.

"Yes," Master said.

"And gagged?" Fuckpuppet persisted.

"Yes," answered Master again.

"You're spoiling her," Fuckpuppet inexplicably stated. "Let me talk to her anyway. What's her name?"

"Meat," Master said.

"Good choice," Fuckpuppet approved. "Now, Martin, take the phone off speaker, and put the receiver to her ear.

Master knelt down beside me, holding the receiver so that I could hear. Master could not hear much of the conversation (since all the talking was being done by Fuckpuppet), but he seemed to be having fun watching. Fuckpuppet would say something, and I would reply as best I could, making noises like, "Nnnnngh!" or "Mmmmmf!"

When Master could tell from my eyes that Fuckpuppet had finished, he picked up the receiver, and put it to his own ear.

"Well," Master prompted.

"Martin, she sounds lovely," said Fuckpuppet. "I can't wait to meet her."

"You talked her into it?" Master asked. I nodded vigorously.

"See you at the party, Fuckpuppet," Martin said happily and hung up. Master turned back to me. "Where were we?" Master asked. "Oh, yes, I was about to pull a few of your cunt hairs out by the root."