Meridsya's Pet 02: Boundaries

I strolled along, taking my time, until coming to a large, circular seating area with a round table, some low, gently reclining armchairs and stools that looked far too plushly upholstered for such a damp environment -- and a tall, almost delicate-seeming pole with attached cuffs that was certainly meant to hold someone in a rigid standing position with neck, ankles and wrists secured.

Everywhere I looked, there was the threat of sex.

Meridsya was sitting in one of the armchairs, long legs crossed so that her skirt hinted at revealing her crotch, smirking at me.

"Do you like it?"

I made a show of looking around. "I do."

"Good. It is a pleasant place to read, I find. Your culture is so creative. So varied. I do sometimes grow bored of books I have finished and discard parts of my library to replace them, but I will invite you to keep back anything you desire. You will find a considerable variety, not all of them," she smirked again, "erotic in nature. But many are. I can't stand your modern cover designs, though, I prefer to have everything in a classic appearance."

I simply nodded.

She gave me a look that hinted at impatience.

"Would you prefer to sit, be shackled," she waved at the pole with its attachments, "kneel at my feet, or request something else? Don't just stand there dumbly, I can't abide indecision or meekness in my pets."

Her brusqueness and her reminder that I was, essentially, her pet, rankled. For a fleeting second, I wondered if I should risk pretending to be a cat person, getting on hands and knees, and rubbing against her leg while miaowing. I suspected she might enjoy it.

Instead, I tried to push back, to test our relationship. "Would you do my hair?" I asked.

Suddenly, she was delighted again, sitting up and uncrossing her legs with a rapid-fire light clapping of her hands. "Of course!" She gestured regally in front of her. "Would you prefer to kneel, or sit on a stool? You're tall, I could work with you kneeling."

I dropped my eyes to the flagstones before her chair. They were polished, and my body was not one to keep injuries.

I made a show of being submissive, dropping my head to take my gaze off her, saying, "Thank you, Mistress," and moving to kneel in front of her before turning around with careful movements to kneel with a finishing-school upright back and my hands folded primly in my lap. I was very conscious of her legs, leather boots and patterned stockings, on either side of me, reminding me constantly that her thighs were spread behind me and her skirt entirely inadequate to conceal whether or not she was wearing underwear.

Meridsya gave one of her sardonic chuckles before her long, talon-like nails drew through my hair and I almost melted into a puddle.

I've always loved having people play with my hair and scalp. Her nails sent tingles all the way down my body as she used them to gently comb my hair into straight rows across my head and down.

She gathered my hair behind me, then used one hand holding my head like a bowling bowl to tilt me forward and leave me holding a position that might well become uncomfortable quite quickly.

I heard a brush being drawn through my hair and felt the occasional tug of a single strand. I hadn't seen a brush anywhere, but this was Meridsya in her world.

I tried to relax into the moment and feel still. The sound of her brushing was soothing, but the position I was in stopped me from being lulled into a feeling of serenity.

After a little while, she used my head to gently pull me back upright and switched to combing my scalp. That almost did lull me into some sort of soporific ... subspace, I suppose.

Meridsya chuckled again as she ran the brush gently over my hair, finding not one knot. "To answer your next question, I can sense the pleasure you get from this, as well. It's a rather nice snack for breakfast."

I absorbed that, skirting the edge of finding it creepy and finding instead the knowledge that, yes, she had real motivation to make me feel nice.

"And how would you like your hair done, pet? Would you like my braids?"

"Yes, please, Mistress."

Her long nails delicately started sorting and parting my fine hair.

She said nothing as she worked, and I took the opportunity to enjoy a moment that did not make me feel faintly terrified or on edge for what might come next.

It was nice. I was able to forget Meridsya's terrifying power, mercurial temper and treatment of me as a possession, and imagine she was just a lover doing my hair.

Then, I wondered if I should let myself think like that, or if it would be wiser to remember, at all times, that Meridsya had terrifying power, a mercurial temper and a definite idea of our relationship.

Still, she did not work quickly and was gentle, even tender, so I almost drowsed, mentally, barely even noticing when she switched sides, before she said, "There!"

I almost started.

"You have such lovely, silky hair I did one braid, two would have been far too thin." She patted and stroked my hair.

"Thank you, Mistress," I said, wondering if I should move or wait for her to command me.

"Sit," she commanded, taking her hands off me. "Back against my chair. Put your legs out."

Slightly mystified, I rose onto my knees so I could control my kilt, then tried to move smoothly back onto my arse as elegantly as I could, pushing myself back with my hands the last little bit until I was sitting comfortably back against the armchair's generous seat cushion, my legs straight out in front of me, my kilt arranged neatly beneath and on top of my legs.

Meridsya put her legs over my shoulders, her stocking-covered thighs warm against my ears, her leather-clad calves crossed over my torso, one stiletto heel resting lightly over my crotch to give me a moment of spiking adrenaline.

She put one hand on my head and pulled back, assertively enough to be rough, this time, tightened her thighs against my ears and said, muted but still clear: "Look up, pet."

Somehow, "pet" sounded better than "my pet," despite the circumstances.

I obediently looked up and what I had thought was some sort of decorative cast-iron chandelier -- an extremely odd choice for a conservatory but, then again, nothing else was precisely as I would have expected -- suddenly resolved itself into a collection of rings, cuffs and hanging points on an articulated frame that seemed capable of opening and reaching down like a spider.

The mental impression it gave me almost made me jerk away but, with Meridsya's legs holding me with surprising firmness, I just froze.

"Would you like to be suspended from that while I play with you, pet?" she asked, her voice a coo. "I imagine you wouldn't like hooks, but there are buckles aplenty, and would you like ropes? I think you'd like ropes. I could tie you up in the air like a spider's meal and eat you."

The thought of ropes was already getting to me, but the emphasis she put on "eat" was so erotic, so blatantly suggestive of fellatio, I grew hard fast enough to make me gasp. A split-second later, as I was still gasping, her heel stabbed downwards and trapped my sudden erection halfway along my shaft, giving me a shock of incipient pain so exquisitely judged I thought I might come.

She ground down lightly, stopping a millimetre short of too much, rubbing the almost sharp tip of her heel over my now pulsing shaft and making me gasp and sweat, my head now in a vice of her thighs, my hands automatically grabbing at her boots but frozen once there with indecision or powerlessness, as my eyes rolled back to see her smirking down at me with a human face but a threat of demonic fire in her eyes.

"Yes, I think you'd like that," she said, grinding down again. I could have groaned, I could have gasped -- instead, I whimpered, feeling helpless and trapped as any fly already tied.

Her boots pressed me back against her chair, threatening to crush my chest, as she tenderly stroked my forehead. "I think you'd like being suspended helplessly in the air while I toyed with you, wouldn't you? Dangling naked, exposed and helpless, free for me to ... stroke your chest," she said, sliding her nails up my forehead just hard enough to let me know how painful they could be on my nipples.

"To cup you," she said, pressing her fingertips into my head harder than I could possibly tolerate about my scrotum.

"And find something to tease your prostate with," she said, lightly circling one fingertip on my forehead just above my eyes, "and suck you," she finished, with such relish I shuddered, jerked and, to my shock, came.

Her gaze held mine locked. It might have been her magic, it might have just been the moment, but I could not look away as I spurted inside my kilt and felt it wet and warm and sticky on my leg.

When I had finished, she smirked at me again, slowly released the pressure of her heel and then her thighs, and patted my forehead tenderly.

"You are so delicious," she purred, then tilted my head up with the same irresistible but not harsh grip.

She began stroking my head gently, her thighs merely soft against my cheeks and ears, as I felt my pulse slowly wind down and my come ooze slowly down one thigh.

"I'm going out shortly. I have... meetings," she said, distaste evident in her voice. "Your time is your own until I get back. Be warned, I might be grumpy and desiring some tenderness when I return. I may want to fuck you brutally, I may want you to fuck me brutally or tenderly, I may feel sulky and want you to brush my hair. I may even be happy, who knows? It's a mystery until it happens. But I suspect I will be several hours, possibly even the full day. You won't grow hungry, but if your body wants food, there will be food. Have more coffee, just keep everything clean or I will be forced to lock you in stocks and spank you. Do not, and I can not stress this enough, deliberately do a bad job so I will be forced to punish you. That is one thing I can not abide and if you do, your punishment will not be one you enjoy, do you understand me?"

All I summon in response to that was: "Yes, Mistress!"

She patted my head. Somehow, I did not find it condescending. I wondered if she was getting to me -- if she was successfully moulding me. "Good boy! Explore these rooms. There are compartments and rooms everywhere, most of them concealed, not hidden. You're a smart boy, you should work them out. There is a bathroom. I can choose to clean you, but it amuses me to leave you like this until you shower. There is a bath, too. Would you like me in a bath? Mmmm, later. Later. We have plenty of time. Leave your clothes in the basket, cleaning will take care of itself. Got all that?"

"I think so, Mistress," I said, most of my brain organised with trying to sort out the truly important stuff in case I forgot any of it.

"Good boy."

She leaned down to kiss the top of my head, then grabbed me under the chin, pulled my head painfully back so she could briefly but fiercely kiss me on the lips, then uncrossed her legs, pushed herself out of the chair so her inner thighs brushed past my head, and stepped over me to stand up.

As I started to move, she gestured for me to stay where I was. "Oh, don't move yet. Relax a little. I've only just done your hair and marked you as my dirty slut. Let that linger for a little while." She smirked at me then strode out, her feet crossed over her centreline with each step so her arse flicked from side to side.

I just stared after her, my mind caught on "marked you as my dirty slut".

When she had not only gone through the French doors but I heard a distant sound of another door closing, I pushed myself along the polished floor until I could rest my head on the edge of the chair cushion, and groaned.

I thought about where I was: Sitting where she had effortlessly pinned me and used only one boot heel and her words (and her thighs against me, and, now I thought about it, her scent) to make me come at her whim, and now feeling the result of that warm, wet and sticky on my leg and with the tip of my cock, I was certain about it, sticking to the fabric so moving would be briefly painful.

I couldn't deny that I found it perversely enjoyable to think about.

Above me, the iron bondage spider lurked, currently immobile but threatening whether I looked at it or not.

What it was threatening, of course, was open to interpretation and mood.

"You'll get your turn later," I told it, as I felt my cock stir again at the sight.

Under my kilt, I felt a final drop of come drop onto my thigh, like one last reminder that according to the judgemental culture I grew up in, I should be feeling degraded.

Instead, I smiled in satisfaction.

#~#~#

I did not move until I had grown tired of staring up at the bondage spider (I was going to continue to call it that, since it was too angular to be an octopus, a species I greatly admired (and a category of hentai I rather relished)) and trying to work out what every bit did.

I did not feel stiff after sitting there for so long. But, as expected, not only was my kilt stuck to me but so was the tip of my cock. But I was used to that, and just winced once as it pulled free. I left the kilt to take care of itself and strolled, pretending to be smugly self-satisfied and almost fooling myself, back to the bedroom.

If I was going to find a bathroom, that's where I would start.

I pulled off my kilt and shirt and, sure enough, saw a wickerwork basket that looked like a clothes hamper. It was empty, so that's where I dropped my clothes.

Then, as I started undoing my braids, I stood naked and slowly turned, wondering where I would find a concealed door.

A section of wall that seemed suspiciously door-proportioned and conveniently without artwork or light sconces caught my eye.

I walked towards it slowly. Press a bit of moulding? Pull one of the sconces that looked like gas lights?

When I got up close, I could definitely see a continuous broken line. There was a handy sconce, so I gave it an experimental tug.

There was a click, and the section of wall moved smoothly outwards a couple of inches.

That revealed a recessed handle.

I pulled it open.

I stared.

It was a bathroom. But, where I had been expecting porcelain tiles, a clawfoot bath, maybe patterned wallpaper -- I saw a fucking grotto.

Stairs carved out of rock descended steeply into a cavern with two large pools -- or one pool broken by a barely submerged wall between them -- at the far end. To the left of the stairs, a flat platform had a waterfall above head height spraying out to form a shower.

To the right, the rock was cut into a couple of benches. There was a stack of extremely fluffy white towels.

Light came from luminescent patches all around the walls and ceiling that looked like dense constellations. The light was dim but surprisingly clear, allowing me to see details in the stone that I would not have expected. As my eyes adjusted, I found it almost perfect.

The water coming out of the shower steamed. The water in the pool steamed gently. A gentle breeze that seemed to come out of the wall to my left probably explained why the air wasn't cloudy with mist.

The stairs and, it seemed, the shower platform were not polished or even smoothed flat but, although feeling natural underfoot, was grippy without being abrasive.

I stopped halfway down the stairs to gaze around me in a mixture of fascination and bafflement. Like so many other details in Meridsya's rooms, it was fantastic while being entirely out of place.

Meridsya may have been watching humanity for centuries, but either that had given her the distance and perspective to take design elements without caring about whether they "matched", or she truly was a different species and, while appreciating things, lacked the usual human desire for coherence.

Something told me it was the former.

I stepped cautiously onto the shower platform. A thin layer of water on the stone splashed around my feet. It was pleasantly warm, and the waterfall itself was just on the bearable side of too hot. It was the almost-searing temperature that makes all your muscles relax.

I couldn't see any sort of soap, but the water itself felt cleansing. By the time I got to scrub at my thigh with my hands, my skin already felt perfectly clean.

And hairless, I noticed. Nothing I didn't want had grown back.

I ran my fingers through my hair and found it, too, feeling as though I had thoroughly washed and conditioned it. Well, that was a tremendous time-saving. Although what I needed the time for, I wasn't sure.

Steps led from that platform down to the pool. When I put my feet on them, I saw that water from the shower ran alongside them down a steep rocky stream before disappearing into the floor. It didn't run into the pool. That seemed hygienic, but unnecessary given Meridsya's powers. Maybe a former pet had complained?

The pool itself was cut or formed into underwater benches. Another waterfall fell into it at one end, giving a sort of spa effect if you sat close to it, and a very pleasant experience if you sat underneath it.

I did so, letting the hot water cascade over me as I stretched out underwater and felt the last tension in my muscles succumb to the temperature.

It was soporific despite the water pummelling my shoulders, and I easily could have fallen asleep.

I wondered idly if I could drown. If it would be possible.

But I had to try to think.

I was alone for the first time since Meridsya had yanked me into this world. I should probably use the time to work out what the fuck I was going to be doing. Clearly, I would not be Meridsya's toy every waking second, and I doubted my sanity would stand it, anyway. Fantasies be damned, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing and you're an idiot if you think there isn't.

Which was going to leave me with no job to go to, none of my existing hobbies, and a lot of free time. Reading? All joking aside, I could get bored even there.

Besides, Meridsya had talked about the importance of physical activity in maintaining my body image. She had mentioned exercise, so what could that possibly look like? Did she have a fully equipped gym behind another wall panel? A jungle gym? A collection of fixed benches and bars for body-weight exercises? Did the bondage spider have other functions? But if so, how could I operate it without accidentally getting trapped until she returned?

What else could there be? Could I request hobbies? A woodworking shop so I could finally learn how to use a plane properly and make dovetails? Or art? Was I going to be left with no choice but to learn how to draw so I wasn't embarrassed with myself and then make pornographic comics?

I had a brief mental picture of myself as a Regency-era kept woman, wearing an elaborate dress and painting watercolours until Meridsya returned and ordered me into bed.

I groaned and rubbed my face.

The water was so relaxing it was getting difficult to think.

With an effort, my muscles feeling warm and hot and sluggish, I pushed myself out from underneath the waterfall and waded across to where a barely-submerged lip joined the pool to the other one.

To my shock, the water on the other side was cool, about what you would expect in a swimming pool on a hot day. It was invigorating, and after my foot recovered from the shock, I dropped in quickly, my skin waking up, my muscles getting energy back and my groin hating me for a few seconds.

With a happy sigh, I settled on the rock with my back to the wall of the grotto, and let the excess heat ebb from my body.

It was so nice that as I lay there, idly letting my mind drift through what I knew of Meridsya's rooms, my thoughts turned to what would be possible in here -- standing sex under the shower? Underwater blowjob? Me sitting on the edge of the pool with Meridsya mostly submerged, her mouth on my cock? Meridsya sitting on the edge, my shoulders submerged and my mouth on her vulva?