Silver Fox Pt. 02

But, what was more fascinating? It wasn't just Deirdre who existed to be a fantasy. It was easily clear that Christopher embodied the Master of Deirdre's dreams, that he never quit trying to be more.

After the scene, which ended with Deirdre crying in orgasm and Jackson whipping me until I was a shivering submissive at his knees, Jackson took me to speak with me quietly, when we both still burned. He spoke in the softest voice over me, having tethered me down to the tacky board and chair setup he used, so that the whip stripes on my ass were flamed with every motion. "Masters, you see, often have this need to be worthy of their slaves. It's a circle, sometimes, where the slave - and this is after the dynamic is started and established - but the slave exists to serve and the Master exists to be more in everything he does. If you asked Christopher, he'd tell you that it's goddamned exhausting sometimes, when he considers Deirdre to be the absolute perfect definition of a slave. You see, he doesn't take the mindset off and he doesn't take a break. I think it'd kill his pride if he was ever seen in any situation to be something less that what she lives to serve."

"I wish it wouldn't be so exhausting for you, then," I whispered softly, and in that atmosphere where I was unsatisfied and where being a hurting little masochist was starting to be paired with being deep in submission, it was a bit frightening how much I meant it.

Jackson knelt between my knees. "Well, this is where it's strange. You see, Christopher would confess that to you, as he doesn't believe in lying, but he would be smiling while he said it and he would end it by telling you that it was worth every second of exhaustion. By the time someone reaches that point, Masters or slaves, it's often been a slow transition, so slow that they're accustomed and delighted with it." He touched my nose at that point. "Much like things are rather a slow transition, when it comes to being shy and having kinky interests."

I had to laugh, nuzzling him in adoration, at the thought of those first few months, when he had lived right next door and it had taken an external force to throw me into his embrace anyway. "Is that what it would be like with you?"

He considered his answer, trailing his fingers across my breasts and cinching my nipples in soft little tugs of his affection. "I'm not sure. This is new for me and I have some ideas how I would want things to be, but for the moment, I want to toy with certain routines. Those are good for a little slave. I can tell you that I won't be stuffy like Christopher." He scrunched his nose a little at the thought. "I hate those old high protocol ways. I'm all for the argument that sometimes the old ways are better, but that is one fucking area that does not follow that at all. 'This one wishes to speak' or whatever it was. Grinds my nerves."

I giggled and he smiled to the sound. "Did you know," he said softly, "that when you laugh like that, your eyes glitter in a way that looks as beautiful as when they fill with tears for me?"

That made me feel shy, when his whipping always turned fierce after he saw my tears, with how much he loved that sight. "Really?"

He nodded, falling quiet for a moment before he stood back up and got his short braided whip again. I braced myself when he stood back over me for a moment, stroking my breasts. "How patient you are with me." I moaned when he slapped one of them, then shrieked when he slashed the whip in a particularly brutal stripe. "And sweet." That one made me shout, made me lift on the chair where the tacky board beneath me made the pain on my ass, from his previous love with the same whip, hurt all the more. He didn't say anything with the last two stripes, but they were harder than the others and they were right on my nipples to make me scream all the louder, and I knew the translation for those in that language of his.

Now that I wasn't one step away from breaking in fear of my masochism, I could even acknowledge those words to myself and answer them.

I love you, too, Jackson.

It took scenes. And it was frustrating, sometimes, when I'd lose track of his rules when they changed and they did change with his figuring out what kind of Master he wanted to be to me. He had me see Lily for a few more scenes as well, telling me that he wanted it clear that I would be safe without him. He made other rules too, rules that involved "making" me have date nights with Deirdre and Lily, not that I needed much encouragement to do that. We ended up going out to eat and going to bars together, laughing when we had something like submission and Sulfur's in common. There was another time where he made me talk to Courtney, too, so that her hard eyes were alive with pleasure when I cowered at my Sir's side. He sadistically amused himself by patting my hair, too, saying, "Give Courtney a kiss and show her how good you are, won't you, sweetheart?"

And he held me from behind when I did it, stroking a hand down my waist to cinch the flesh, so that I sobbed out against Courtney's lips, and she purred evilly in response. I quickly learned that a sadistic Domme felt softer to touch than Sir, but she also had something colder in her eyes when she pulled away, something that made thrills of adrenaline course through me. "How pretty you are in pain."

"You can have orgasms just from giving pain," I answered, making that fear all the worse.

She laughed while Sir kissed the back of my head. "I kind of like that I'm starting to get a reputation for that. I can, as it were, but not for you at the moment, little one. Your Sir is too jealous over the pain he gives for me to do that, but I'm sure I could fuck you with a toy or two if you wanted to play."

Jackson spoke over me, something that made me shiver because I'd realized that it was true. "I don't care about that. It's pain that's mine, starlight."

Which was a fact that was starting to turn me on something fierce.

Dates. Scenes. On a few dates, he made me call him Master, then tilted his head after one of those and sighed. "That isn't quite right, sweetheart. We'll figure it out, but the sound of it isn't in the right voice for you." And I didn't know what that meant because I felt more submissive than ever. Every kiss he gave me was paired with that cinch of his fingers, so that all it would take to send me tumbling into waiting subspace was one curl of his hand around my throat or something like that.

"Did I do something wrong?" I remember that sometimes it made me cry, actually, with the thought that I'd failed him somehow.

His eyes had gone so soft. "No, hey. Come here. You didn't do a damn thing wrong, starlight. Sir made a wrong decision. You've been absolutely wonderful." He soothed me, lightly spanking me while he did and sometimes those moments sucked, but I quickly learned that the aftermath involved him cooing in the sweetest way that I was his good girl and it wasn't my fault at all.

Rules. Ideas. We tried my being his maid, inspired by that latex dress, and that was so fun that we both ended up fucking wildly in the middle of the night, laughing together and flirting because it turned out that I absolutely adored serving him. But something wasn't quite right about that either. We tried the pet thing, too, but it took about thirty minutes before we looked at each other, while I tried to keep a straight face after having barked, but he couldn't keep the smile from his lips, so that I couldn't keep the smile from mine, and then it ended in laughter and that whole idea was ruined.

He made that one up to me with a rough pain session in a Sulfur's dungeon the night afterwards, purring with how much fun he was having with me. "Although, I think you might be able to tell how pleased I am in moments like these." He said it with amusement, then brought the cane across my thighs so that I screamed.

The strange thing about it all, though, was how easy it was. And it was, actually, even though it felt wild for months. It wasn't structured because he was trying to figure out the best forms of structure for the both of us, made all the more difficult with the fact that he had never been a Master and I was just inexperienced across the board.

Well, maybe not quite as inexperienced anymore. One thing that didn't change was that he always stuffed my ass with the largest butt plug he owned, so that I felt painfully full while he hurt me. That was one routine that clicked instantly.

But it wasn't, perhaps, as terrible as it might sound. After he forced me to confess myself to him, he started another routine at the end of our scenes, and that was another one that didn't change. When I was opened and trembling in front of him, we had quiet conversations where he asked me how I felt, where he calmly instructed me on all the reasons why being honest with him was important for him. He went through everything else that went along with it, telling me how my surrender to him was a necessity. And he returned all of the honesty, was the other part of it. He would confess to me things he hadn't liked, thoughtfully speculating in ways that made me shiver while so much cum still poured out of me that it was slick between my thighs, when we never ended those pain scenes anymore.

It was that, in the end, that would be the reason why we found our Master and slave routine, those moments of quiet instruction. He had started as my teacher in these dark places. He remained my teacher.

Enjoyably, it wasn't sex that made everything finally, fucking finally, fall into place. There was one event and exactly one rule that set it all in place.

————

Jackson

I was starting to realize exactly what Christopher always meant, when he said he felt like he couldn't do things like oversleep or press snooze on his alarms. I wasn't exactly overly demanding when we were figuring out these routines together, which felt right. I didn't have a right to be overly demanding, not yet. I wasn't her Master yet. I was learning how to be her Master, though, and it did feel like that.

Some things were obvious. Pain was a necessity in my life. It took priority over sex and I made that clear, but it was clear anyway when we didn't get off or have sex during our pain play. But sex had its moments, as well. I was still deciding on when I wanted those moments to be, eventually realizing that being her Master did require routines and times for things like that. For me, routines like that were evidence of my own self discipline and I refused to be an undisciplined Master or Sir.

And those words, the honorifics and what they meant to me. I went through nights where I thought about nothing but those words and how each of them made me feel different, but I wanted each of them in their own time and atmosphere. I was just figuring out what that was.

So, the ideas and games we played weren't ever without purpose for me. Each one taught me something different. Sometimes, like in the instance of the pet play game, it taught me that game was not my thing with her, which hadn't been that much of a shocking revelation, to be perfectly honest about it. Pet play had never really been my thing, somehow. I talked to Courtney, talked to Isabelle, talked to Lily but mostly I talked to Christopher, watching him with Deirdre, thinking things through. It made me see things more clearly when being near him and his little slave. There were some nights where the two of them merely kept each other company, where Deirdre knelt at his side and he pet her, as if the feel of her hair was something that comforted him, something that reminded him of why he lived to be more.

That night, I considered Essie when we got home, and then quietly told her to choose a movie for us. She grinned and chose The Last Samurai, so that I smiled as well. Before we started it, though, I told her to kneel at my feet and her eyes dilated with arousal, and it felt like something delightful to have her between my knees, facing away from me. And I tried it. I stroked her hair, relaxing back when I did.

I knew why Christopher did it, within about five minutes. The soft red tresses of her hair was something very soothing to feel, fueled by all the times she kept coming back to me for pain. At the end of the movie, I did something else that seemed rather mean, but that made me curious.

I made her blow me before bed, turning her around and controlling her by her hair, using her for my pleasure instead of my sadism. Control flooded through my body, although it wasn't quite the power trip I normally preferred. She cried out eagerly when I filled her mouth with cum, while I was holding her head and fucking her face with the last pulses of bliss leaving me. "Don't swallow." I growled it, processing that feeling of control. "Show me." Her eyes were wide and she stared up at me in total adoration, something else that I noticed while she opened her mouth and showed me the obscene amount of my cum on her tongue. "Good girl. Now you can swallow." She was shivering, shaking in subservience, and I enjoyed that, although it did give me a concern. She had already mentioned that her partner's pleasure affected her, although the way I had used her mouth and taken my pleasure that night wasn't quite right for the two of us.

Still, though, it was another piece of the puzzle, especially when her head stayed bowed and I had to guide her on her leash to take her to bed.

Little pieces. Small ones, here and there, but there was that one moment that made them all fall together in an image that made me grin.

————

By the night it happened, I already had a key to Essie's apartment and I had started the habit of letting myself in on our date nights. This had nothing to do with the Master and slave thing, though, and was mostly just due to familiarity. "Essie."

"In here."

Her voice made me curious. She sounded frustrated or pissed, but when I went to her bedroom and found her, I knew it was frustration with the sight in front of me. "Ah, your new vanity came in."

"Yes, it did, and- Son of a fucking bitch!" She snarled when the pieces of it fell apart where she was trying to piece it together. "I can't get the stupid thing-" She cut off with another frustrated growl and I smiled.

"Essie."

My voice was that other voice, the dominating one that I was discovering. She froze and looked up to me. "Yes, Sir?" And it made me smile, how quick she was to react when she knew that tone so well by then.

"Frustrated little pain slave." I knelt behind her and kissed her hair. "Easy. Like this." I lifted the back part and it was a tricky thing to get together, looking at it. I could only figure out some of what was wrong because Essie had been so excited about it that she'd shown me all the pictures, so I had an idea on how it was supposed to look. I glanced down at the picture instructions - written in another language, of course - and pieced it together. "Wait. I'm wrong too, actually. Like this." There it was. "Grab that part." She was silent, watching me while I told her what to do, helping her fit the screws when needed. Some assembly required was what it had read when she'd ordered it. Wow, the thing really was a pain in the ass. It was ostentatious as hell too, but I could absolutely tell why her 50s poodle skirt and musical loving personality would love it.

I went methodically, having had my share of pain in the ass assembly instructions. They always sucked, too, even if it was just told in fucking pictures. "That one."

She was watching me with this look that was making me stay calm, that look that made me sit straighter. "Screw it together." She obeyed, silent still, working how I told her to. I met her eyes, feeling dominant in such a mundane aspect. "Place the drawers."

"Yes, Sir." I stood while she obeyed, glancing at the wall where the ornate mirror would go, then glancing down at Essie, who was still on her knees. She paused when she saw the look in my eyes and stared up at me, waiting and submissive.

And that "Sir" between us was what did it. That was right. For that moment and most others, I knew that was right. It clicked. Christopher had been right, had always been right. Being a Dom or a Master didn't necessarily always mean the difference in how much control was being exchanged. Hell, I had seen Deirdre with him. I knew what mindset went with it for the two of them, knew what mindset difference went for most people who thought of themselves as enslaved.

"Essie," I said softly. "I want to try something. And there's two rules for it."

She grinned. "Yes, Sir."

"The first rule is that you obey me when I give you an order. All the time. Sometimes, I'm going to be more relaxed about it and I'll make it clear. I will ask you, in those times, to do something, instead of commanding, understood?"

"Yes, Sir." Her eyes were submissive and warm and it made me smile. Essie loved commands. That was something she never had a problem with. It was something I'd figured out pretty damned quickly, too, and it wasn't shocking with how based in pleasing people she was. It made her feel more secure and reassured to be flat out told to do something and to obey it, than it did to try and guess how to please someone. It was something she had told and retold to me in a thousand different ways.

"Good girl. The second rule is that you call me 'Sir' in every occasion, except for one. There's one time where you call me 'Master'. I think you'll understand why when we try it out together."

Her eyes were curious and she tilted her head. "Yes, Sir. When do I call you my Master?"

I smiled. When else, when there was always one time, one thing, that made me consistently into more with her? When else, when there was that one time that was the most special to me, that one time that I would place emphasis on with the change of honorific? It wasn't that I felt any less dominating in other moments, you see, but there was one time that meant the most to me, one time that deserved to be always graced with more respect and more ownership. It had nothing to do with either of us at all.

And everything to do with emphasis on how much I loved her, when I had such a strange form of showing love and when she accepted me, even so.

————

Essie

"Master, please!"

"How pretty you are for me, little pain slave."

I shuddered, tears already in my eyes. He had chosen the tawse for our scene together and the tawse was pure evil. I shrieked when he cracked it down on my thighs, stinging me so hard. "Th-thank you, Master."

"Good girl." He cooed it, standing at my side and that was right and whole. All of it was. It took me two scenes to understand why these dark moments of pure pain were when I was to call him my Master.

It was because he wanted those scenes to be made into more. And it worked. Calling him my Master brought with it all the things I had learned about being a slave, about the mindset that came with being owned. It was more than just being an object or property, so much more. A Master's slave was his to adore, to cherish. A Master's slave was his most valuable possession.

See, it wasn't because he thought I was less than that outside of those scenes. He made it absolutely clear that the truth was, he had problems reconciling how badly he wanted that intensity with me with how he also wanted me as a girlfriend because his play style was already so intense and strange. There was merely a difference between the two dynamics and he wanted both of them in a specific time and a certain way.

Those times and those ways immediately felt, in the most absolute way, correct. "Ah, ah." He tapped the tawse across my thighs when I made the mistake of leaving them closed for too long. I moaned and obeyed his unspoken command to open back up for his torment, trembling while I did. The tawse really hurt. "Whose are you, little slave? Who owns you right now?"