Slave Love Ch. 01

This picks up the storyline of Emma, aka Candy Kane, the Rosy Bottom Queen as chronicled in "Spanking Theater" a few years after she settled into the life of a performing spankee.

It is ironic that, as Master's slave, I have found the freedom and happiness that was so elusive to me when I was the spider playing a web-like instrument of control and manipulation. How can I be free when I must wear whatever Master tells me to wear? How can I be free when I must follow perfectly the list of rules posted on the dungeon wall? How can I be free when it is my duty to perform the actions and tasks that are given to me and to perform them instantly and without question or complaint? I will confess to you that there was a time, in my former life, in which some, well, many of the activities that are now part of my daily routine would never have occurred to me as something a rational girl would ever do, yet now, for example, if I am instructed to expose myself to a stranger in the grocery store, I will lift my dress without question or hesitation and gift that lucky soul with the brain-burning image of my perfect pelvis until I am told to do otherwise.

I am free to do many things now. I am free of all the fucked-up puritan nonsense of my upbringing. I am free to enjoy my sensations. I am free to relish the feel of pussy juice trickling down my inner thigh. I am free to live out my sexual fantasies. I am free to dress like the slut I love to be. I am free to share my body in whatever way and with whoever Master deems worthy.

I mentioned, a moment ago, my perfect pelvis. I know it is perfect because Master monitors it during inspection every day and studies my large posterior muscle group most carefully during my weekly maintenance spankings. He can tell if as little as half a pound extra has crept into that area. He really is quite amazing. If any unwarranted fat has begun to accumulate, Master will deal with it immediately by restricting my diet and adding exercise. Since the condition of my body is my Master's responsibility and my only responsibility is to follow his orders precisely, I am freed of all body shame. The insecurities and feelings of inadequacy that used to plague my subconscious constantly are gone. I am free of them. I now revel in the perfection of my bone, muscle, skin and hair. Knowing that it pleases Master gives me the confidence to display my body, to share it with all that Master chooses for me.

I am also free to not be a part of any of this. Everything is completely consensual. I can take off the collar and walk out the door anytime I want to.

Master is constantly pushing my limits, but we have had many late-night, cuddled-together conversations and I trust him and know that he will not take me places that, deep in my heart I don't want to go.

I don't know if this arrangement will last forever, but I do know that in the last couple of years I have lived, been thrilled, and experienced more fully and completely than in the previous thirty-two combined.

That is how, by voluntarily surrendering my freedom, I am able to grant myself more freedom than I ever could on my own as the buttoned-up daughter of a Presbyterian minister.

Let me tell you some stories about experiences we have shared. This happened last Thursday. The doorbell rang and Master sent me from the kitchen where I was preparing some snacks as instructed.

Well, I answer the door without looking through the peephole as is my standard instruction and the couple on the other side does not seem surprised to see me standing before them wearing only my studded leather collar. My collar is my prize possession. Every night I clean it and polish the studs. It fits both my neck and my needs perfectly.

My gaze is diverted, as master requires, so I don't know yet if these are people with whom I have interacted before.

" We are here at the invitation of your Master," says the lady, so I step aside and gesture for them to enter. I can smell the lady. She is wearing a scent, perhaps her shampoo, but emanating from much deeper inside her, is the odor that is the real her. The jungle floor, the tangled birth and death of an excited pussy. I dearly hope that she has retained her pubic hair so that some of these molecules of primal desire will be trapped and linger in her bush for me to inhale deeply and fully later if Master should see fit for my nose to be buried in her cunt at some future point in the evening.

"Ah! Rebecca! Steve! Come in," says Master. I am aware of the irony in this statement in that later they may be invited to come into some rather more intriguing places, but I am careful to keep this thought to myself and not allow it to be reflected on my face.

" Close the door, slave."

Rebecca and Steve follow Master down the hall. We are, no doubt, heading straight to the playroom/dungeon. I follow along behind them without instruction because this is standard procedure. Since they are all in front of me chattering away, I am able to steal a glance at them. I look first at their asses, since that is my favorite part of the human anatomy to gaze upon. There is not much to see yet, but what I am able to discern from the bounce of the buttocks before me appears promising and I harbor a secret smile.

The dungeon is hidden behind a bookcase in Master's study. He pulls forward on a hard-bound copy of "The Story of O" and the right side of the bookcase pops loose allowing it to swing open.

"Whoa," says Rebecca " that's impressive Bruce."

Bruce is his real name. My name is Emma. When we are in public or in vanilla situations like having dinner with my parents or having a game night with some friendly neighbors we call each other Bruce and Emma, but at home I call him Master and he calls me either slave or slavegirl or pussybearer or something like that although if he is displeased he will sometimes call me "six" just to let me know I am not the first and may not be the last if I don't mind my p's and q's. When he calls me six I get cold all over even though I rarely get cold anymore since I spend so much time naked.

"Thank you," says Bruce to Rebecca. "I want to have the best set-up I can afford, just as I want to have the best slave I can train."

I am stopped in my tracks by this unexpected compliment but I don't allow my face to reveal my pleasure. I am well trained.

Rebecca and Steve go down the stairs and enter the softly lit dungeon and Master turns to me and says, "bring us refreshments, slave," so I turn and hustle back upstairs and grab the chips and salsa, the veggie tray and some olives. I balance all that on a tray along with four glasses and a bottle of red wine. Quick as a bunny I am back downstairs. When I enter the dungeon I can see the three of them sitting in the lounge area talking. Rebecca has her hand in Master's lap and is massaging his bulge. That was quick. I pour four glasses of wine and hand one to each of them but leave the fourth on the end table. Then I go to my spot and kneel with my head bowed.

"Isn't she a delightful little slave?" says Master. I glow.

"You may raise your head, slavegirl."

When I look up, I can see that Rebecca and Steve are studying me. Rebecca is looking in my eyes but Steve is concentrating on my breasts.

"Dance." I rise and began to sway slowly.

"Fortress" by Vedan Kolod is pulsing from the various hidden speakers. The strangely erotic vibrations of the jaw harp drone in sympathetic vibrations that stir deep in my pussy.

I am rocking my hips in the figure eight pattern I learned in the belly dancing class that Master enrolled me in. I raise my arms over my head because this lifts my breasts. My breasts are still quite firm even though I have crossed a couple of age barriers, but with my arms in the air, they are perfect. Raising my arms also exposes the delicate light brown hair that grows in my armpits. Master loves every hair on my body and won't allow me to remove any of them.

I turn in a slow circle and present my ass to Steve and Rebecca for the first time. I don't have to look. I know they are staring. As my hips gyrate, my buttocks rotate hypnotically. Master has shown me videos of this and I became quite horny just watching myself.

I finish my slow circle just as the music ends so I stop dancing and just stand before them. My eyes flicker from Steve's crotch to Rebecca's tits, to the hand in Bruce's lap and then back again.

"So," says Bruce, "do we have a deal?"

I will be told what the deal is when the time is right. Until then I can imagine and fantasize. It's certainly not the simple exchange of sexual favors that seems to be in the air. No I'm certain Master has just signed my ass up for an adventure much more exotic and probably much more perverted than this.

I was far from a virgin when I met my Master of course. The truth is that I made my living being naked in front of strangers for more than three years before we met. I have also been a life-long exhibitionist. I have flashed dozens maybe hundreds of men and women. It was a compulsion and while it was thrilling to plan and execute, I was often left with feelings of shame. There were episodes where I was unkind to my body in an effort to deal with the guilt drilled into my skull from birth. Now, not only am I free of shame, I am also empowered to take my exhibitionism to places and levels I could never have achieved on my own. Instead of a two -second flash of panty, I can and will, at the direction of my Master, share the splendor of my totally naked body in public places or at private parties. If it pleases my Master, I will bend over and allow a group of strangers to inspect the glory of my inner workings. I have strolled down city streets and through the mall wearing nothing but a smile. Once I crashed a full-court basketball game for five minutes wearing only a sports bra with the nipples cut out. Nobody complained and I scored two points!

"You may join us," says Master.

I leave my spot and, taking my glass of wine from the end table, go over and sit next to Steve.

"Hi Stevie," I breathe into his ear. I know the hot moisture from deep inside my body is stirring now in his loins. I mirror Rebecca's posture and actions and, laying my hand in his lap, begin to massage his pants. All of this is standard protocol so I know it's okay with Master. Master and I can communicate with just eye flickers and subtle facial gestures. I always make sure I have permission.

"Hello, Sexy. What do I call you?"

"Sexy will do just fine, Stevie. Did you like my dance?"

"I loved everything I saw."

"Well, you saw almost everything I've got to show."

"Oh no, Sexy. You're still hiding the best parts."

Stevie was pretty hard already. Most men get at least a semi when a naked female dances in front of them.

"You're the one hiding things. May I have the pleasure of opening your pants?" Stevie smiled so I unbuckled his belt and whipped it from the loops. I doubled the belt and made it go crack loudly twice. I laughed and pitched it aside. In a slave ti slave situation any power dynamic is possible and I was trying to dominate Stevie. Just a little. While I took the zipper handle in two fingers and ran it down the track and over the hump slowly my eyes stayed locked with Stevie's until the zipper had run it's course fully. Then I looked down. He was wearing red silky boxers. A decided lump pushed out against the material.

"Let me help you from your trousers, Sir."

Stevie lifted his hips and I slid them down to his ankles. He still had his shoes on and the pants would go no further. Now there was another power dynamic to resolve. Should I remove Stevie's shoes and socks for him? I wasn't his slave, but he was a guest in my Master's house. I glanced up at my Master and he flicked his eyes. Master and Rebecca had been watching us closely. She did have his dick in her hands, but her eyes were on us.

I dropped to Stevie's feet and attended. Then I folded his pants and made a tidy grouping of the clothes and shoes. I stood up to my full height and towered over Stevie by several inches since he was sitting down. He was wearing a button up shirt and the red boxers. I unbuttoned him without asking. I spread his shirt and admired his smooth hairless chest and stomach with my eyes and hands. The shirt disappeared.

"And, may I, Sir, have the very great pleasure of removing your last item of clothing?"

All eyes were on Stevie. He gulped and nodded.

"I'm sorry, I need verbal consent. May I satisfy my craving to behold your magnificent manhood by removing your silken underwear?"

"Yes. You may."

He lifted his hips again. Fingers hooked under waistband slid over the ass and I have to stop and lift the front over the tip of his erection then the textiles are a thing of the past as if in a parallel universe. I am naked. Stevie is naked. I have succeeded in arousing him fully. He possesses beautiful meat. A statue of tension and potential throbbing like a heartbeat. A delicious cock. I love cocks. (More on that later. A lot more.)

I knelt between his spread open legs and used the thumb and first finger of my left hand to encircle the base and allowed his balls to rest in the other three fingers. With this grip, I was able to gently stroke a patch of taint with the pad of my middle finger. Then with the tip of my index finger of the right hand, I gathered up a dollop of the lubricant leaking out of the slit and twirled it around and around the rosy end of his penis.

I looked him in the eye-soul one more time and said, "May I have the honor of taking you into my mouth?" He nodded. His mouth was sympathetically open, his eyes wide. Then I leaned over and gave his pecker point a kiss, just a kiss. I felt a strange energy from Rebecca. When I looked up again, I was looking right into her smiling eyes.

Well, I guess I misjudged the state of Stevie's arousal, because as Rebecca and I were staring into each other's souls, I suddenly felt Stevie's testicles retract and then begin to spasm. I had two seconds and I used them to open my mouth and direct the cum stream into my O-shaped face-hole. That saved a big clean-up problem and I would have been the cleaning girl.

I went ahead and stuck Stevie's peter into my mouth and sucked it. A promise made and kept. Not every encounter is epic.

I was unsure how Master would react to this event, however. I doubted that anyone intended this eruption to occur so quickly. I didn't feel like it was really my fault. I barely touched him! But, gulp, this was for Master to determine.

A little voice in my head said, "way to go girl. You just turned a maintenance spanking into a butt whooping." This is the negativity of my id which used to dominate my internal monologue. Endless recriminations and self-doubt. Now that I have released myself to Master's domination though, the voice is largely quiet. When it does speak up now, I use a yogic technique my Master taught me of breathing in through my cunt and out my nose to regain internal stillness. I don't understand how cunt-breathing works, but it does. Sometimes, if I've been fucking for hours, you know, those timeless nights with a lover when you been locked lips, bellies and genitals doing missionary for hours and you notice it's starting to get light outside, I'll cunt-breathe with the cock buried in me. Maybe its energy more than air, but the energy makes the body flow automatically.

"Take your spot, slave," said Master.

Quickly, but with reluctance, I released Stevie's still pulsing meat and returned to my spot.

"Position four."

I turned around, stood erect, and laced my fingers behind my head.

I heard Rebecca's voice say, "I apologize. I thought my slave was better trained than that."

So R and S are in a dom/sub relationship also. There are all sorts of combinations and agreements in the dom/sub world.

"No, no the fault is all that of my slave. She misjudged. A male cannot control his autonomic reflexes. My worry is that you remain unserviced. Shall I have my slave perform cunnilingus on you?"

Sometimes Master speaks in a formal tone when referring to sexual matters. He thinks it makes him sound more strict. Mention of Rebecca's pussy and of the possibility of me burying my nose in her warm entrance thrills my inner core. They can't see my smile. I am naughty.

I imagine it is different in different parts of the world, but here in the Midwest, it is common, although not universal of course, for masters to share their slaves with other masters. This of course vastly increases the pool of sexual possibilities. I am not the jealous type and I do love to lick pussy. Sadly my Master does not own a pussy, other than mine. Allowing me access to other random vaginas is just one more way of keeping me satisfied in this relationship. It is a two-way street although it may not appear that way to vanilla people on the outside.

My desires, however, are secondary and must be put on hold when I hear Rebecca say, "I'm sure that would be delightful and I hope that is something we can arrange a little later, but right now, Bruce, I would like to observe your technique as you administer her maintenance spanking. Besides making the deal, that is one of the things I hoped for when I came over here, purely for educational purposes you understand."

There it is, THE DEAL. What the heck was the deal anyway?

Well, it is Thursday so, I am scheduled for a maintenance spanking today. Some slaves I have talked to don't agree with the maintenance spanking concept. "What the heck is the point of being good all week and avoiding discipline if I'm just going to get one anyway for no good reason," they complain. (And yes, slaves do get together and talk all the time. We meet in clubs and at parties. There is even a bar downtown that does a sideline specialty in slaves on furlough.) I am not a complainer. I accept my maintenance spankings because Master decrees them. Of course, it helps that I love to be spanked. For several years I was able to pay the rent just by charging people to watch me get spanked. I have written all about why I love to be spanked in the story entitled "Spanking Theater". It was a good gig and all, but the nature of the situation required the spankings to be quite severe and eventually, I got tired of sleeping on my stomach all the time. I also experienced serious and unrelenting bouts of depression in the intervals between performances where I would hide in my room and eat cereal and my ass would get fat and then I would tell myself that no one wants to see a fat ass girl get spanked and spiral down further into embarrassment and contempt for my own body. And then I met Master.

"Your wish, Mistress Rebecca, is my command." I don't know if I like the sound of that. "Slavegirl! Go and prepare the spanking bench."

I have a beautiful spanking bench which was custom built for me by my former handler, Louie. It's getting a few miles on it. Some of the red velvet on the arms and leg rests is wearing thin. There are stains from oils, sweat and tears, real tears, but these all add to the patina. I have earned the right to call this piece of furniture mine.

As I walk across the room to the discipline area, I wiggle my hips a bit more than necessary. I love having my ass admired. I know soon my ass will be the center of attention and I want it to start now.

I pull the spanking bench from its storage area into the center of the room and into the pool of light made by the overhead fixture. I then arrange the side table precisely six feet away and to the right. I unbuckle the restraints and wipe them carefully with oil. Then I go to the cabinet and remove the implements. Master likes to have a good selection of implements to choose from. Even though it is just a maintenance spanking I know I must put out not only the ones I like, but also the ones that he likes and at least a couple that I am really hoping he won't use. I select the slapper which I like because it makes a lot of sound without too much damage, a crop which is just a small slapper on a stick, a hairbrush, a flogger, a yardstick, a 2" wide belt and a cane. I hate the cane. I am pretty sure I won't get it today unless Master starts showing off for Mistress Rebecca (I must call her this now that Master has.)