Slave on Stage

As she strode onstage, she saw her owner sitting in the third row, off to the side. When she stepped up to the microphone he was applauding, and his approval meant something very different than what she felt from the rest of the room. She was being appreciated as a leader in her field by her peers; he was appreciating her as his proudest possession.

She was a comfortable public speaker, commanding a room with ease. Her owner loved that about her, especially as it contrasted with her on her knees, waiting for permission to speak.

As always, her owner had approved what she was wearing. He allowed her almost unlimited freedom in professional contexts, so he rejected and replaced only one item.

She wore a beautiful cream-colored blouse over a dove-grey camisole with a built-in bra, and expensive black jeans with low-heeled boots. Her owner had given her the camisole in place of the bra she'd selected, because it wouldn't have concealed the livid purple bruises he'd given her with his teeth last night.

Every time she raised her arm to point at the screen, it hurt. Her swollen right nipple moved against against her camisole, and the bruise beneath twinged as her breast fell forward.

She had begged for the bruises, knowing the pain would serve as a reminder and a comfort during a stressful day. It was the touch of her owner, never leaving her as she navigated a "power breakfast," did the sound and video check, and chatted comfortably waiting to go on, reviewing her notes in her head.

When she strode onto stage to applause, she felt her underwear rubbing the tenderness in her crotch where multiple marks graced her labia, thighs and ass. She felt his declarations of ownership on her body. On his property.

Meanwhile her owner watched with pride, as confident as she that this speech would go well, hoping that it would help propel her to the next level. With all the success he'd had in his life, it was her of which he was most proud. Not only of her success, but of her having chosen to give herself entirely to him. Her success was entirely her own, but she herself was entirely owned. By him. It never ceased to thrill him. How many men, married for ten years, got an erection watching their wives at work?

He also enjoyed knowing what was under her clothing, having chosen it himself. Because of the special circumstances, he'd given her unusually concealing and conservative underwear. She wore soft cotton boy shorts that would be gentle on her marks, would not disrupt the line of her jeans, and would provide some extra protection and comfort if her shaven cunt started to get wet.

The feel of the soft cloth covering her ass was unusual for her, because her owner's preferences meant that normally her jeans would hugging her bare ass. The thongs, g-strings and other skimpy items that left her exposed were the majority of her lingerie collection; for her, "ordinary" underwear was only for special occasions. Her owner's suspension of his accessibility requirements was rare and loving.

Likewise, it was very rare that she wore anything on top that made it difficult for him to fondle her nipples or touch her breasts. They were not so big that they needed constant support, so at most, she wore lacy or sheer bras that left her nipples visible and strokeable, under tops her owner chose to maintain her modesty to his satisfaction.

But her owner was taking care of his slave at this important event. No clips or clamps graced her nipples, her ass held no plug, no harnesses restrained her under her clothes. Other than the marks that she had begged him for, nothing marked him as his property other than the pendant hanging from the ring through the hood of her clit, and his collar around her neck.

It didn't look like a collar, flashing in the lights. In the hollow of her throat rested a stylized capital R on a thick silver chain. Everyone assumed that it was her initial, but between herself and her Master, and always in her own head, her name was never capitalized. Their first names began with the same letter but he was "R" and she was "r." Her owner had placed it around her neck and fastened it closed with a small screwdriver this morning, while she knelt naked with his cock in her mouth.

She was well-known in her field, being paid well to speak to a large crowd, being filmed for later streaming on the conference site. And she was a slave, the property of a man sitting in the third row that she introduced as her "husband" to her colleagues, a polite fiction, concealing the fact of his ownership the same way her clothing concealed his markings.

They'd flown commercial, so she'd sat separated from him, in first class, with space to work and sleep. She wore a pair of fleece sweatpants and a zipped-up fleece jacket. The sweatpants were the more modest type she wore in public, a boy's size with a fly for her owner's access, rather than the open-crotch pants she wore at home that kept her warm but also completely available for use.

Under the jacket she wore a soft flannel shirt. For modesty at the airport security scanners, she wore a cotton thong and a Calvin Klein sports bra. The medallion that usually hung from her piercing was in her Master's laptop bag. Once the seatbelt sign went off, she looked at her owner, and held her hands together under her neck as if in prayer. This was her public begging gesture; she was asking to use the bathroom. He nodded, and said, "Enjoy yourself" when she passed.

Five or ten minutes later, she returned. She looked around and saw that the nearby passengers were reading or sleeping, so she unzipped her jacket and leaned forward, offering her owner a view of her naked breasts hanging from her unbuttoned shirt. Her bra and pantries were rolled up in her hand and she slipped them into her Master's jacket pocket.

She kissed him deeply, sharing the taste of herself. "Enjoy yourself" hadn't been irony, but permission to play with herself in the bathroom. She'd rubbed her clit and then penetrated herself deeply with several fingers. She had no permission to come, but as required after touching herself, she licked and sucked her juices from her fingers before washing her hands.

Her owner whispered "Good girl" into her ear, and pulled her zipper up. Naked under the fleece, she sat on the arm of his seat and he put his hand on her leg, both of them knowing that he could move his fingers just a few inches, between the buttons of her fly, and touch her wet cunt. But he did not use his property like that in public.

"How are you feeling about it?" he asked.

"Good, sir," she said, settling down and gently pressing her cunt against the arm of the chair. "I'm going to go back through my notes about the people on my panels, memorizing faces and names. I have a few things to get written for work as well. And I'm going to read through the speech again."

"Anything I can do?" he asked. "I'll ask you to sit through another run-through later," she said. Leaning down close to his ear she said, "Your slave is guessing that you don't want to renew our membership in the mile-high club in these bathrooms?"

He laughed. Private jets were an obscene waste, but they did have their advantages. "I think not."

"Then Master, may I sit back down and get to work?" He kissed her and put his hand on her ass to lift her up and point her towards her seat.

The taste of herself still in her mouth, her wet cunt feeling air moving over it inside her loose pants, she opened her laptop. She closed it after an hour or two, having done as much as she needed to. Seeing that her Master was still awake, she caught his eye and made her pleading gesture again. He raised his eyes and she stood up. With her mouth next to his ear, she asked, "May I please use the bathroom again? I need to go, plus it's warm in here and I want to take off my fleece." He nodded, this time saying "Don't be long," meaning she was not to pleasure herself.

She used the toilet, washed her hands, and buttoned up her blouse. She left the fleece open, returned to her seat, and took it off, leaving it around her shoulders. Passengers walking by might notice her nipples under the shirt, but she was covered to her Master's satisfaction, and knowing he was nearby, felt safe to fall asleep.

At the airport, there was no driver waiting. "Where the fuck is the car?" he said, looking around in vain. "I hate these fleet companies."

"Master," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "We have lots of time and it's just drinks and dinner tonight. The conference doesn't start until tomorrow."

"I know, pet," he said. "I just want this to go well."

"So do I," she said. "But it's my deal, so please let me judge if it's going well or not. You're making me stressed right now, and I don't need to be."

He put his hand on the back of her neck. "You're right, my love."

She leaned into him. "I know I've been going non-stop for the last few days," she said. "It might not seem like it, but your slave needs her owner more than ever right now."

"You've got this, love," he said.

"Oh, I know I do," she said. "And I know you've got me."

I'm so lucky, she thought, that evening. Across from her at the welcome dinner, he was making a persnickety senior industry figure laugh. He was so good at these kinds of things. He worked in a parallel field so he could talk intelligently and ask good questions. He was funny, didn't talk that much about himself, and did so many subtly supportive things. Someone would ask his opinion about something in her field, and he'd answer briefly, then look to her. If people talked over her head to him, he wouldn't respond, but instead look at them quizzically.

When the drinks came, she stood up to toast a friend at the table who'd just been named CEO of her company. With her owner's approval, of course, she'd changed into a simple blue knit dress for this casual dinner. The G-string her owner had selected moved between her buttocks and against her anus as she stood. Her breasts moved freely under the dress, confined only slightly by a silk camisole, screened by the hanging neckline of the dress.

Everyone lifted their glasses, and the slave sat down, subtly keeping her legs apart, feeling air currents on the tiny triangle of fabric covering the cunt that belonged to her owner. She looked him in the eyes and he smiled.

"So, Robert," asked the woman sitting next to him. "Are you on a business trip as well?"

"No," said her owner. "I'm here for r----."

The woman laughed, turning to the slave. "Your husband must really love you to sit through three days of this stuff," she said.

"He's built up a tolerance to these things," r said, smiling slightly.

A man on his other side turned the conversation to a recent product release, contributing the usual tech-bro snark. Her owner interrupted. "You know that r---- was the design lead on that team?"

The man stopped short, embarrassed, but before he could speak she laughed it off. "No worries, we weren't crazy about a lot of it either. You know how clients are." It was a flawless setup by her owner, putting the man in his place while allowing her to be generous and disarming. The man quieted down, and the slave continued a quiet conversation with the man next to her, an expert in the field whose opinion she valued.

After dinner, when the elevator door closed on just the two of them, she leaned against him and let out her breath. "Thank you, sir. You're much better than I am when you're out of your element." He kissed her, then laughed.

"My love, you're going to be talking to a thousand people or so on Thursday morning," he said. "You have a bigger 'element' than I do."

"Oh come on," she said. "You've done that."

"Not comfortably," he said. "And I'd be seriously nervous if I thought my career depended on it."

"It's not like I'm going to lose my job," she said.

"No, you won't lose it, but you'd like to be done with it," he said.

"I would," she said, sighing. "It would be nice if this opened some doors. But it's only a speech." He started to speak, but she put her arms around him. "Master, I'd also like to be done with this conversation. I don't want to think about it all night."

He held her closer. Sometimes when she was uncomfortable with discussing her success or accepting praise he would force her, but this wasn't the time. "Yes, pet," he said. "We'll see what we can do about all that thinking."

When they got into the room, she dropped to her knees with a sigh of relief as soon as he closed the door. He unzipped his pants and held her by the hair. "Open," he said. "Look at me." Her mouth wide, she kept her eyes on him as he slowly fucked her mouth, deep enough to make her eyes water. He watched her letting go, accepting, letting her servitude and her desire flood over her and wash the day away. Her eyes were pleading now.

With his hand tightly gripping her hair, he pulled her up, turned her around and pushed her onto the bed, face down. Without being told, she raised her dress to her hips, exposing her ass and the thin white string of her underwear that accentuated rather than covered her cunt and asshole.

"What do you want, slut?" he asked. "Please fuck me, Master. Please fuck your slut," she said urgently. He stroked the insides of her thighs. "Please, Master, please! I need to be fucked so bad. Please, sir. I've been wet all day. My underwear is damp. This slut wants her owner's cock in her cunt."

She got it. He didn't need to move her flimsy underwear aside, but just thrust into her with a force that made her gasp. He pounded her against the bed, pulling her head back by the hair and making her scream. With his other hand he pulled the neck of her dress down to her shoulder, and she twisted while he stretched it until she could get her arm out.

He pulled it down further and reached for her breast. The angle was wrong for him to get inside her camisole so he tore it at the neck. He grabbed her entire breast in his hand and squeezed, pulling her back into him by her breast and hair. Then he let her drop.

His hands on her hips flipped her over. Gripping her ass, he lifted her off the bed and brought her cunt to his cock. Deep inside her again, he carried her from the bed to the wall. He fucked her there, hard enough that she hoped the people next door weren't in their room.

Her breasts were both hanging out now, and he caught one in his teeth. She came in a tidal wave that didn't really stop until he spurted into her and turned back to the bed, laying her down gently.

He reached between her spread legs and scooped his come out of her cunt, then spread it on her face and shoved his fingers into her mouth. He finished undressing and sat next to her, stroking her hair. "Thank you, Master," she whispered. "What you do to me. Thank you."

She curled up, putting his head in her lap. He leaned back. He felt her tongue on his cock, then just her breath. "Don't fall asleep like that, pet," he said gently. "You'll just have to get up again."

She whined something unintelligible and turned her face into his chest. "Get up," he said more definitely. "Yes, sir," she said, heaving herself off the bed. She pulled her dress and ruined camisole off and dropped the soaking wet g-string on top of them and went into the bathroom to wash her face and clean up.

When she came out he pointed at the clothes, so she put them into the laundry bag. The camisole was trashed, and probably the dress too, but the cleaning staff didn't need to know that. Her owner was sitting on the bed and she knelt in front of him, burying her face in his crotch and inhaling her own scent, as he removed her necklace.

She climbed into bed with him and was asleep, curled up against him, almost immediately.

The next day, her schedule was packed. She was moderating a panel in the morning and then participating in one immediately afterwards. Unless she escaped for lunch she'd be going nonstop until 4 or 4:30, then heading to a mixer followed by a big dinner with clients.

Her owner wasn't working that day. He went into the city to walk around, meet a former colleague for lunch, and maybe find a place to take a short hike. He had dinner plans with a group of friends from the area that evening.

As he was walking to his lunch meeting, his phone vibrated with the custom pattern assigned to his slave. He picked up immediately. "Hi, pet. What's up? How did the panel go?"

"It was really great," she said. "But my afternoon panel was moved to tomorrow so I'm potentially free from lunch until the peer session at 3:30. Are you around?"

"No, love, I'm in the city. I'm meeting Derek for lunch."

"Oh, that's right," she said. He could hear the disappointment in her voice. "Could you hang on a second?" she asked. "Of course," he said. A minute later she came back on the line. The background noise had abated.

"I'm sorry, Master, I had to find a quiet spot." Her voice had softened from its conference tone. She lowered her voice further. "Master, I've been wet all morning. I keep thinking about last night, being up against the wall."

"Very nice," he said. "I love it."

"I do too, sir," she said. "But may I go back up to the room and change my underwear? It's wet enough to be uncomfortable. We brought a black pair of Calvins just like the thong you picked this morning."

"Yes, you may," he said.

"And Master, please, this slut needs relief," she said. "May your slave masturbate? It's hard for me to concentrate and there are some complicated people on the panel later."

He stepped into a doorway for more privacy. "And you're such a slut you need to come," he said quietly.

"Yes, sir, I am a very wet and needy slut," she said. "But this slut is your property and she knows she must beg for permission to satisfy herself. Please, Master, may I?"

"You may," he said. "Go upstairs and undress completely. Take off your underwear and put it in your mouth. Get into bed and take as much time as you want. We didn't bring any toys but you do anything you want with your hands."

"Oh, thank you, thank you Master."

"But slave, listen," he said sharply. "Yes, Master," she said, coming to attention.

"When you're done, you need to write me a thank-you. Your journal is in the front pocket of my laptop bag. Your underwear stays in your mouth until you finish writing."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Make sure you leave enough time," he said. "Knowing you, you'll need to do it again after you write that."

She laughed. "You know me so well, my owner."

"Yes, I do. Now go enjoy yourself." He hung up.

He got back late. Dinner had run long and that crowd liked to drink. She was asleep, her collar still around her neck, but he kissed her gently without waking or moving her. She'd texted him earlier that the panel had gone well as had the peer sessions, but it had been a long day and except for her orgasm break she hadn't had a moment to herself all day. An hour later, a good-night text to her Master had followed, and he'd hearted it.

Her slave journal was on the desk, opened to the page she'd written earlier. At the top of the page was the required heading -- her full name and the date, and the title, "Thanking My Owner For Allowing His Slut Release."

Beneath, in her elegant handwriting, she'd written her assignment with the fountain pen he'd given her on their first anniversary.

Master, Your slave is naked, lying on the hotel bed with the sheets turned down. The door is on the chain and the do-not-disturb sign is outside. The jeans You chose this morning are folded on the bed, and the shirt is in the laundry. Your slave felt a fresh shirt would be better for this long day and she hopes her owner approves. The underwear You chose was soaking wet when i took it off, and is still in my mouth as ordered. The bra is folded on top of my jeans.