Slave Zoe's Folsom Weekend

Wait... slave tattoo? On the inside of my wrist? This was shocking! I don't have any tattoos at all. I don't want to be permanently marked! (At least, I don't think so...) I thought back to when I arrived the previous night. When...? And then it came to me. When Master had fucked and beaten me last night, he had gone over me with a wet cloth and an ice cube, and he had paused for a long time in a few spots, including the insides of my wrists. Clever Master had applied a temporary tattoo to my wrist without me noticing. Had he tattooed me anywhere else? He had also paused somewhere on my back. I peered over my shoulder, and, sure enough, there was another tattoo in the center of my back just above my ass.

I went through all of the practice problems one by one. Occasionally I referred to the tablet, which had a copy of the textbook loaded on it, and nothing else. Master had locked it down with parental controls to keep me from accessing anything else on the device or on the Internet. It was frustrating but effective. I had nothing to keep me from studying but my own daydreaming.

Besides the study guide, I had a set of flashcards that I'd sent Master online a few days before. He had printed them out and cut them apart for me. I went through the deck a few times, putting aside the ones that caused me the most trouble, then I went through the pile of hard ones until I had them down, then I shuffled all the cards back together and repeated it all from the top. I was doing pretty well and I had started to gain some confidence.

About the time that I'd finished with the flashcards, Master came back in. "I hope you're studied up, slut. It's time for your practice exam. We're going to do it on the principle that if you make your practice as difficult as possible, the real thing will be that much easier."

Master paused, then he added, "Stand up! Bend over!" My chains did not prevent this, so I stood and bent sharply forward over the table. Master reached behind me and pulled the buttplug out of my ass, then a moment later I felt it being replaced with a different one. I also felt something being pushed into my cunt.

Master dropped a new stapled collection of papers on the table, labeled "PRACTICE EXAM". He said, "You have 30 minutes, slut. Do your best and make me proud." Then he collected everything else off the table and left the room with it.

I started in on the exam. The first problem was a straightforward exercise similar to one of the homeworks. I started writing... and then the egg in my cunt started vibrating. I lost my train of thought instantly. A few seconds later, it stopped. I read the problem again. It made sense and I continued writing... and then the buttplug went whirrr, whirr and I lost my place again. On my third try, I managed to ignore the sensations, although I could tell that I was only using part of my capacity.

I went through the whole test like this, distracted constantly by noise and vibration from my crotch. Sex and dildos ran through my mind in the same thought as parsers and finite automata. But when Master came back into the room, I was done. I handed my exam paper to him unbidden.

"Slave, did you do well?" Master asked. I nodded. He looked pleased, and said, "Good. We are going to review all of your answers right away." He unchained me from the chair and led me to the living room, where he sat at a leather armchair and motioned for me to kneel at his feet. A cane leaned against the chair and I looked at it nervously. I do not like to be caned.

"OK, problem one. Let's see, you used a construction with three nodes for k = 1..." Master went through the entire exam with me. He pointed out places where I could have done a little bit better, and he criticized my penmanship and my neatness, but he also praised my best work and called me a good girl, which made me glow. His hand twitched toward the cane once or twice, but only twitched.

Finally, we reached the end of the exam. Master looked at me. "Slave, this is a very good exam paper. I predict that you are going to do very well in the actual exam. I'm proud of you already, Zoe. Come up here and give me a hug." I blushed and I got up from my spot at his feet, sat astride his legs in the chair, and leaned over and put my arms around him as he did the same for me. We had a warm, lovely moment as we embraced.

Chapter 6: Shower

"Good girl," Master said to me. "Now come with me to the bathroom." He gathered up my hair into one fist, and with his other hand he put a finger through my collar's D-ring. He pulled with both hands, making me catch my breath suddenly as both things always do (he says that every sub does that and he loves it), and led me away.

In the bathroom, Master had me stand next to him while he washed his hands thoroughly and dried them with a paper towel. Then he backed me up against the wall. Opening my contact lens case, he poised one of the opaque black lenses on the tip of a finger. "Keep your eyes open," he instructed me. With his free hand, he used his thumb and his forefinger to firmly hold my eyelid wide open, then he used the fingertip holding the lens to pop it lightly onto my eyeball. I reflexively tried to shut my eye at the same moment, but he was stronger and quicker. "Blink," he said, and I fluttered my eyelid for a moment while the lens settled. Then he repeated the procedure with my other eye. The world was black again, the same as it had been before the study session. This time he had found a more degrading way to blind me. I appreciated that.

Soon, I felt my wrist and ankle cuffs being removed, then my leather collar. This left me wearing only my day collar, which never comes off anyway, and the buttplug. "Open, slave," said Master, tapping my mouth, and he inserted the ring gag and buckled it tightly behind my head. Something was inserted into my nostrils and filled them tightly, and I started breathing through my mouth. He pulled my arms behind me and tied my hands together with several turns of rope, then did the same with my ankles.

Master started the shower and waited a few moments. A rattle of metal rings announced that he was drawing back the shower curtain, then he ushered me in. With my ankles bound, I had to get in by sitting on the edge of the tub, lifting my legs and rotating my body, and then standing up inside the tub. Master guided me under the falling water and turned me to face away from it.

The water was warm but not hot, and I found it pleasant. I heard the snap of a bottle opening, and then Master massaged something through my hair. He rinsed it out, then followed up with something else. Shampoo and conditioner, I guessed. I enjoyed the feeling and the attention very much, and he pulled on my hair, which also felt nice.

Then Master reached around me and began rubbing me from behind, body wash foaming up where he guided the sponge. He soaped my upper body, lifting up my breasts to wash under each of them in turn, then my crotch-a tickle on my clit, then his fingers teasing my cunt-and legs, then my back. He stepped back and rinsed my back, then squeezed close to me-his erection angled downward between my legs-and spun us around together so I was facing into the water. He took me by the hair with one fist, and by my bound wrists with his other hand, guiding me to rinse my front as well.

A little water ran down my throat through the open mouth gag. I coughed and spat it up. Master pushed me forward and pulled my head back more firmly, holding it in the path of the shower. Warm water poured into my mouth. I coughed harder and gargled. Instinctively, I fought, triying to pull back and twist around, but Master expected this and he pulled hard on my wrists and yanked my hair, and clutched around me with his legs. With my bound wrists and ankles, I stood no chance, and I choked. I panicked completely and even then I was unable to throw him off. Red spots flashed in my blinded eyes.

Then Master pushed my head forward and down. Water dumped out of my mouth and I splashed against the floor of the bathtub. "Good girl!" Master told me. I took a convulsive breath.

"OK, again!" Master said, without a pause. He pulled my head back and my mouth immediately filled with water again. I hadn't caught my breath yet, not even close, and I fought him as best I could but I was weakened and started choking right away. As soon as I did, he whipped my head forward and I heaved for air.

"One more time!" Master said gleefully, and he did it to me a third time. This time, after he brought my head forward, he allowed me to lean on him, and then he supported me as I slowly collapsed on the bottom of the tub, warm water still washing over my head and my legs. I sat there, resting on my arms, panting, catching my breath, calming down, fantasizing. I was angry and happy and furious and loving and glad and sorry.

Master turned off the shower and left the room briefly. When he came back, he removed the nose plugs and slowly and carefully cut the wet ropes from my wrists and ankles. By this time, I had mostly caught my breath. He was able to help me to my feet and dry me off with a soft towel.

"Time to go," Master announced. "Zoe, let's get you dressed."

Chapter 7: Teppanyaki

Master took me into the bedroom and dressed me. He began with my leather corset, tightening it until I could only take small breaths, then tying and tucking the laces. Then he put a shirt on me, over my head. It was strapless with long sleeves and coarse material. He slid a skirt of similar material onto my legs and fastened it at the waist. He did not put any underwear on me.

Evidently we were going somewhere vanilla, because Master did not put my leather collar back on me. Instead of the leather cuffs, he put the metal ones on my wrists. These cuffs look like fashionable metal bracelets, but opening or closing them requires a special miniature hex wrench that Master often carries on a lanyard tucked discreetly under his shirt. They fit my wrists just right, large enough to be comfortable but small enough that I cannot remove them without the hex key. When we walk together in public, Master often holds me by a cuff rather than by hand as a subtle reminder of his control. After tightening the screws on the wrist cuffs, Master also fitted the metal ankle cuffs, which are similar.

"Come along," he said, and led me out of the apartment to his car, where this time he sat me in the front passenger seat, belting me in and then connecting the cuffs around the seatbelt with a zip-tie. He got in on the other side and we drove for just a couple of minutes. When we stopped, he released me and we walked together, his hand holding my cuff, into a building.

"Two?" said a woman.

"Yes, two for teppanyaki," said Master. The hostess led us to a high counter where Master sat me down on a stool and then sat next to me. Master evidently studied the menu.

There were other people sitting next to us. "That's a beautiful necklace you're wearing, dear," said a motherly voice coming from beyond Master. "I like the color of the locket very much," she continued, referring to the heart-shaped lock. With the keyhole turned inward as I wear it, the lock does look like a locket.

I said nothing, since Master had not given me permission to speak. "Thank you. I picked it out for her," said Master. "It's very secure." While Master does not approve of playing overtly in front of vanillas, he does like to tease them a little.

The waitress came by at that moment and asked for our order. "We'll have the couples' hibachi chicken and shrimp. I'll take a Sapporo draft, she'll have a Ramune." The waitress took our menus.

Master had been paying attention to our neighbors' conversation. He broke in, "Oh, she's in college too, flying back tomorrow night. She's just in town this weekend to go to a street fair with me tomorrow." That's right, Folsom is a street fair, it's right in the name.

The motherly voice took an interest. "What are you studying, dear?" I was distracted at that moment by our drinks arriving, while Master answered for me. I discovered that a Ramune was something that came in a glass bottle. I attempted to take a sip, but it was sealed at the top.

"Silly girl, you have to open it," said Master. This was rather mild, since normally he'd call me a "stupid slut" for something like that, but we were in public. To our neighbors, he said, "I promise she's smarter than she acts sometimes." Embarrassed, I felt the top of the bottle and found a plastic wrapper. I located a perforation and slit it with a fingernail and pulled it off, then I attempted to drink again. This time, a piece of hard plastic fell out and I caught it with my teeth. I took it with a hand and felt it. It was roughly dome-shaped, but more complicated.

"Can't you figure anything out? Didn't you read the instructions?" taunted Master. It was really unkind with me blind and in front of strangers. My cheeks burned and my cunt dripped. He took the bottle and its cap from me and I heard a snapping sound, then he handed the bottle back and told me, "OK, now hit it."

I was confused and hesitant. Master took the bottle and set it on the counter in front of me, then wrapped one of my hands around its base, steadying it, and set the other one on top of it, where I could feel a plastic piece sticking out of the glass bottle top. "Hit it!" he said, and took my upper hand and moved it up and down as if to smash the top of the bottle. I followed along, and then I hit the top of the bottle. Nothing happened.

"Harder, you silly girl!" Master urged. I drew my hand up high and gave the bottle top a second smack, much harder this time. There was a pop and a fizz and I could tell that I'd opened the bottle. "She finally got it," Master said to our neighbors-I wondered how many people were watching at this point-and then to me, "Good girl." I was deeply humiliated. Only my Master could make opening a soft drink such a degrading feat.

I removed the plastic cap and took a swig, successfully this time. It was obnoxiously sweet. Ramune, it seemed, was Japanese for lemonade.

Someone had arrived on the other side of the counter. Heat rose up from the grill that was evidently there. A few dishes clinked into place in front of me. I heard a quiet snap and Master put a pair of disposable wooden chopsticks in my hand. "Eat your salad," he said. I found the bowl and picked it up and clumsily ate a few bites of iceberg lettuce with sesame dressing. Master said, "You're so sloppy with your food, sometimes I think I should just feed you myself," and ran a napkin over my cleavage. He was speaking loud enough for the people seated next to us to hear, of course, since this was performative for him. I hadn't felt anything drip on my skin before, so maybe he was just making fun of me. Either way, the humiliation was palpable.

Suddenly the world was on fire. I squealed with fear and jumped as far back in my seat as I could. Adrenalin jolted through me and I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. I turned in my seat to flee.

And then everything was cool again. I sat for a moment, assessing myself. I was not hurt or burnt. I was okay. Sheepishly, hoping not too many people were staring at me, I turned back to the counter.

"Don't be such a baby, girl. That's just the chef cleaning the grill," teased Master. He, of course, had been able to see what was about to happen, and had intentionally not warned me about it.

The rest of our meal arrived. Fried rice, shrimp, teriyaki chicken. I hadn't had enough breakfast so I was glad to eat all of it, even though I usually have a small appetite. I am clumsy with chopsticks but I did okay with the chicken and the shrimp. I wanted to eat the fried rice, too, but that's hard enough if you can see it, and I couldn't. Eventually, Master said, "Why don't you use your fork?" I felt around and, sure enough, I found a fork to the left of my plate. I suspected that Master had hid it until now, enjoying watching me struggle with the chopsticks. I bet he was laughing at me.

"I'm going to the bathroom, girl. Stay here," said Master, and walked off.

After a moment, the motherly voice said, "Your dad seems like an unusual man." In his conversation with her, Master had been ambiguous about our relationship. Master is a couple of decades older than me, so she was making a reasonable assumption. I was not allowed to speak, so I just nodded. "Good luck back at school. How far along are you in your program?" I could not answer this with a nod or a shake, so I did not say anything, but I felt awkward and embarrassed.

The awkward silence stretched out for a few seconds, then Master arrived back. "Is she not talking again?" he said to my questioner. "She does that sometimes. I wouldn't bother. If she doesn't feel like talking, you won't get anything out of her." Then to me, "Do you need to go potty, girl?"

I blushed at the childish phrasing, but I nodded. Master led me, cuff in hand, through a doorway and down a corridor and then pushed me gently to another door. I went in, groped my way to a stall, entered and locked it, peed, wiped, came out, found a sink, washed and dried my hands, and left. It was the most privacy I'd had since I arrived last night; even Master cannot always find a private bathroom. Master took me in hand again at the door, and we left the restaurant together.

Chapter 8: RenFaire

We returned to the car, where Master belted me into the middle rear seat. He dug for a moment in the seat cushion. He seemingly found what he wanted and soon had zip-tied my left hand's cuff to something just to my left and my right hand similarly just to the right. "Those child safety seat anchors are useful, Zoe," he said. "They also work well for slut security." He zip-tied my ankles together, then seated a pair of headphones on my ears. He adjusted them, then closed the rear doors, got into the driver's seat, and drove off.

Quiet music played through the headphones, then a voice began to speak. It was not Master's but another man's voice. Speaking slowly, with long pauses between phrases, it said, "Hello, I am Nimja. And this is a slut induction. This recording is going to make you feel very obedient, and very, very aroused. The fun part about this recording, is that every time you listen to it'll become stronger. Every time you listen to it, you become my obedient slut more and more: unable to resist my words, unable to stop yourself when I call you my slut. And that's exactly what you want, isn't it? So let's begin." The voice was seductive and, strapped in place as I was, it was impossible to ignore or to tune out. I had no desire to ignore it anyway, since I want to be Master's obedient slut in any case.

The program went on for some time. The calm, slow voice entranced me. I was aroused by the words, hypnotized by the cadence, made drowsy by the steady motion of the car on the road. After a while, the program finished, and then it repeated. I heard the whole thing at least three times, and then I think I fell asleep because the next thing I knew, the car had stopped and Master had opened the rear driver side door. He removed the headphones and cut my ankle tie and then my wrist ties. I started to get out, but he pushed me toward the passenger side instead. I heard a click and the rear seat folded down flat next to me.

Master tugged at me and I clambered onto the lowered seat, now incorporated into the cargo area. He closed the door, then walked around the car, opened the passenger side door, and lowered that seat too. He came in on that side and closed the door behind him, then pushed me down on my back and flipped my skirt up over my belly and my chest. "Lift your hips," he said. I did, and I felt him feed a strap around my waist. He buckled it snugly in the front, and then pulled a strap forward through my crotch, looped it around the waist strap, and tightened it against another buckle. As he did that, it thrust something into my cunt and against my clit. The crotch strap also pressed teasingly against the base of my buttplug.