Sold Ch. 04

Author's Note: Continuation from Part 3. In case you're coming in late to the party, this is an M/s Story with a slow burn set in a world where slavery is normal. That said, everything contained is consensual. There are occasional warm fuzzies; this chapter is definitely not one of them. If that offends you, move along darlings.

Chapter 4

My beautiful slave sat before me, shivering with stress as she waited for my verdict.

Dinner sat on top of the stove, the potatoes withered and flat and the roast charred black. The slice of the carver proved it as we both knew: inedible, dry, and unsalvageable. As I set the blade aside, her chin seemed to press harder against her chest as the flush heightened.

Smooth transitions are rare for slaves, even the willing ones.

The hardest part about a new slave, no matter how seasoned, is the period when they're trying to reconcile the old and the new. To forget their old service habits and embrace new routines. It's a rewriting process, of attempts, failures, and successes.

Many punish for these infractions, believing that it will correct their sluts quicker and reinforce discipline within their house. Others believe that punishing during learning only creates desperation and fear that leads to more mistakes. I believe neither.

A good master balances correction and forgiveness to suit the slave he works with during an acclimation.

And in the case of my pretty girl, some correction was in order.

"Did you read the instructions?" I asked her quietly.

She nodded, but didn't look up to my eyes. "Yes, Master."

I reached down, taking her chin and raising it to correct her position. "Then how, little slut, did this happen?"

Her eyes still refused to meet mine, and she said nothing. Not an excuse, nor an explanation followed as I waited patiently. I didn't detect dishonesty, but the blank canvas was equally infuriating. She may as well have been one of Da Vinci's naked statues.

"Omission is as punishment worthy as lying in my house, slut," I murmured, tightening my grip of her chin until I saw the little flicker of life return to her eyes. "I expect an answer."

Those grey eyes finally rose to mine, and the tremble seemed even a little more pronounced than before. "I'm sorry Master. I don't know what happened. I tried to follow the recipe exactly and I did not leave it in the oven after the timer rang."

Which meant something else had gone wrong in the process. "Have you cooked in the past, little slave?" I asked, skimming a thumb over her lips. "Do you know how?"

"No, Master. Not like this," she admitted.

And there lay the root of the issue. She had tried, but she'd had no idea what she was doing. Worse, instead of asking for help, she'd pridefully bumbled her way through it until there was nothing but this mess left. It couldn't happen again.

Intentionally, I softened my tone and voice. "Strip. To the bench."

The way those grey eyes pleaded, I wanted to reassure her that it was alright. But duty, as her Master and guide in training, refused to let me. To let her pride be an influence would only hurt her later down the road, and given the nature of tasks she would take on as she grew, it could even be potentially dangerous.

No. The lesson had to stand.

Walking to my wall, I selected the flogger as she settled herself against the padded wood and grasp the small handholds. I had no concerns of her staying still; she'd proven herself well. Dragging the tails over her back lightly, I spoke to calm her as I admired the curve of her pale ass presented to me.

"To be clear, slave, you're not being punished for your inability to cook," I stated, flicking them in little waterfalls so that they tickled her sides. "But you are going to be punished for your pride."

I let her sit with that statement for a moment, but I was surprised when my slut spoke without being prompted. "I don't understand Master," she answered, looking over at me.

"Did you know how to follow the recipe?"

She shook her head.

"Did it occur to you to ask for help?" I prompted.

She shook her head again.

"That, darling, is the pride... You had no idea what to do. If you had come to me, I would have helped you learn," I explain patiently, "Instead of you struggling through it alone, only to fail."

The first snap made her whimper, but the jolt told me it was more surprise than pain. The second snap made her arch when it caught her thighs. "Count, slut," I reminded her, laying a third across her pinking ass. "Or we'll keep repeating them."

"One, two and three, Sir," she answered quickly.

She counted as I warmed her skin.

By twenty-five, she was a nice rose pink and her shivers only appeared as I trailed the tails over her flesh. Her hands held the grips tightly, her breath came in little pants as she used the reprieve to recover.

Her cunt was soaked. The sting and warmth of being flogged had awakened her desire further than even the latex panties that filled her.

I skimmed my finger along her folds lazily, giving a few soothing strokes of pleasure to balance her discomfort. She writhed under the treatment with a mewl but though her pussy gripped my fingers, she knew not to beg. Orgasms weren't permitted during punishments.

"There's a good girl. Off the bench. Fetch me the devil tongue from my wall and bring it here."

Intentionally, I used its nickname. If she had brought it to me or fallen back to her lesson, she might have escaped what came next. But instead, she stood before the wall, puzzled and silent before she hesitantly chose the split tail whip and brought it to me.

"It seems we have a little more work to do," I commented. "Back over the bench."

This time, I bound her. The split tail was a heavier lick than I trusted her to stay still under. And I wanted her to have the freedom to taste it purely.

"What are you being punished for?" I prompted her, giving it a test swing.

"For pride Master?" she answered hesitantly, her eyes following the tails and a little shiver running down her spine as I gave it a second swing to make it whistle.

"Are you asking or telling me slut?"

"Telling, Sir."

I snapped the tails across the middle of her pinked globes, and she shrieked. The twin lines stood out against the skin quickly and began to swell. "And what, slut, did you do to get punished for pride?" I questioned calmly.

"I didn't ask for help with cooking, Sir, and messed up dinner," she replied as she squirmed on the bench under the burn. "O-one Sir."

Laying two more back to back, I savored how she shrieked under them both and hissed as the lines began to swell. Her wrists tugged at the bonds as I let the twin tail lightly stroke over her sides. Sluts always hated this particular instrument; she was no exception. "That did earn your flogging little slut. So why are you still over my bench?"

"Because I'm a stupid bitch!"

That outburst earned her five quick stripes that broke her into sobbing as the intensity licked her limits.

Oh, she knew better than that foolish speaking. I thought she'd been cured of the bad habit when it'd not reared its ugly head. No, I would have to keep a better eye on her self perception.

When she was back in control, I carefully laid two more on the backs of her thighs where I knew she would feel them each time she sat.

Walking around to the front of the bench, I crouched in front of her and brushed away a tear. "I wouldn't waste my time with a stupid bitch," I corrected her firmly. "I don't tolerate that language toward yourself, even when you're frustrated."

She held my gaze, silent and uncertain. Her bonds vibrated with each little breath she took to try to steady herself but her eyes were almost glazed. No matter how obedient the slave, pain had its limits. I had no desire to break my slut, just educate her.

Dangling that wicked double tail before her, I let her eyes run along its length. "Are you sure," I pressed, "that this is my devil tongue?"

Her lips opened, then closed. Slowly, she shook her head.

"Then why did you bring it to me?" I stared her down, waiting to see the light bulb click on but those teary eyes stayed confused.

It hurt to see her like this. Struggling for something that should have been so simple. But there couldn't be leniency in this lesson.

If I couldn't trust her to ask for help in small things, she would never bring the larger problems to me. From the color of a ribbon to harassment, if she did not know then she would have to ask. Decisions in uncertainty were not hers to make but mine.

"Last chance, little slut, or we're going to escalate," I warned, unbuckling her from the bench. "Bring me my crop from the bedroom. Quickly."

She slipped out quickly; I could hear her feet on the stairs as she hurried.

For all her struggles, my precious slave tried to please me. She sucked eagerly between my feet when told; she gladly teased and submitted to her leash when I led her. I hoped, for her sake, that she was wise enough to return empty-handed.

But the darker side of me wanted to watch her squirm under the crop. Where the flogger dusted and the split tail lined, its leather tongue was more precise. Her cunt sang under it when it licked along her nipples and breasts. She'd begged for its caress when I had driven her to the edge over and over without giving her release. She loved its bite and I loved how she squealed under it.

But this would not be about pleasure, I reminded myself. This was a lesson.

I heard the footfalls slower down the stairs this time and wondered at her caution. As she reached the floor, I looked at her hands.

The slut had brought me all three crops from upstairs.

Raising an eyebrow, I waited for her silently. To assume she'd learned could be detrimental, but it was a step in the right direction. Perhaps I could offer a little leniency if she failed.

She knelt carefully, wincing when the lines from the split tail were pressured. "I'm sorry, Master. I didn't know which one you wanted from your wall, and I didn't want to waste more time... so I brought you all of them to choose from."

There it was.

I smiled and gently stroked my fingers through those platinum curls. "Good girl," I replied before gently plucking the flat and looped heads from her hands and taking them to the wall's pegs. Some of the tension relaxed in her as I hung them by the wrist loops. Only my short crop remained in her hands.

She watched warily as I took it from her. But instead of swinging it, I laid it along the bench before her.

Gathering my girl, I took her to the padded therapy table and put her flat on her belly. The cooling spray misted her backside and thighs without pressure; the lines from the split tail were covered by the cool washcloths to ease their throbbing.

"You always ask, little slut, if you don't know," I said softly as I passed her one of the anti-inflammatory tablets and some water. "It will save you many, many punishments here. It doesn't matter whether it's an implement, a task, or a piece of clothing."

The brows stayed drawn together; she did not smile as she swallowed it. "Master, shouldn't a slut have some degree of independence?" she questioned softly as she rested her cheek against the back of her hand.

"A slut's task is obedience," I corrected her, stroking my fingers across her shoulders. "It helps guide a slave later if she's given the privilege of independence."

That only deepened the lines between her eyes.

"Your previous Master may have given you some freedoms to choose when he desired," I noted, petting her hair. "But that is a burden when you're unfamiliar with expectations. As you have found, I am not as lenient in my expectations as he was; failure to meet them will always have consequences."

Her eyes closed as she absorbed the words, cooling under the rag's touch as I drew a fresh one across her lines gently. The lines above her eyes softened as the pain lessened.

"I will guide you, slut, but I will not coddle you as we train. Nor will I set you up to fail. Neither would be conducive toward the end goal of perfecting your slavery," I murmured, setting it aside and taking out the arnica gel. "And you are a very good slave."

"I want to be a good slave for you, Sir," she whispered.

"I know, precious girl. You will be."

Tending a slave remained my duty after such a session. The arnica was applied liberally; I spoke to her quietly about adventures to fill the next weekend. Going to the aquarium seemed to be her favorite option; her body was like melted butter as we spoke of the fish and otters.

Though she physically would be fine, our conversation had revealed a few vulnerabilities in my slut that needed soothing too.

I coaxed her off the table and into my arms; a kiss pressed to her forehead teased a sigh from her. Though she winced when I sat in my easy chair, she still nestled close against my neck.

A chime from my watch made me pause as I glanced at the notification.

"Your sister is calling. Would you like to call her back in your room or do you want to call her later?" I asked.

"Later, please," she said, wiping her eyes.

I smiled gently, passing her a tissue as I released her from my arms. "I'll let her know. You may have until dinner for free time to settle, little slut. Take some time in your room. I'll take care of the meal."

"Master?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes?"

Those grey eyes reflected raw vulnerability. "Do I have to?"

I opened my arms and she nestled back into them. There would be no harm in indulging her here. I wanted her feeling secure, not abandoned after a correction. "No, precious girl. If you would rather stay with Master, then you may."

"Thank you, Master."

Pulling my phone from off the side table, I sighed. "Now, little slut, what do you eat on pizza?"