The Sun in Her Sky Ch. 03

She gave a quiet cry in the back of her throat. "Oh...stop! I'm gonna come..."

I stopped and removed my fingers, leaving her on the precipice of a massive orgasm. For a moment I wondered if she'd allow herself to tip over the brink, but she got her breathing working and her climax backed off. She lay still, panting, sweating, red-faced and over-heated.

I gently rubbed her tummy for a few minutes until she came down a little more.

"How...how long that time?" she asked, a hopeful tone in her whispered question.

I checked the time. Twenty-six minutes, same as last night. Poor girl!

"Thirty-one minutes," I lied. She'd been blindfolded all night - how would she know? "Getting better!"

Her smile was so relieved that I couldn't help grinning along with her.

"Not great, I guess, but at least my control is getting stronger," she said.

I almost laughed at that. Her control...getting stronger! She must have known she controlled almost nothing at this point, and what little influence she had over her own circumstances was being peeled away with every day that passed.

"I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks. And thanks for being so patient."

After another few minutes of belly-rubbing I sat up, then walked to my desk and picked up the ruler. I sat on the side of the bed and gently stroked her swollen, soaking vulva with the flat of the smooth wood. She sighed unhappily, then spread her legs as wide as they would go. Her demeanor wasn't terrified or even all that nervous. Instead, her attitude was dutiful and resigned.

And this...THIS was the part I loved the most. Not the pussy-spanking itself - inflicting pain wasn't really a turn-on for me. No, it was her willingness to spread her legs and expose her most intimate and tender flesh so I could lash it with the ruler. That's what it was all about for me.

Becca had come to accept that I could unilaterally assign goals to her, and unilaterally decide to punish her in any way I chose for failing to meet those goals. She didn't question me, or protest the unfairness of it all, or try to beg for leniency or wheedle out of it.

The goals I dictated didn't even need to make sense or be reasonable - my 'one hour' target had been completely arbitrary. I wasn't even sure it was possible for her to hold out that long. And even if it was achievable, who cares? The goal itself was a meaningless one. But that didn't matter. The decisions - all of them - were mine and not hers.

In a very real sense, I was her all-powerful goddess. Whatever came out of my mouth immediately defined her reality.

"Still and silent, right?" I asked in my 'Mistress Gwen' commanding tone.

She nodded and drew a deep breath.

I tapped her labia gently, then raised the ruler and whacked it down onto her swollen lips. I'm sure the SMACK of wood against flesh could be heard upstairs, and I have no idea what my landlords thought they were hearing. No doubt the truth was beyond their most deviant imaginings.

Becca stifled a cry, instead letting her breath whistle out through clenched teeth. Her legs jerked but, to her credit, didn't snap shut to protect her feminine treasures. She was quiet as she processed the pain.

"One, miss Bailey. Thank you."

She didn't ask me to stop. She didn't ask me to be more gentle. She didn't ask how many strokes she was going to get. I don't think she was even aware she COULD ask those things. The combination of the collar and five months of daily training and mental conditioning had rendered her unable to oppose my will.

My second stroke was a hard lash to her mound, a hair's width above her clitoral hood. She gave a muted whimper, little more than a squeak. The area immediately turned pink, then red, growing darker as the seconds passed.

"Two, miss Bailey. Thank you."

Fortunately for Becca, the thrill for me lay in my unlimited OPTION to inflict pain however I pleased, and not in the actual delivery of pain itself. So after just four hard, punishing strokes I returned the ruler to my desk.

Becca was breathing hard and her skin was welted and red between her legs, but there were no tears, and as I unfastened her blindfold for the first time since that morning, I read in her eyes only devotion, trust and love.

And that night as she fell asleep with her mouth latched onto my nipple and her head gently cradled in my lap, her expression was as peaceful as I'd ever seen it.

*

It was early April when I decided to start dating again.

I'd dated a little before Becca's arrival, but the combination of the insane workload of my 'compressed' diploma program and the major time commitment needed to properly train and condition my girl had made dating a little unrealistic. But after more than six months, Becca was almost perfectly compliant, and that freed up some time.

A woman in my lunchtime volleyball club - Lynne - had caught my eye and we'd been flirting on and off since Christmas. I decided to go for it. Why not? I was graduating in September, so now was the time to make memories, right?

I gave plenty of thought to how I would announce my decision to Becca.

Rationally, she must have known we weren't a couple, in the romantic sense. It was obvious I wasn't Becca's 'girlfriend'. A girlfriend wouldn't keep her blindfolded and bound. A girlfriend wouldn't keep her naked and collared all the time. A girlfriend wouldn't beat her pussy with a wooden ruler.

But there was more than just rationality to consider. I suspected Becca wouldn't take well to the news that I was seeking romance elsewhere and that she'd be competing with other women for my time and attention. In the end I decided not to bother telling her anything. She'd worry and get upset, and all for nothing. It's not like she had a choice one way or the other.

It was important for me to take this step, to start searching for a fulfilling relationship with someone. Someone I could love. Someone I could joke with. Someone I could spend endless hours talking to about shared interests. Maybe even someone I could start a family with someday.

Becca would always be with me, of course, so I'd need to find a partner who could accept that. I knew there would be plenty of disappointments and false starts; most women probably wouldn't want a partner who had a slave girl. But I was confident that somewhere, some woman would accept us, or even prefer an arrangement like that. For the right partner, I'd be willing to share Becca - she could live with us as a dependent pleasure slave who served us both.

To my surprise, dating was easier than I'd remembered. It used to be awkward and tentative - two people performing an elaborate, interactive dance, terrified of a false step or wrong word. I used to be shy, clumsy and nervous.

But somehow, knowing Becca was waiting for me at home, I lost my fear and became confident and assertive. After all, with an adoring worshiper at my beck and call I didn't have to worry about the usual price of dating failure - rejection, loneliness, sexual frustration. Even if the date was a disaster, I had someone in reserve who met most of my needs.

And my first date with Lynne went well - we went to a board game cafe, drank coffee and played Clue, then ended up back at her place for green tea and tongue kissing while a movie streamed in the background.

I enjoyed her breasts - full and firm, with tiny, dark nipples - a delightful change from Becca's 'itty bitties'. She ate me with enthusiasm, although she didn't have Becca's skillful tongue. On the plus side, she was multi-orgasmic and came again and again under my experienced fingertips, grunting and crying out her pleasure loudly. Lynne wanted me to stay the night afterwards, but of course I had to get home. I'd fed Becca before I left - telling my girl it was a late-night cram session - but she did belong to me and I had a duty be there for her and not abandon her for the whole night.

After that, I continued to go out once or twice a week, usually with Lynne but not exclusively. Being tall, athletic and confident helped make me a success on the dating scene.

I wish I could tell you I felt guilty climaxing on another woman's tongue while Becca waited for me alone in a dark, silent apartment, blindfolded and confined to the double bed, but it was quite the opposite - it filled me with a strange elation, a sort of glee. I was savouring the same delights I had forbidden to my girl. When I straddled Lynne's face, her tongue lapping my sensitive folds, my dominance over Becca seemed even more stark and impressive.

*

Spring gave way to summer, and I was living my best life.

In early July I discovered luggage locks, and Becca's life wasn't the same after that. Luggage locks were tiny metal locks designed to secure the zippers on luggage. They were key-operated but really flimsy, easy to break open with even a little force. I'd seen them on the sale rack at the mall and, in a moment of inspiration, bought a bunch of them.

I made a special trip to the hardware store and bought an eight-foot length of thin-link chain, and suddenly my control over my girl tightened further. I looped one end of the chain around her slender neck, above her collar, and secured it in place with a luggage lock. I could use those same locks to secure the other end of the chain anyplace I pleased, and I took great delight in keeping my girl chained by the neck at all times, although I did remove it at bedtime and for showers. The stainless steel chain links were thin enough that they didn't rattle like medieval manacles, they clinked and tinkled delicately and - most important - quietly. Quite feminine, really, for an industrial chain.

I can't convey the incredible power rush of leading around a docile, helpless, naked girl on the end of a chain. If 'orgasm' were an emotion, that would be what it felt like. Pure euphoria.

When I was doing the laundry, she'd be chained against a shelving unit in the laundry room, and I could keep her standing, kneeling or even flat on her stomach depending on where I attached the other end of her chain. Most often I had her wrists bound behind her and her blindfold securely in place. She could only remain as I positioned her, on the cold cement floor, while I emptied the dryer and carefully folded my clothes. I won't say she loved being trussed up that way, but every time I checked, her pussy was absolutely drenched. She didn't hate it, let's just say that.

When I left for class or for "study sessions" with girlfriends I would chain her in bed, looping the other end of the chain around the bed frame and securing it with with a luggage lock. In an emergency, she'd be able to break the lock with ease and save herself, but there was no way to free herself short of ruining the lock. And I made sure she knew how unhappy I'd be if she destroyed one of MY locks. To her credit, she didn't ever break one.

My love of bondage was becoming more pronounced, and before long Becca was spending every waking moment restrained in some way. I think she enjoyed it most of the time, and grew accepting and accustomed to it quickly. Only at night, in bed with me, was she free of confinement, though even then she wore her ever-present titanium collar.

My experiments with watersports happened gradually, and on a whim.

When I went to the bathroom, she knelt off to my side, facing me, her chain locked to the pipes under the sink. I enjoyed reading on the john, and having a pretty thing to look at between blogs was a pleasure I didn't deny myself.

One time I'd finished peeing, and instead of wiping I stood and mischievously pressed my pussy against her lips, expecting her to flinch away or protest. Instead, she licked me, hesitantly at first but with every stroke her tongue gained enthusiasm. She didn't stop until I'd come hard against her lips and nose. Such a good girl!

I never wiped my slit after that. I'd still wipe my own ass, of course - scat wasn't anything I was remotely interested in - but I let her handle 'pussy duty' from that point on. And the dirty girl liked it - I could tell by the way her breathing quickened and her lips parted as she heard my stream slowly trickle to a halt.

I started leaving her two tall water bottles when I chained her to the bed before departing for class. One was filled with water, and the other was empty, for her to pee in. After all, the bathroom was out of reach when she only had a few feet of slack in her chain. I'd usually come home to find the water bottle empty and the other one half-full. When I was studying at my desk and she was doing her floor exercises or lounging in bed, I wouldn't take her to pee in the bathroom - she had to use the bottle. She blushed every time, to my great delight.

I'd experiment with watersports more and more as time went on. I'll say more about that a little later - I don't want to get too far ahead of myself.

*

I graduated the first week of September.

My parents would have come for the ceremony - so they said - except dad came down with the flu right before they were due to drive up. Whatever.

I'd aced my exams and scored in the top ten percent of the class. Even better, I'd accepted an offer from a tourism board in Thunder Bay, thirteen hours to the north and west. I couldn't wait to get up there and get started - my first truly 'professional' gig in Human Resources. I found a great apartment online - a vast, open-concept living space with hardwood floors, a bathroom and kitchenette. It was on top of a shoe store, so no noisy neighbors, either. I'd rented a cargo van and planned to drive all my belongings up in one go.

And that included Becca.

My girl was taking an exam of her own, in a sense - I'd admonished her to be on her best behaviour that day and was alert for even small slip-ups. But by ten o'clock in the morning even I had to admit her performance had been impressive.

I guess it wasn't really a test of her obedience and discipline - more of a test of the training and conditioning I'd applied to her in the past year.

She knelt on her foam pad next to her luggage, blindfolded, wrists bound behind her, neck-chain locked to the handle of her suitcase. Her knees were wide, back straight, breathing slow and even. Her thin, well-toned, nude body was a vision of submissive perfection.

I'd put her there intentionally. It was out of the way so she wouldn't be underfoot while I was packing up my stuff, for one. But more than that I enjoyed the symbolism of having her there, next to her baggage. She'd arrived at my apartment carrying her possessions, and fifty weeks later, she'd become one herself.

Her quiet stillness was even more impressive given the anxiety I knew she must be feeling below the surface. I hadn't told her about my graduation or my job in Thunder Bay. I hadn't told her about the cargo van or that we were leaving before sunrise the next morning. I'd just knelt her out of the way when we were done breakfast and started packing. She could hear me moving around the apartment, filling boxes, taping them shut. She knew this wasn't routine and had probably guessed I was moving out. Unilaterally choosing to re-locate her was another example of my supreme power over my girl. I reveled in it.

A few months ago she might have ventured a question but I'd become strict about that recently. She'd spoken out of turn a few weeks ago and I'd given her a smart smack in the face followed by a stern dressing down. She was quick to apologize and vowed to do better.

I mean, I didn't hit her THAT hard while she was bound and blindfolded. The slap was just enough to get her attention and pink her cheek a little.

But it had been enough. Since that lesson, she'd been perfectly silent unless I engaged her. When I wanted to talk she was eager and agreeable. When I wanted quiet...well, I always got what I wanted. Always. So she said nothing, even as her ears tracked my movements around the basement apartment.

She didn't move her head, though, or any other part of her. Fidgeting had earned her a slap, too. It was distracting when I was trying to read or eat and she was shifting and shuffling on her pad. Since then, she'd worked on keeping her body calm and motionless. I found it more aesthetically pleasing that way, too.

I don't want you to think I went around slapping the poor girl all the time. It was only the two times. She spent most of the time blindfolded and helpless, and being slapped unexpectedly was probably painful, shocking and scary. I didn't want her cowering and flinching every time I came near her, so restraint was the best course.

I spent the morning packing, allowing Becca to change position every hour or so, and I was pretty much finished by lunch. Well...MY lunch. Becca only ate breakfast and dinner but I gave her some peanut butter on celery sticks while I was eating my soup and sandwich. She'd been really good all morning, and I was generous with compliments as I fed her by hand. She beamed, warmed by the praise and doubtless proud of her performance. I held the bottle under her as she peed into it, then knelt her on her pad again.

The afternoon was about cleaning - the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom. I finished my last two loads of laundry and got the clean clothes packed away. By late afternoon the place looked as good as it had when I'd moved in, more or less. By four o'clock I decided I was done. I still hadn't stripped the bed - we still had one more night to go.

I debated skipping Becca's dinner - I didn't want to have to stop for long bathroom breaks during the thirteen-hour drive tomorrow - but in the end I fed her the usual portion. We had to finish the leftover food anyway - no point throwing it out.

After dinner I put Becca on the bed, still blindfolded, and bound her wrists above her to the bed frame. When she was in bed I loved securing her hands above her - it made her vulnerable, defenseless and available for whatever whims moved me at that moment. I didn't bind her ankles but she knew better than to move her legs in any case.

I'd received an on-boarding package from my new employers and I spent the evening sitting cross-legged on the bed, using Becca's flat chest as a desk as I read through the papers and booklets. She neither moved nor spoke.

After a couple of hours I was bored and decided to give my girl some attention. I put away the papers and stretched out on my side facing her. She smiled eagerly as she felt me change position, knowing I was about to engage her. She basked in my attention, and I couldn't help joining her in the smile. She could be so adorable sometimes!

I stroked my fingers through her beautiful, black hair. I still brushed it several times a week, and loved doing it. "Who do you belong to?" I asked in a soft, warm voice.

"I belong to miss Bailey," she whispered in response.

I'd started doing 'affirmations' with her a couple months ago when I read online how effective they were in changing our mental framework. To be honest, I had no idea if they were having an impact on Becca - she was almost completely submissive already - but it was always good to review the truths of our relationship.

"This beautiful hair?"

Her smile widened, showing teeth; she loved compliments. "My beautiful hair belongs to miss Bailey."

I combed her hair with my fingers for another few moments, then cradled her face in my palm.

"This pretty face?"

"My pretty face belongs to miss Bailey."

I pressed the pad of my thumb against her mouth, tracing her smile from one corner to the other. Her soft lips parted, and I slid my thumb into her welcoming mouth. She closed her lips around it and teased it with her tongue.

"What about your tongue?"

"Eye ung elongs uu eth ailey," she mumbled around my thumb.

"I love the feel of that tongue on my pussy," I said, brushing her lips again with my thumb.