A Number's Game Ch. 01

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

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Ch. 1 -- Master's New Plaything

"My name is Twelve," I say, flexing my riding crop between my hands. "I am lord and master of this household. I am not to be questioned. Understand?"

The young woman's mud-streaked face looks up at me, a question dancing behind the sad blue eyes that flash in the light of the hundred candles that light my receiving chamber. I would say I've seen this look a thousand times before and on a thousand different faces, but that would be inaccurate.

According to my records, I've only seen this look on the faces of fifty-seven Tithes. Fifty-seven different young women, one question. And that question is always the same. No doubt she'll ask it soon.

She lies on her side, curled into a tiny ball on my flagstone floor, struggling desperately to hide her nakedness. Her wrists are still bound before her by the rough hemp rope that tethered her to the Tithe she marched behind on her journey here.

Her hair is long and brown and should prove exquisitely soft once it's clean. Protocol would dictate that since she is a new Tithe, I should have her shaven from head to toe, stripping away her dignity with every stroke of the razor. But I can't bear the thought of such a waste.

I've a fancy for hair and a flair for rebellion, not that I am above being punished myself for not strictly adhering to protocol. Nine would surely have me thrown into stocks and flogged bloody and raw, if I still answered to her.

She still has the power to do so, mind you. She is Nine. I am Twelve. She is my superior, but in numbername only. I am Hierarchy now, though even we are still occasionally called, usually as an example as to how a proper slave should serve. Nine believes the best way for a slave to serve is by bleeding.

But I answer to Three now, and Three is smitten with me. She would never let Nine's cruel hands mark her prize, not since she spent such vast sums to erase my scars. I have nothing to fear from Nine anymore. My concern is for my new plaything. Should she so desire, Nine could claim dominion and have her whisked away from me, and this new Tithe is just Nine's type.

Though she is twenty years old, well into harvesting age, she's not much larger than a child, standing under sixteen hands tall. Currently, she can't weigh more than seven stone, as her ribs are clearly visible. It's a long journey from Palsinore, and Tithes are marched much more than they are fed. She's doing her best to hide her breasts from me, but I wager there's not much to hide.

This one is the kind Nine has been known to kill, accidentally, she'd add. I pity this wasted child should she lay claim to her. She is small, weak, and frightened. Her timid voice has the high, hollow sound of a wooden flute. "What are you going to do to me?"

They're all stupid when they're this fresh. She doesn't even know her name. Not yet. She probably thinks she does, but she only knows what it used to be.

Normally, I'd flog a Tithe within inches of her life for daring to question me, especially after I've just told her not to, but I'd be afraid it would be too much for this one in her current state and, unlike Nine, I don't enjoy breaking my toys. And there's something about this one. Her sheer terror is a delight to my eyes, but there's something else in there, too. A few simple tests should tell if it is what I'm thinking.

I sit on my haunches beside her head, positioning myself so that when she tries to look at my face, she cannot help but see the bulge in my leather breeks--a little hint as to what her future holds.

Gently, I brush the hair from her face with the tip of my crop. "What is your name, Tithe?"

She catches herself staring and quickly averts her gaze. "Avissia."

I bring the crop down hard against the only surface I feel safe striking a Tithe in her condition -- what little backside she has left. She yelps.

"I didn't catch that," I say. "What is your name?"

She sniffs and her lower lip trembles. "Avissia," she says, then hesitantly adds, "Master."

Alright. So she isn't completely stupid, but she still doesn't get it. I strike her harder. Three times in rapid succession, eliciting the most beautiful, delicate wail I've ever heard. It will be hard not to beat this one.

"Let's try this again," I say, sighing to feign disinterest. Were she to open her eyes and look up, she would quickly learn how untrue that is. The leather of my breeks is squeezing my cock so deliciously tightly, it's like being in the viselike grip of one of Three's demonic contraptions. "My name is Twelve. I am lord and master of this household. I am not to be questioned. What is your name?"

Her eyes flash open and dart around. Her teeth gently close on her bottom lip. Adorable.

"Do watch that, little one," I say as I gently run my finger across her lips. "You'll soon enough see the scar on Thirty-Seven's bottom lip which she got from thinking too hard. Now. Your name?"

She glances up at me. She understands. "Thirty-eight?"

"Right idea," I say with a swat of my crop. "Wrong number."

"Thirty-Nine?"

Another lash. "You'll be dead by dawn at the rate you're going. Did you really think that as a new Tithe you'd be someone's Prime?"

"Forty-five?"

"Higher." Another delicious yelp.

"Fifty-seven?"

"Wrong!" Another lash. Harder. Her little ass is deliciously red.

She cringes. "One... One Hundred?"

"Is that how many more welts you want raised on your backside tonight, little one?" I smirk. "If you aren't within twenty digits with your next guess, that's what will happen before I have you chained up for the night. Upside down. Would you like that?"

Her eyes grow wide. Her entire body shivers and begins to glisten with the sheen of a cold sweat. Exquisite.

"No, Master! P-please," she begs. She folds her hands in prayer to me. "Please no, Master! Please!"

There are a few rare moments when those who are truly deserving of my mercy beg for it. To look into the eye of a Tithe and know, beyond all doubt, that she will do anything I command of her without further coercion. These are the moments I live for.

I stand and tower over her quivering frame. "You are a stupid, stupid girl, you know that?"

"I'm sorry, Master," she says.

"I doubt you can even count high enough to know your name."

"I can, Master," she says, struggling to her knees. "Please. Tell me how I can prove it."

For the first time since her arrival, I see her breasts. My assessment was right. Not much to hide. Grains are what this girl needs. A smile comes to my lips at the thought of my new little pet taking bits of bread from my hand with her lips and tongue. I doubt this poor creature has ever tasted anything as sweet and rich as our Ghandrillian chocolate. I catch myself hoping she'll do something deserving of it. I shake the thought from my head and frown.

"You're lucky I'm in such a forgiving mood tonight, Tithe," I say with as much anger as I can muster. "That is the last time you will speak without being spoken to and not taste the pear with your nether lips. Know of what I speak?"

"No, Master."

"I absolutely adore this little thing," I say as open my belt pouch. I hold the polished steel pear not more than two inches from her petite nose. "See this?"

"Yes, Master," she says, her eyes slightly crossed, not daring to pull away from me far enough to focus on the contraption.

"This is a Pear of Pain," I say. "You'll notice it bears a resemblance to the fruit, with one difference. A normal pear doesn't have a crank at the end of its stem, like this one."

I make a small, overlapping circle about the size of a large coin with my index finger and thumb, grasping the pear around the slender part. "Now... Imagine my fingers are your tight little cunt. As small as you are, that would be uncomfortable, even with the pear collapsed."

I slowly turn the crank. Her eyes widen and her mouth gapes in horror as the pear splits and expands, stretching my fingers apart until the tips no longer touch, the thick part of the pear growing to a circumference half again the size of my fist.

"Now," I say with a grin. I press a button and the pair snaps closed with a metallic clink that makes the girl jump. "Still feel the need to express yourself?"

She quickly shakes her head no.

"Good girl," I say, the thought of stretching her out pushing me to the verge of ecstasy. "Now, about your name. I can either beat it into you, or we can play a little game. This will be a rarity in your new life. I offer you a choice. Do you like games?"

The Tithe looks me in the eye, something I rarely permit, as I loosen my belt and lower my breeks. Her eyes quickly shift focus as she sees my cock. Her breathing quickens. "Yes, Master."

"Good," I say, my cock throbbing in the warm night air. "Now. Here's the game. You are to take my cock into your mouth. Count each stroke, little one. You will suck until I say stop. The ending number is your name."

I coax her knees apart with my crop and gently pat her crotch with it. When I withdraw it, even in the low light, I can see that the tip glistens with her. Such a good girl deserves a reward. I place my crop back between her thighs and gently stroke her. Her face flushes.

"Don't lose count," I say. "And don't come. You are not allowed. Now begin."

And begin she does, taking my cock into her small mouth, stretching it to capacity. I can tell it pains her to open so wide, yet not once do I feel her teeth brush my cock as she sucks, slowly at first, then speeding up as she finds her rhythm.

Remembering my training under Three, I don't allow myself to come, even though I am ready long before she reaches her numbername. She moans and shudders as she sucks, her hips rocking gently, grinding her sex against the tip of my crop. I yank it away.

"No more of that for you, little one," I say as I begin to lightly strike her pink ass, just to remind her of why she's here. "You exist for my orgasm, not yours. My come is reward enough."

Without my crop to stimulate her, she thrusts her hips harder, as if the air itself could provide enough friction to make her come.

"Be still!" I command her with a hard strike from my crop.

Quivering, she complies as best she can. A slender string of her wetness glints in the candlelight. It breaks only when it makes contact with the flagstone she kneels upon. It becomes nearly impossible to keep my cock from exploding in her little mouth, but I haven't forgotten the rules of our little game, nor have I lost count. Thirty-one agonizing strokes later, I command her to stop. She does, my cock buried deep within her throat.

"Have you kept good count, little one?"

She nods her head, the only way she can answer with my cock still in her mouth. My whole body shudders as I withdraw. The anticipation is so delicious, I stammer when I speak. "Now... What... what is your name?"

Her innocent, sad blue eyes meet mine as she softly speaks. "My name is Two-Hundred and Seventy-Six, Master."

"Close your eyes and open your mouth, Two Hundred, Seventy-Six."

Her breath comes in tiny gasps as she closes her eyes, waiting. Her mouth doesn't form the "O" of a reluctant slave, but an open-mouthed smile.

It only takes a few strokes before my come sprays into the back of her throat, onto her tongue and begins to dribble down her chin. When I finish, she opens her eyes and stares up at me, adoringly.

My new Tithe is more willing than I am used to. Just as I suspected, that light in her eyes is desire, the need to submit. She is a natural slave, and I am weakened by her beauty, her prowess and natural skills. My knees quiver and threaten to give out. I gently stroke her cheek.

"I think I'll call you Sixey, for short," I say and then slap her briskly. "And you, Sixey, are an insolent little shit. I just gave you my come. What have you forgotten?"

"I'm sorry, Master." Sixey's smile vanishes. She licks a drop from the corner of her mouth and swallows again. "Thank you for your come."

"And look at the mess you've made," I say, pointing to the tiny pool on the floor between her legs. "Lick that up."

"Sorry, Master," she says.

"Let's get one thing straight," I say. As she bends to clean her mess, I grab a fistful of her hair and press her face to the floor, smearing her cheek with her fluids. I place my face very close to hers. "You are not special. You are a worthless little cunt slave, no different from any other. Now say it."

I can see the hurt and confusion in her eyes. I give her hair a sharp yank when she fails to immediately comply with my order. "Say 'I am a worthless little cunt slave.'"

"I am a worthless little cunt slave," she says, her eyes now looking anywhere but into mine.

"Say 'I am not special.'"

A tear forms in the corner of her eye. "I- I am-"

I yank her hair, pulling her to her knees. Grabbing her jaw with my other hand, I force her to meet my gaze.

"Slowly," I say. "I... am... not... special."

Her tears come full force now, but she looks me in the eye. I feel her hot breath on my face as she speaks.

"I am not special."

I continue to hold her beautiful, sorrowful face in my hand as I stand. I give her one final glance before shoving her away from me. She squeaks when she hits the flagstone, and it's all I can do not to rush to her side, apologize, stroke her pretty little face and tell her that everything will be alright. Instead, I snap my fingers. Two of my other servants enter the chamber and drop to their knees before me, one on either side of Sixey. They cup and display their naked breasts in salute to me.

"Your bidding, Master," they say in unison.

"Get rid of... this... " I pull on my breeks, saunter the few steps to my throne and collapse into it, spent. I wave them away nonchalantly. "I've no further use for her."

Sixey whimpers as the girls lift her to her feet and begin to drag her out. "M-Master?"

I pretend to ignore her tears as they haul her away to the kennel, just as I had instructed them to do before Sixey was even presented to me. I try not to think of this poor girl spending her first night as my possession caged on bed of flagstone when what I want is to have her curled up at the foot of my warm, soft bed. I try not to think of the rough handling she will receive from my Prime and my Kennelmaster in the days to come. Mostly, I try not to think about how dangerously close I came to losing control...

And my freedom along with it.