Archive-name: Slaves/slave.txt

Archive-author: Loredich

Archive-title: Slave





This is the first part of a story under construction.  Any

opinions would be most welcome.





                     I



Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a

woman?  I doubt you have.  You enjoy a position

of power and control that few women ever experience.

You revel in stature and status that is given to

you as a birthright.  Do men understand this innate

superiority?  Do men recognize the power they have?

I know most of them use it, but do they question it,

analyze it, turn it over and over in their minds?

 

And it comes as no surprise that few women even

dream of seizing this power for themselves.  Few

women realize that their femininity can be as

persuasive a weapon as the natural power of maleness.

If men are the hereditary oppressors, as contemporary

feminism would have you believe, then women have been

their willing toadies.  There is power in femaleness.

There is a secret influence that women can wield.

 

Most women never suspect this.

 

Have you ever wanted to experience the other side of

the coin, then?  I have.  As a woman I have hungered

to feel as though I am the unquestioned master.  Have

you ever wanted to submit, to feel as though you exist

and behave as the consequence of another's wishes?

 

Yes.  I simplify.  I oversimplify, perhaps, but in

questions of sexual politics it is sometimes more

effective to use a blunt tool than it is to use a

sharp one.  I want you to understand me.

 

I am not one of these unsuspecting lackeys that

make you comfortable.  I reject that position.  I

do not style myself as your equal--this time I am

your superior.  I want to know how that feels, to

control and manipulate as you, quintesentially male,

have done without thought.

 

And you look at me with raised eyebrows--one

beautiful dark brow shoots up as I tell you quietly

that you are to take off your clothes.  You laugh,

then realize that I'm not smiling.  You realize that

this isn't one of our playful moments.  You realize

that this is somehow different.

 

You do as you are told.  You take off your clothes,

item by item.  I watch as your body emerges from its

protective cocoon, and, as always, I am moved.  This

time, however, I maintain a position of bored hauteur.

How many times have you remained unmoved by my

nakedness?  I want you to know how it feels.  I want

you to be me.

 

And your skin is smooth, white and fragile-looking

in the dimness of the room.  You look somehow

vulnerable, penis not yet erect, puzzled look on

your face.  I like this.  I like knowing that I

have thrown you off-balance.  I like knowing that

the exercise has begun.  And will you do as you're told?

 

"Lie on the bed," I tell you, my tone neither playful

nor soft, but impersonal and cool.  There is a lesson

to be learned, you see, and I choose not to cloud it

with tenderness.  Your lips curve as you begin to

protest, and I curtail the flow of words before they

begin.  "You will do as you are told.  Otherwise,

you will be punished."

 

You start to speak, chuckling slightly, perhaps

a bit nervous. "Hey, you're in charge, then."

 

"Correct," I answer, neither sharing nor acknowledging

your amusement.  "Here are the rules.  You will not

speak unless you are spoken to.  You will not move

unless requested to.  You will address me as your

mistress, and you will function as my slave.  Is

that clear?"

 

You look puzzled, but I can see the beginnings of

arousal as your upper chest begins to flush pink

in the dimness.  "Yes, mistress."

 

And you still think this is a game, don't you?

You are playing along, humoring me, but that isn't

enough.  I desire your submission and compliance,

and I will have it.

 

"Lie on the bed," I tell you.  "On your back, arms

and legs spread."  You move to obey me.  This is

good.  As you participate, the playful mood will

leave you.  I plan to make sure of that.  You arrange

yourself on the bed, with your legs slightly parted

and your arms reaching above your head towards the

bars of the headboard.  Turning my back on you, I

open the top drawer of the bureau and withdraw two

sets of handcuffs, modified by the substitution of

long chains for the shorter ones.  As I turn, you

see me holding them and your whole body stiffens

in apprehension.

 

You and I have toyed with restraints before, scarves

and stockings, loosely tied.  But this is something

different, and the symbolism of the handcuffs in

comparison to the fabric ties is as powerful as the

actuality.  These are stronger, more definite,

certainly more menacing.  Certainly more erotic.

 

With no hesitation I affix the first set of cuffs

to your ankles, passing the chain between the bars

of the footboard.  Any movement on your part will

cause the cuffs to pinch your skin uncomfortably,

but you have been instructed not to move.  It is

really in your best interests to remain still.

As I turn to attend to your wrists, your hands

come down to stroke my breasts in the teasing

manner that you know I always crave.

 

Oh, not this time.  My tone is deliberate and

low: "You have been commanded not to move without

my permission.  This is a warning.  The next time

you misbehave, you will be punished."  Smiling

uncertainly, you withdraw your hands and return

them to the headboard as I resume the task of

binding you.

 

Really, it is a pleasure.

 

You are now secured and I stand to survey my work.

You are incomparably beautiful, impossibly helpless.

Your skin is now covered with the flush of arousal,

though I can still see uncertainty and apprehension

on your face.  I think it is time to reassure you.

I bend to kiss your lips, brushing them only gently

with my own, the first gesture of affection yet.

Your tongue hurries to meet mine, and I move away

from you with a warning glance.  Careful.  Careful.

 

"It's time to begin," I tell you calmly, and you

smile once again, certain that the lesson you will

be taught will be a pleasant one.  It will be, for

me.  And I hope that you will be a willing, eager

pupil.  That, however, remains to be seen.  Careful

discipline will ensure your cooperation, that much

is certain.

 

I kneel on the bed next to your prone form, looking

you up and down with a calculating glance.  Already

my dominance is beginning to excite me; seeing the

peachy tint of your skin and your partially erect

penis curving against the flatness of your belly

has always moved me, but never in such a proprietary,

gloating manner.  As I imagine mounting you and

possessing you thoroughly, feeling you withhold your

climax until I instruct you to fill me with your

heat, I become impatient.

 

It seems that I have a few lessons to learn as well.

 

I look at you at length, waiting until I have mastered

the wave of arousal that threatens momentarily to

undermine my authority.  Then I begin.

 

"You'll be a good slave, won't you?" I ask you softly,

testing the efficacy of my training.  You nod vigorously,

becoming intrigued with what you think is a game.  "You

will speak when I ask you a question," I inform you.

"Now, you will be a good slave, won't you?" I repeat,

directing the warmth of my breath into your ear.

 

"Yes, mistress," you answer, and I can tell that you

feel a bit silly, a bit self-conscious.  This, too, will

change once you become fully entrenched.  I'm sure of

it.  Because my fingers suddenly move to your nipples,

pinching them hard between thumb and forefinger.

 

"Good," I whisper, squeezing the pink buttons, not quite

enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of your position.

And your nipples are uncommonly sensitive, rather like

my own--usually you become erect with only a few passes

of my fingertips.  And as I watch you, I can see that

such an abrupt approach has the same effect: your penis

quickly becomes stiff as I roll your nipples between

my fingers, pulling them gently, watching your reaction

at my leisure.

 

Your eyes are closed now, and your mouth opens in a sigh

of pleasure.  "Mistress?" you ask, and I am so pleased

that you remembered my new title that I permit you a

question.  "Must I remain silent?"

 

"No," I assure you, stroking your now-tender nipples

idly.  "Sounds of pleasure are entirely appropriate."

 

As I play with your nipples more, you become restless

and start to shift on the bed, unconsciously moving

your hips in a steady rhythm.  This displeases me;

you do have explicit instructions not to move.

 

"You've been instructed not to move," I remind you.

"I warned you before.  Do you understand that you

have disobeyed my orders?"

 

Your eyes widen in surprise.  I can tell that you hadn't

even noticed the motions; they were purely instinctual.

That, however, is no excuse.  For me to control you,

you must learn to control yourself.

 

"Yes--mistress," you answer hesitantly, and I can see

that you want to offer some explanation.  I can also

see that you know that it will not be allowed.  Good.

You are learning.

 

"You have disobeyed me, and I will have to punish

you.  Do you understand?"

 

"Yes, mistress."  You answer this question more readily,

and you seem almost eager, and curious, to see how

I will chastise you.

 

My fingers caress your nipples slowly and gently,

returning you to the peak of arousal once more.  Your

eyes close in pleasure, and you seem to think the

punishment has been forgotten.  But I remove one

hand from your nipples and strike you on the cheek,

hard.

 

You gasp in shock and your eyes fly open.  You didn't

expect this from me, did you?  I have always been

so gentle--did I hurt you?  I did.  But I see that your

penis is now fully erect, and it looks almost painfully

hard.  "You won't disobey me again, will you, slave?"

I purr, stroking your chest once more.

 

"No, mistress," you answer, panting.  "Whatever you ask."

 

Whatever I ask.  Good.  I want you inside me, but it

will be at my convenience.  I think of the times you have

satisfied yourself with my body, leaving me unfulfilled.

I think of your helplessness and your utter submission,

chained before me.  I think of your fast heartbeat and

the red mark my hand has made on your cheek.  I think

of the hunger in your eyes as you look at me, and I

am ready.

 

I am damp and warm from this short lesson, and I stand

to remove my clothing.  You watch me as I undress, and

I make my movements purposefully lascivious to tempt

you more.  In other situations you would run your hands

up and down my body as I disrobed, squeezing and

probing in your impatience to have me beneath you.

I mimic your motions with my own hands.  "You want to

touch me, don't you?" I taunt you, recognizing the covetous

look you direct towards me as I slide my hands over my

small, firm breasts, pinching my own nipples as I had

yours.  With one hand I reach between my thighs and

stroke myself, feeling the slick warmth of my surfaces,

imagining the eager pink hue that I take on when aroused.

I masturbate as you lie there, unable to move or to take

part.  I am tempted to continue to orgasm, but I can do

that whenever I please.  Having you chained to my bed

is not an opportunity I choose to take lightly.

 

I straddle you then, and lean over so that my breasts are

just above your face.  "Lick my nipples, slave," I command

you.  "Just use your tongue."  Eagerly you comply, and I

place my hands on my shoulders to steady myself as the

delicious warmth of your tongue strokes me in just the

right way.  I lower my hips so that I can feel your

hardness against me--I am not yet ready for you to

enter me.  I want you to feel the frustration that I

sometimes feel.  I want you to whimper in anticipation.

 

Your tongue flutters over one nipple, then the other.  The

soft wetness is pleasing to me, and I hum my approval as

I guide to your mouth first one breast, then the other.

At the same time, I slide myself along the length of your

shaft, feeling you grow slick with my moisture.  I am

growing more impatient, and increase the pressure and

speed of my movements so that the head of your extended

penis slips over my clitoris.  I imagine myself opening

like a flower as I become more excited, and I visualize

the way you must look now, engorged and tight, with

the velvety head shiny and wet.  I think about the

moisture your own body produces as you become more

intensely aroused, that pearly drop of liquid that

quivers as your pulse throbs there.

 

And your lips have now closed around my nipple,

beginning a delicious sucking that makes me gasp--

a nip of the teeth now and then, how well you know.

 

"Slave," I say, and you understand my warning: you

have not been permitted that intimacy.  I briefly

consider a punishment for your unwelcome initiative,

but decide that it is not warranted.  Really, you are

doing quite well for such a new pupil.

 

I am ready now to take you inside me.  As I have

moved myself against your erection I have come

closer and closer to orgasm, and I know that the

moment I bring my body down upon yours I will

no longer need to hold back.  Angling my body, I

guide the head of your penis to my opening, and

with one smooth motion I slide down onto you,

taking you inside me deeply and fully.

 

And my wetness holds you close, like the friendly

embrace I been withholding from you.  I feel the

heat and hardness as you throb impatiently within

me, and I know it is taking a great deal of restraint

for you to remain still and silent.  How long can you

maintain such an obedient attitude?

 

I wait.  I wait for you to move, and you do not.  You

look up at me with a proud gleam in your eye: your

compliance has been noted and met with approval.

For that I am willing to reward you.  Raising my

hips, I let my full weight carry me down onto your

erection again.  I know you've always liked this,

you see.  "I will use you for my own pleasure," I

tell you, and you smile  as I come down upon you

once more.  You've always liked this.

 

I become more and more excited as I watch you

behave so submissively; to have such control is

immensely arousing to me.  I ride you slowly

and deeply, adjusting my position so that the

tip of your penis strokes me in precisely the

right places.  My speed increases as I become lost

in my own pleasure, lost in using you as a tool

to obtain my orgasm.

 

And it comes, lurking with a menacing intensity,

then bursting forth like a gorgeous surprise.  My

body shudders around you as I continue my hard,

deep strokes.  I come again and again, riding you

with a determination that is perfect in its single-

mindedness.  Your lower body is covered with my

wetness, and I notice the scent of my arousal as

I slow my motions, panting from my exertions.

 

The contractions of my climax subside slowly, and

I open my eyes to see you smiling at me, a lewd,

joyous smile that is deliciously wicked.  I'm not

sure I like that smile, though, and, since my pleasure

is complete, I quickly disengage our bodies so that

your penis, still hard and long, slides wetly from me

to rest against your belly.  I admire its rosy red

against the whiteness of your skin.

 

Your eyes have widened in deprivation.  "Mistress,

please!"

 

"Please?  Please what, slave?" I ask, assuming an

indifference now that I have obtained my own

satisfaction.

 

"Please, mistress--fuck me some more!"  Your

tone speaks of urgency, of your eagerness to be

enveloped in my warm confines once again.

 

"Do you want to come?" I ask you softly, and as

I speak to you your hips sway in deprivation.

 

"Yes!  Oh, yes!"  You are moving in earnest now,

and I am no longer interested in depriving you

of  some sort of satisfaction since I have had my own.

But I will not furnish the means to attain it.  You are

now responsible for your own orgasm.

 

I fetch the key to the cuffs from the bureau, and

I loosen the cuffs at your wrists.  Taking your hand

in my own, I guide it to your erection, wrapping your

fingers around the shaft to make my intention clear.

"You may pleasure yourself now, slave.  But you may

not come until you have gained my permission."

 

You briefly manage a disappointed look before the

pressure of your own hand begins to provide some

stimulation.  My slickness is still enough to furnish

lubrication, so your tightened fingers slide easily

over your hardness.  I watch you caress yourself,

becoming excited once more.  Your sounds are

intoxicating--I love the soft grunts and sighs you

produce as you stroke your erection.  My own hand

steals downward as I watch you, and I slide my

fingers inside myself, mesmerized by the motions

of your body as you masturbate.

 

Your whole body begins to quiver as your release

approaches.  "May I come now, mistress?" you plead,

thrusting strongly into the warm tunnel formed by

your fingers.

 

"Not yet, slave," I answer, and a look of utter despair

crosses your beautiful tense features.  "First I want you

to taste me."

 

And my words have the desired effect: I know that it

takes a monstrous effort for you not to erupt just

then.  But the motion of your hand slows, and I position

myself appropriately, with my hips straddling your

shoulders.  "You may begin," I tell you, lowering

myself against your lips.

 

Your tongue steals out and licks me with urgency.  I

imagine being in your position, under a woman as

you are, and I wonder what it must be like to kiss

her so intimately.  As your tongue stabs at my

clitoris with increasing fervor, I feel the pressure

building within me once more, and I direct you,

"Put your tongue inside me."  Instantly your tongue

is driven deep inside me, and the delicious thrusting

propels me closer and closer as my fingers tug at

my hardened nipples.

 

And I can tell by the muffled sounds that you make

that you are nearing your climax once more.  Just as

I feel the explosive pleasure begin to radiate from the

insistent probing of your tongue, I whisper, "You may

come now, slave."

 

With a loud groan, your body tightens, though you try

valiantly to continue the movements of your mouth.

You quiver and gasp in release, and the pumping motion

of your hand stops abruptly.  I move away from you

just in time to see your penis as it produces that hot,

whitish fluid that signals your satisfaction.

 

And you breathe hard, and your chest rises and falls

for several moments as the force of your release

subsides.  "You have been a good slave," I purr

approvingly, and I just catch your smile before

I bend to lick the semen from your skin.  I relish

your taste, love the heat of you.

 

Once I have finished, I unlock the cuffs from your

ankles, and you stretch luxuriously, bending your

joints to remove the stiffness.  "Thank you, slave,"

I whisper, returning to your lips for a final kiss.

 

"Yes, mistress," you sigh, closing your eyes with a

gentle smile of pleasure.



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