Chapter 12 #2
Finally, I patted her on the ass and told her, “Permission to release, slave.”
She dropped to her feet with a small, sharp inhale. Her balance shifted for a second before she caught herself, her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
“Who am I?” I asked.
She met my gaze and answered, “Sir.”
I looked at her feet in the shoes. Her toes came to nearly the end, and her heels seemed about right, but I still asked, “How do they feel? Do I need to go smaller or larger?”
“Can I walk in them, Sir?”
“You may.”
She walked across the room and my dick throbbed in my shorts. Fuck, she had the most gorgeous ass ever, and the shoes made her long legs even longer.
I got to see her rack on the way back, and I wished she was a fan of impact play, because damn, I’d like to flog them until they were cherry red.
But that isn’t a dealbreaker for me. I can easily do without the whips and floggers. So far, she hadn’t balked at any of my absolutes, and that’s rare.
She stopped a few feet away and said, “They fit, Sir.”
I noted she didn’t say they felt fine, which pleased me, but before I went off on visualizing how she’d look dusting every surface in my house, I pointed to the feeding station and ordered, “Bend over the bar and grab the handles.”
I took a few minutes to adjust the handles out so her body was stretched tight — the last little fucktoy I had on it was a good bit shorter than Storm. Rather than raise the bar under her hips, I just ordered her legs farther apart.
“For most slaves, minor infractions involve a tawse or cane while bent over this device,” I told her while I made adjustments.
Her scent was more fear than arousal, so I added, “I don’t know you well enough to decide consequences for different levels of bad behavior yet.
Major infractions, as I said earlier, will result in a punishment ass-fucking, and that happens on the mattress.
If you’re mouthy without disobeying, you’ll most likely find yourself getting your mouth washed out with soap, followed by cornertime with a soapy plug in your ass before you can rinse.
We’ll have to see how things go for the rest, though. ”
The fear didn’t go away, but the arousal carried its own weight, and that would need some careful consideration, but later.
I went to the wall to retrieve a graduated dildo. “Can you orgasm from anal alone?”
“Sometimes, Sir. Not always.”
“Anal with clitoral help?”
“Almost always, Sir.”
“Anal and vaginal?”
“Usually? It depends, Sir. Size, friction, intensity.”
I showed her the dildo, as big around as a nickel at the top, and several inches across at the bottom. “I’m going to spend some time learning all about your asshole before I decide on the perfect butt plug for you. You aren’t allowed to come without permission. You’ll tell me if you’re close.”
Her gaze stayed locked on mine, and she softly said, “Yes, Sir. I understand.”
“Butt plugs can serve a variety of jobs,” I told her while I lubed the dildo.
“The trick is, I want you stretched enough my cock doesn’t split you open, but not so much to reduce the pain more than absolutely necessary.”
I worked it farther into her, watching her asshole, listening to her air, breathing in the spicy scent of her arousal.
“You’ll have super-fat butt plugs some days, to stretch you all day and make you miserable.
Other days, you’ll get a heavy stainless-steel Njoy plug with a skinny neck, so you have to squeeze hard to keep it in.
The idea is to both strengthen and stretch. Again, totally at my discretion.”
She managed to stay quiet at first, but eventually her breathing hitched hard, and a broken little gasp slipped out. Her hands tightened on the handles until her knuckles went white, and then she seemed to realize it, and she wiggled her fingers to force them to relax.
I pushed it in a few millimeters more, and she made a low, shaky sound in the back of her throat she clearly tried to swallow.
Her body fought the intrusion and then slowly gave way — she knew how to relax and accept it, but I kept pushing and pushing, staying just ahead of what she could comfortably handle.
My cock ached, but I ignored it because I was fully engrossed in watching her struggle to stay relaxed, and I loved the broken sounds she made when I pushed past her resistance, loved watching her muscles fight and then accept being breached and penetrated. Conquered.
“You aren’t under orders to be quiet,” I noted.
I didn’t know if a past Master had required silence, or if it was a matter of pride.
If it was the former, I’d need to reprogram her.
If it was the latter, then I had a new goal — to force her past her pride and make her vocalize both pleasure and pain without demanding it.
I wanted her to give me her sounds without being ordered.
Eventually, her scent shifted from arousal into sharper pain layered over need, but I kept going until pain drowned out all pleasure, and then I gently pulled the toy out.
She was breathing faster now, little shallow pants she couldn’t quite control.
“Looks like you get a fat plug today, slave,” I told her, and dropped the dildo on the floor.
When I stood up to get the plug, she made another small sound, not quite a whimper, and shifted her weight like she was trying to ease the ache I’d left behind.
I couldn’t wait to hear the sounds she’d make when I forced her little asshole open with my dick instead of silicone, but I kind of hoped she didn’t push us to that before our first maintenance session.
How long to wait for it? I wasn’t sure. Usually in the first week, but it depends on the submissive, and my instincts told me Storm would need a great deal of both being bossed around and tons of pleasure before she’d be ready for her first true pain.
I retrieved a large plug from the wall and then took nearly ten minutes working it into her, loving the way her hole distended around it, and the broken, agonized sounds she made.
She says she isn’t a masochist, but I was beginning to believe that only applied to impact play, and likely clamps and needles and such. She absolutely could get off on having her holes hurt, but I’d let her keep thinking she isn’t a heavy masochist, because that worked for me.
She lasted longer than I expected before the sounds started.
The first was a sharp, cut-off gasp, but then every slow push drew out another broken sound — soft, desperate little noises she clearly hated making.
Her breathing turned ragged, and I could hear the strain in it every time she tried to stay quiet and failed.
When the plug was finally in, I went to the sink to wash my hands, using the time to get my dick under control.
Her scent was still thick in the air — pain, submission, and that stubborn thread of arousal that’d stayed strong even when I’d hurt her with the dildo and plug.
Also, the rosemary-peppermint of her hair products was stronger than usual.
For the rest of my life, it’s possible that particular combination is going to make my dick hard.
But today was about teaching her the protocol, so I told her, “You may rise once I’m gone, and then clean up in here.
Today, that means washing the dildo with soap and water, putting it away, and cleaning the floor where the dildo landed.
You’ll find supplies in the bottom of the cabinet.
” I turned to face her while I dried my hands with a paper towel, and met her gaze.
“Dusting begins in the formal living room on the first floor.”
I dropped the paper towel on the floor and left without another word, cock still throbbing in my shorts.
Too often, women thought they liked the idea of being forced to do housework while in high protocol, but the reality of it didn’t work for them.
This woman liked to clean, seemed highly aroused by rules and protocols designed to remind her of her place, and apparently craved a situation where she had to work hard to comply.
Where obedience wasn’t easy and subservience was required.
And fucking her already-raw cunt tonight was going to hurt her so much worse than her initial breaking-in this morning.
The thought of splitting her wide open underneath me again had my cock throbbing hard enough there was no way I’d manage to keep my cool with her, so I detoured to my bedroom to stroke one out and take the edge off.