Roz’s voice boomed into my consciousness. “So. Where’d you find this one?”
“Boston.” She stroked my hair.
Roz laughed. “I didn’t know there were any of those in Boston. The town must be beginning to loosen up. They still got those damn blue laws there, boy?”
“Some of them, sir. You can buy alcohol after 10:00 a.m. on Sunday now, and most of the stores can open.”
“Worse than the South. At least in the South you can buy a drink any time on Sunday.” She roared with laughter. I could tell that the second drink had relaxed her. “And collared, too. He must be special.”
“Yes, very special.” Helen ran the back of a hand down my face. “And a good musician. He’s transcribing my music.” I warmed as I felt the pride in her voice. I hoped she wasn’t just showing off for Roz’s benefit.
“Really?” Roz seemed impressed. “You’re writing down all the notes that this madwoman plays?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, still surprised she’d spoken directly to me.
“You must have ears of steel.” She laughed and turned to Helen. “Have you finished your opera?”
“Almost. I’m rewriting parts now.”
“Anything in there I can sing? Something that’ll make me famous?”
They both laughed. I was beginning to relax.
“Sure, baby,” Helen cooed. “Come take a look.”
I scrambled out of the way as they rose and went to the music room. Soon they were busy with the pages as Helen explained each section. I cleaned up the empty glasses and straightened the bar.
As I came back, Roz began to sing from the opera. I leaned against the door and listened. I was in heaven. They went through three or four of the pieces. I’d never heard anything like that before. It was spectacular, as if this was a private concert for me. Roz’s voice soared as if the song had been written just for her and she’d been singing it for years. I wanted it to go on and on.
When it ended, Roz tossed the music on the piano. “This is incredible, woman!” She pulled Helen into her arms and kissed her passionately. As Helen’s arms wrapped around her, I turned away. Waves of jealousy poured through me. How dared she kiss Helen like that? Helen refused to be kissed! I should be the one to kiss Helen Robins. I was the one who wore her collar. I fingered it, filled with doubt that it was real. Had Helen given it to me just to entice Roz?
I walked to the bar, trying to busy myself by straightening bottles and glasses as they talked. I felt Helen’s presence behind me, then her hand on my ass. “Go upstairs and wait,” she ordered in a husky voice. “Leave the collar on.”
I looked at her, bewildered, then glanced at Roz, who watched from the doorway, a strange leer on her face.
“Make me proud,” Helen whispered as a sharp rap on my rear sent me scurrying up the stairs. Roz’s deep laughter followed me.
* * *
Once inside the room, I began shaking. Make me proud? Was the warmth I’d heard for me or for Roz? What was going to happen?
I slipped out of the pants and vest and folded them. Then I waited, kneeling in the center of the room, back straight as Helen had instructed, my back to the door. The wait stretched on and seemed like hours.
Then the door opened. “Head on the floor, boy.” It was Roz’s command.
I lowered my head to the floor, aware of my naked ass high in the air. I heard her pacing. Then she hunkered down beside me. I didn’t dare move. “Your mistress says you’re very good.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Do you think you’re good?”
“I try, sir.”
Roz laughed. “What can you do, boy?”
“Sir?” I asked, not sure what the question was.
“What can you do? What can you take? Your mistress says you’re quite the masochist.”
“If it pleases my mistress, sir.”
“Does your mistress fist you?”
It seemed so personal, but I didn’t dare not answer. “Yes, sir.”
“With those monster hands of hers? And I see she whips you.” She traced the marks on my backside.
I shivered from her touch. “Yes, sir.”
“Quite a lot, by the looks of it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“If it pleases my mistress, sir.”
Roz laughed loudly as she patted my rear and stood. “Spoken like a good little boy.”
“Are you intimidating my boy?” Helen said from the doorway. As Roz hurried away, I used the moment to adjust my arms, support my head, and keep my forehead from rubbing on the carpet.
I felt Helen in front of me. She wore short black boots with thin heels and pointed toes. Oh, shit, this would be a heavy scene.
“On your feet.” Her voice was strict but soft at the same time.
As I got up, she slipped her fingers inside my collar and pulled me to the horse. She tossed me over it, and I grabbed the handles on the other side. She stretched my feet apart and buckled on the separator bar. I tried to prepare myself for my pain zone.
But waiting was the worst. It seemed like days that Helen and Roz discussed the whips and lashes in the armoire. I finally heard them coming back. The first lash of the whip surprised me, and I cried out. There’d been no warm-up. It couldn’t have been Helen. Then I remembered my manners. “Thank you, sir.”
The response was another lash, but I controlled myself. It was harder than Helen usually started. The next ones brought tears to my eyes, but I refused to cry out or even whimper, though this lashing was much more intense. My ass burned. The thought that it must be bright red made me smile. I’d endure this. Go ahead, Roz, do your worst. I’d make my mistress proud.
The pain was building, the strokes so uneven that I jumped each time one landed. The wait between grew more excruciating than the lash itself, some so close together that the pain of the second piled on top of the first. How long could I last? I zoned into my bottom space. I wrapped myself in the pain like a warm fluffy comforter. Or was it the pleasure? It was more intense than any I’d felt before. I was under the lash of a master. I felt a surge of euphoria as I crossed that threshold. Just sensations. Not good. Not bad. Just marvelous sensations that made my body react the way my mistress demanded. I felt pride and exhilaration. I felt nothing.
Then it stopped. I was still waiting for the lash and jumped as Helen touched my neck. “Easy, Little Butch. You’re doing so well,” she whispered close to my ear. She stood in front of me, caressing my head as the tears fell. Her breathing was ragged, excited by the scene.
“Thank you, Mistress,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath, but each intake of air only increasing the burning in my ass. I panted as the pain grew and grew. I pushed my head into her hands, hoping I could somehow forget the throbbing.
Then I felt Roz’s hand on my cunt. “He takes fisting well?” I could hear the excitement in her voice.
“Oh, yes, very well, very deep.” Helen stepped closer as Roz leaned against me. I heard them kissing as Roz grabbed my ass with both hands. Then Helen stepped back, and Roz’s fingers drove deep into me.
“So very hot and wet. I almost don’t need the lube,” Roz said, her voice husky. Her fingers pushed in and out. I tried to concentrate on Helen grasping my collar. Anything to keep my mind away from the brutal invasion of my cunt. But my body was reacting, wagging back and forth in response to Roz’ thrusts. I leaned onto Helen’s hand to assure myself of that connection. I reminded myself I was doing this for her.
“You like this, don’t you, boy?” Roz asked as she thrust deeper.
I was silent, trying to concentrate, trying not to gasp in pain.
“Don’t you, boy?” Roz yelled as she thrust four fingers deep.
“Yes, sir,” I cried as she pushed her entire hand into me.
I gasped and couldn’t keep a wail from escaping. Her hand seemed twice the size of Helen’s. It felt as if she’d reached up inside me and was squeezing my heart. I could feel
her hand twisting and turning.
“Easy, easy,” Helen said as she held my head.
Roz rammed me harder and harder. My body was about to explode. “Please, Mistress,” I cried, wanting this to end. The pain and pleasure were almost beyond my endurance. “Let me come.”
“Not yet.” It was Roz’s command.
Then the pounding stopped. But only momentarily as her fingers rimmed my asshole. I started to shake as she pushed a finger into me, her other hand still inside my cunt.
“Can he take this?” she asked.
Helen bent to look into my face. Tears and sweat covered my face, my nose was running, and I felt drool dripping from my chin. My breath was ragged and shallow.
Helen looked into my eyes. I wanted to beg her to stop this, but the encouragement that stared back made me say, “Yes.” I would endure this because Helen wanted me to. I wanted to make Helen proud. I could do anything for Helen.
Then it began anew. As the hand in my cunt pushed, the finger withdrew from my ass. As it thrust in with a second digit beside it, the fist pulled back. I felt as if I was being scrubbed on a washboard, being opened like a ripe melon. My safe word popped into my head, but I bit down on my tongue as Helen caressed my neck.
My body began to quake. It was going to explode. I was going to come. There was no way I could stop it. I’d never felt this much pain…or this much pleasure. I was gasping. There was nothing but the inside of my body and the hands. So many hands. Hands in my cunt, hands up my ass, hands on my neck, hands on my face and on my back.
Then there was the screaming. Who was screaming? Was it me?
Suddenly, there was a scream, a deep wail. “Boston!”
Who had yelled my safe word? Had it been me? Had I failed? All I saw was blackness. All I felt was pain. But the pounding stopped. Slowly, I felt the hands withdraw.
Someone was prying my hands from the horse’s handles as arms pulled me back and laid me on the floor. Realization hit. It had been me. I’d yelled my safe word. I’d bailed out. I’d failed. I started to sob. Helen pulled me into her arms as I lay on the carpet, unable to move.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
That I’d failed her in front of her friend hit me harder than Roz’s pounding. The one thing she’d asked was that I make her proud, and I hadn’t been able to give her that.
“Mistress,” I sobbed, devastated, “Forgive me. I’m sorry I failed you.”
“Shh.” She cooed as she rocked me, holding me tightly, caressing my face. How could she be so nice when I’d disgraced her?
“I’m sorry,” I wailed. “I tried. Really, I did. I’m sorry. Forgive me, please.”
She rocked me in her arms until I drifted into unconsciousness.
* * *
It was still dark when I awoke. I was lying on the wide padded bench, a pillow under my head and a blanket wrapped around me.
Helen stood over me with an odd look on her face. She was dressed in the tight leotard top and leather skirt she’d had on the first time I’d seen her in this room; the same as she’d worn with Roz earlier.
“Mistress, I’m sorry—”
Helen placed her hand on my mouth. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You made me very happy. I have a reward for you.”
“But…” Hadn’t I yelled my safe word? Hadn’t I disgraced her in front of Sir Roz?
Helen threw back the blanket and straddled the bench and my body. Slowly, she lifted her skirt. I gaped in astonishment. She wore no underwear! Black curls glistening with moisture floated just above my face.
“You made me very proud tonight. This is your reward.” Slowly, she lowered herself onto my face. The smell, then the taste, overpowered me. Such a wonderful aroma, an incredibly delicious, salty, sweet taste. Greedily, I lapped the liquid, sucking it in, licking inside to get more. I savored each drop, amazed that I was so blessed.
Then I drew the hard clit into my mouth and caressed it with my tongue, relishing stroking the hard orb. I took it between my teeth and attacked it with my tongue.
Helen started to rock, at first lightly, then building as she pushed against me. I grasped her hips, steadying her. It didn’t matter if I couldn’t breathe; I was making love to my mistress. I had her gift in my mouth, and I was treasuring each moment. My wonderful stone mistress was allowing me to pleasure her. I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve this, but I wasn’t going to question it.
I worked every trick I knew, trying hard to pleasure her. At last I felt her body begin to quiver. I gave one last sucking flick of her clit as she pressed into my face, and I felt her shudder as she came, oozing across my face.
I gasped for air as she rose and pulled back. Sinking to the floor beside the bench, I realized that she, too, was gasping. “Mistress—”
“Shh.” She stroked my face, a gentle, satisfied smile on hers. The moments hung together as our breathing quieted. Finally, she patted my face and said, “We can talk tomorrow. Sleep now.”
She pushed to her feet and sat on the bench, drawing me into her lap. I clung to her, feeling the luxurious warmth radiating from her as I drifted back to sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
When I awoke, the apartment was quiet. Rachel wouldn’t be in until afternoon, and I assumed Helen wasn’t up yet. I rummaged in the kitchen, making coffee, toasting bread, looking for something, but not knowing what I wanted. I was sorer than usual but hadn’t looked in the mirror to assess the damage. I’d do that once I had some caffeine in my system.
Carrying my coffee, I went back to my room. The face in vanity mirror was swollen and ashy. I looked like a truck had run over me. It had. A truck named Roz Maxwell. Definitely a diesel. I chuckled to myself. Then I saw the note on the bed. Clipped to it was a fifty-dollar bill.
“Little Butch,” it read, “I’ll be in the recording studio until at least five. Here’s some cash. Treat yourself to a movie or some shopping. No work today. Promise? I’ll be home for dinner. Mistress.”
No work today? She didn’t have to ask twice. I smiled as I went into the bathroom. As I let my robe fall, I turned to see my ass in the mirror. Bright red gashes crisscrossed my buttocks and the tops of my thighs. I admired the pattern they made, each welt evenly spaced and parallel, the marks of a master.
Taking the tube of balm, I smoothed it across my rear. It turned pink as it mixed with the dried blood along the welts. I hadn’t realized just how deep Roz’s whipping had been. I examined them more closely using a hand mirror and realized that the skin had been broken in four or five places, and that there was heavy swelling beneath several other lash marks where the skin hadn’t ruptured, but the blood had collected just beneath the skin. It amazed me that I was walking at all. No wonder it had hurt so much to sit up. I chuckled. This made my night with Stephen shrivel to a walk in the park by comparison.
I turned the faucets, checking the water to make sure it was not too hot. Then I went back into the kitchen and got a tray of ice. Taking a towel, I folded it into an ice pack and held it against my backside as I waited for the tub to fill.
* * *
The day was a wonderful vacation. I went first to the Village and walked along West Fourth Street, looking at all of the windows, not yet wanting to spend the fifty dollars. West of Seventh Avenue, there were many other shops that advertised sex toys. I smiled to myself. How many of them had I already felt?
And to think how embarrassed I’d been to just look at them when I’d first moved here.
I walked slowly, every move causing my clothes to rub against the gashes on my ass, every step a reminder of last night. I was still confused by Helen’s reward, but my smile widened each time I thought of it.
Then I stopped at one of the coffee houses off Washington Square and ordered a café au lait as a treat. As I sat there, pain still gnawing at my backside, I tried to decide how to spend my money. The thought of walking over to the Pink PussyCat and buying Helen a present crossed my mind, but I couldn’t th
ink of anything that didn’t already hang in her armoire. I decided to walk a few more blocks before making my decision. As I passed one of the jazz clubs, I stopped to read the billboard. “The Incomparable Rozalyn Maxwell” was performing this weekend. “Home from her Triumphant Tour of Asia.”
“And of Helen Robins’s dungeon.” I smiled to myself as I realized that I was now privy to one of the great secrets of the world. I looked at the picture next to her billing. Yes, it was the Roz I’d always known with big glittering earrings, beautifully done makeup, and a sparkling gown. I sighed and smiled. Ah, if the world only knew.
Still sore but in a better mood than when I was obsessing about the pain in my butt, I sauntered on, trying to decide what to buy as a treat for having at least survived last night.
* * *
I’d only been home a few minutes, long enough to spread my new purchases on my bed, when I heard the key in the front door. Going down the small hallway to the living room door, I peered in to make sure it was Helen.
“Good evening, Mistress. Did the recording session go well?” I asked as she tossed her purse and briefcase onto the couch.
“Hi, Little Butch.” She smiled weakly. “The session went well, but it was draining.” She sank down onto her black chair.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She sighed. “That would be wonderful.” She let her head fall back onto the chair. As I took down a glass, she said, “Make yourself one, too, if you like.”
I turned in surprise. “Thank you, Mistress.” I smiled, then took down a second glass. With two drinks, one the usual vodka on ice with a twist, the other a rum and ginger ale, I walked back to her and handed her the vodka.
“Sit down,” she said.
I started to sit on the floor, but before I could sink far, she took my arm. “Sit on the couch.”
In Helen’s Hands Page 13
