by Smith, Maren
“Someone who doesn’t matter anymore.” She looked at him hopefully. “Right?”
“Good girl. Do I have your consent to touch you in a way designed to make you come?”
Guilt warred with hope in the depths of her soft brown eyes before she nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
He had five clothespins left and he held her gaze as he made each bite count. Tickles of heated moisture spilling onto his fingers as he caressed his hand up between her thighs, clamping the first two clips onto each side of her outer folds. Two more bit down on the much more tender inner folds, winning a low moan from her, one that was half pleasure, half pain, and nowhere near as heartfelt as the one she gasped out when he peeled back the protective flesh that concealed her clit and used the last pin to clamp just behind the head, baring it to him completely.
“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he told her, picking up the wand.
She obeyed, her whole body stiffening, her breath catching on a whimper when he nestled that wide, white head flush up against the last clothespin. He turned it on.
Sucking air, Puppy shot up onto her toes. Her belly flinched, her thighs shaking as he rolled the head until he found the perfect spot to press and then turned the power up.
And she thought she was broken.
“Spread your legs for me, honey,” he said, reaching his free hand back behind the humming wand. Two fingers slid effortlessly up into the tight wetness of her pussy. He felt the spasm of her, locking down around him, twitching every bit as wildly as the hum buzzing up against her clit. “There’s a good girl,” he praised as she shakily spread her legs, toes digging into the hardwood flooring and fingers digging into his steady shoulders. “Show your Sir what belongs to him.”
“Oh!” she gasped, hips twitching as she fought not to pull back.
“Good girl. Look at me.”
Opening her eyes, she looked straight down into his. Her hands on his shoulders locked into fists as she clamped her lips tight together.
That wasn’t going to work. He wanted to hear her make noise, and those noises in particular. Those were ‘getting in the zone’ sounds. Those breathy, disbelieving hurts-so-good mewls went straight to his cock, raising it to stand pressing hard against his belly. She’d been trained to take it and, apparently, to take it silently; just one more aspect of her past training that he was going to have to break. He wanted her squirming, and he wanted to hear her whimper, gasp, and cry.
Withdrawing his finger from deep inside her, he replaced it with two, burying both deep and hard inside her.
“Someday when you’re ready, this is going to be mine,” he said, thrilled when she threw back her head, a jerk of her hips both bucking against the wand and grinding down on his hand. “You like the sound of that, do you?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Someday my pussy will belong to Sir,” he encouraged.
Whimpering, she twisted her face away, and yet she thrust her legs as wide apart as she could, toes clawing into the floor as she opened herself to him completely. She tried to nod.
“Say it,” he ground the wand against her and turned the power all the way up.
“Someday my-my p-pussy will belong to Sir,” she panted, the gush of slick arousal that accompanied that shaky obedience telling him everything he needed to know.
“Say it again,” he ordered gruffly, the ache in his own cock almost more than he could ignore. This wasn’t about him. There would be plenty of time for his needs, but not until she was ready. He could wait. Until then, her heat, wetness, and the pulsing, thump of her heartbeat throbbing through the silken walls of her sex—this was more than enough. “Keep saying it. If you stop, I’ll stop.”
He fucked her with his fingers, a swift, hard rhythm that filled his office with the wet slapping of his palm butting up against her furrow and her near-panting sobs.
“My pussy belongs to Sir!” she cried out. “My pussy… belongs… please!”
He fucked her with his fingers, adding a third to make her pitch rise into those delicious notes that meant ‘more’ almost as much as it meant ‘too much’. A fourth finger filled her, stretched her, brought her to both shouting and weeping, “Please! My pussy belongs to my Sir!”
She came with him alternately thrusting and twisting the narrow squeeze of his fingers, trying to work them deeper in her convulsing flesh. Weeping, she clutched his shoulders to keep from falling while he both stroked and soothed her, turning off the wand to caress her back down from the trembling intensity of her orgasm. She was beautiful, but it wasn’t until she stammered, “I-I d-didn’t mean to c-come without permission,” that he realized these weren’t happy in the aftermath tears.
Catching her arms, he sent more than a few clothespins snapping off her as he pulled her down to sit with him on the floor. “Look at my face,” he ordered. “Do I look like I’m mad? Did I ask you to tell me before you came?”
Sniffling, she hesitantly shook her head. “No,” she said wonderingly.
“I’m not mad, baby. I’m thrilled. I’m beyond thrilled,” he corrected. “I’m going to make you come like this often. Every day. Twice daily, if I can. And I will never, ever be angry afterward, because you have never looked more beautiful to me than you do right now. One of these days, I sincerely hope I’ll get to watch this look come over you while driving you to orgasm over and over again.”
Her teary eyes softened, her mouth rounding in amazement. “Really?”
Taking her hand, he put it on his bulging cock, letting her feel the solid proof of just how aroused he was. “Sir is not a monk. Nor is he a masochist who enjoys self-denial. If a relationship with me is something you want to pursue, my end goal is going to be to have a submissive I can share myself with, and yes, that includes physically. I don’t mind waiting until you’re ready, but when that day comes, I intend to lay claim to every inch of your body. That means pussy, mouth, and ass—when I want, where I want, how I want.”
Her belly flinched, an involuntary twitch of spasm that he could feel echoing all through her body.
“What about what I want?” she whispered.
“That you have to ask that question is why we’re going to wait until you’re ready. I promise. It’s my job as your dom to always do my best to make sure your needs are being met. That is what dominance and submission is all about: One leads, one follows, and together they balance each other’s needs. You may always express your concerns to me. You will always be allowed to voice your wants, desires, and opinions. Never be afraid to talk to me, but in the end, the ultimate decision belongs to me, and when I say bend over, I expect you to get head down and ass up, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
Her whole body twitched again. This time there was no mistaking it, or the peak of her nipples, one of which was still captured by its clothespin, or the shivery goosebumps that ran across her skin.
“That’s what I’m looking for,” he told her. “Black Light is fun. But even when we’re not playing games, I’m the boss and I want a partner who knows she’s second in command to no one else but me. I also want one who strives to yield, sometimes even when she doesn’t want to.”
“You don’t think it’s weird that I want that, too?” She hesitated. “After everything… him…”
“We want what we want, honey,” he replied. “You’re not weird. You’re not broken, either. You simply like what you like, and from what I’ve seen so far, we like a lot of the same things. I’d like to explore some of that with you. What do you think?”
She shivered, her nipples tight buds thrusting against his shirt. “I’d like that too.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because this was fun, but you know you still have a punishment coming tonight, right?”
She stilled, all but for that hot pulse of her pussy as it made her belly flinch yet again, betraying more than just a casual interest in that now too. She visibly steeled herself, then nodded. “H-how do you want me?”
Pushing shyly back from him, she
knelt facing him. She spread her knees open wide, exposing a cluster of stubborn clothespins and the swollen need of her clit and sex. Clasping her hands behind her back, she offered first her breasts and then, even more shyly, opened her mouth.
His cock twitched hard. “No,” he said gently, but at the same time, it was really, really hard not to like the pose.
She bent down, laying her cheek to the wood floor before him and elevating her ass up. He liked that pose too, but the answer was the same.
“No, honey.”
She turned her face to the floor, but not before he saw her bite her bottom lip, worrying even as she reached back and spread her buttocks with both hands.
She was killing him.
“No, baby.” He ruffled her hair, softening his rejection with a smile. “Not that I won’t someday take you up on that invite, but I’m thinking today deserves a real punishment. Also, the first time I slide my cock up your ass, I’d really rather that be for both our enjoyment, and no one’s punishment.”
She sat up when he stood. He could feel the worry of her gaze following him around the desk where he opened a lower drawer and pulled out a white, spiral notebook and a black gel pen.
“F-for me?” she asked, stunned when he brought them to her.
“It’s not a dozen roses,” he returned, hiding his smile. Not that he wouldn’t someday now also love to give her flowers, especially after a response like that. One would think she’d never received a gift before, by the near reverent way she took it from him. That became one more thing that, as her dom, he looked forward to changing.
She traced her fingers over the cover. “Can I open it?”
“Unless you want to make your punishment worse, I suggest you do.”
Hers was at once the most hopeful, touched, and yet slightly apprehensive look as she bowed her head and opened the cover. On the first inside page in bright blue glitter ink he’d written, ‘Puppy’s Naughty Book of Lines’.
She looked up at him.
“The sparkles remind me of your eyes on the rare few occasions that I’ve actually seen you smile,” he said gently. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a glitter pen in brown ink.”
Face softening, she briefly hugged the book to her chest and then looked down at it again. “I don’t understand. What do you want me to write, a journal of what I do wrong?”
“Nope. We’re going to fill that book up with all the things you’ve forgotten. If, like tonight, you make a mistake, I’m going to give you a reminder and you’re going to write it down in this book. You can start with the reminder you earned tonight. Your first phrase is: I’m not stupid or broken, I’m brave. I want you to write that in your book one thousand times, and I expect you to have it done next Friday before I pick you up. Got it?”
She nodded, hugging the book to her chest again, blinking rapidly against the shimmer of a fresh wave of tears. “I can do that,” she hiccupped, trying hard not to let him see her cry.
“Do you think you can finish your sandwich now, or do you want another punishment?”
“No, Sir. I’ll even eat my corn.”
“Not if I replace it with applesauce first,” he growled, but they were both smiling as he let her redress, then led the way back to the table where their unfinished supper and the negotiation contract were waiting.
Chapter 10
The Greyhound pulled into the penitentiary parking lot and half the passengers got off. Pulling her coat in close around her, Puppy cast a frown at the gray skies and shivered. The forecast had been calling for snow anywhere from here on up through the weekend. She believed it, too. The air hurt it was so cold. Slipping her hands into her coat pockets, she fell into silent step behind Pony, who wove her way through the parked cars to the front steps of the building, and then into the prison. She kept her head held high and her back straight, as regal now as ever she had been on any given play night at Black Light. Looking at her though, it was hard for Puppy to see anything but the harness wounds she’d dressed that morning and the boniness of the ribs she’d counted as she did it.
She looked gaunt. Even her skin looked too thin, too pale, showing the blue roadmap of veins just underneath. Earlier that morning, standing in front of their bathroom mirror as she’d washed her face and brushed her hair, Puppy had tried to see herself as that thin too. But she wasn’t. Carlson and his three-meals-per-day-or-else regimen had seen to that. Oh, she was still thin, but where Pony’s face seemed downright skeletal, Puppy was now just… angular. Her cheekbones were a little too sharp, but her face didn’t look too hollow. Not like Pony’s did.
Puppy stifled a sigh as she put her name on the registry of visitors. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to know what Carlson would say if he knew she’d come here, even though she told herself over and over it was only to keep Pony from getting hurt. She really didn’t want to hear what Ethen would say about all the times she’d left the house without Pony, or about how much weight she’d put on, how she now looked fat, how she was cheating, how every single thing she did piled up on this mountain of disobedience that she had built since he’d gone to prison, and how Pony should now be punished for it.
And Pony would do it. Because Pony was an idiot.
Following Pony to two chairs set within easy reach of where the line would form as soon as they were called, Puppy sat down beside her feeling horrible. Guilt for just thinking such a traitorous thing gnawed at her. Knowing it would make her feel better, she opened her backpack, pulled out the notebook Carlson had given her, and started writing. She’d had it almost a week now and she loved it. Writing lines might be a punishment, but it felt soothing. It hurt her fingers, depending on how long she did it, but it was a way of feeling close to Carlson when she couldn’t be with him physically. It had very quickly become an outlet, a way to shut out the overwhelming stress of whatever situation she was currently in and just focus on making her Dom happy.
I am not stupid or broken. I’m brave.
She was fourteen pages in so far. One sentence per line, thirty-three lines per page, two sides to every page. One thousand lines was a lot, but she was almost done. She had only a page left to go… for this sentence. Which was good, since she’d already earned a second sentence: One orgasm per day is not an option, it’s an order. It was now also two orgasms per day until she got her lines done and she couldn’t even start on them until she finished the first set.
She squirmed in her seat, the awful heat of a guilty blush burning at her face as she tried not to think about all the mornings this week when she’d hidden under her blankets for the sole, forbidden purpose of touching herself. It was a hard thing to come without making a sound. It was even harder to enjoy it when she was terrified of waking Pony, who would surely tell on her, inviting another punishment and making Puppy feel worse, and starting the whole vicious cycle all over again until all sense of pleasure died and her need to pick at something itched so desperately inside her skin that it was all she could do to keeping lying there. Touching herself. Trying to make the impossible happen.
So far, it had only happened once. Carlson didn’t punish her for not being able to succeed. So far, he’d only punished her for the one morning she’d been too reluctant and embarrassed to try.
For some reason, thinking about that here, as she sat writing her lines, made the pit of her stomach warm, spawning that by now familiar thump and throb between her clenched legs. She squirmed again, although now for a totally different reason.
“Don’t do that here?” Pony hissed. “You shouldn’t do it at all where he might see you!”
Bowing her head, Puppy kept writing. Ethen wasn’t her Master anymore, and anyway, it wasn’t like he was watching her through the security cameras.
Shifting in her seat, growing visibly more agitated the closer time drew to that magical moment when the guards would let them back into the visiting area, Pony snapped, “Put it away, Puppy. If he sees that, he’ll know you’ve been seeing someone else.”
Still, Puppy kept her mouth shut. She wrote all the way up until the buzzer rang and the guards opened the door leading from the waiting area to the visiting room. Tucking her pen into the notebook to keep her place, she slipped it back into her backpack. Shouldering the strap, she waited until Pony deemed it time to rush to the head of the line. Following reluctantly, they headed back together, down the sterile corridor toward the visiting room.
This time, Ethen wasn’t already waiting for them. They found a table in the back, the same one he had preferred the last time they’d visited. Pony stood, the proper little submissive, waiting for him to come and grant permission to sit. Puppy didn’t bother. She already knew he was going to leave her standing again. And besides, she fidgeted with the straps of her backpack as she worked up the courage, he wasn’t her dom anymore. She didn’t need his permission.
“Don’t!” Pony hissed when Puppy edged up to one of the seats.
She sat down anyway. Her leg began to jiggle. She rubbed her damp palms against her pants, her chest tightening in on breaths that were coming a little too quick and shallow. She needed her notebook. Pulling it out of her pack, she took up her pen and tried to lose herself in the calm of writing lines.
“Stop it!” Pony spat, her voice breaking. Lunging at her, she clutched her fists to keep from grabbing. Good menagerie girls were model submissives at all times, in all places. They didn’t run, they didn’t lunge, and they certainly never grabbed.
Circling her notebook with a protective arm, Puppy watched Pony wrestle with propriety.
“He’ll see. Put it away!”
“He’s not my master anymore.”
Tightly pressed lips clamping off an angry squeak, Pony snatched at the notebook. Puppy grabbed back, latching on just in time to keep her from ripping it out of her hands. She yanked back, hugging it protectively to her chest, but Pony kept yanking, grabbing, and finally ripped away both her pen and a partial sheet full of lines.
