The Final Veil: Who had kidnapped America's favorite belly dancer?

by Pat Powers

  Pulazzi's eyes half closed for a moment. She had really liked that.

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi, clasping her hands behind her back and half arching her back.

  "Look at me," I said, noticing that she was looking down as I inspected her.

  Pulazzi's eyes opened wide, and this time I was a little more prepared for those 200 watts they generated. Beside, I was distracted by her breasts, which were quite beautiful. They were those curiously conelike breasts that some naturally large-breasted women possess. Inside her bra, they'd been bunched up into globes, but now that the twin beauties were freed, they slumped a little, but surprisingly little, instead projecting forward. She also had large, rounded nipples that looked made to make little babies and their fathers happy.

  "I understand that many women have ambiguous feelings about their breasts, and that they wisely discount the opinions of men who see their breasts in sexually charged situations," I said, "but honestly, your breasts are absolutely beautiful. I'll understand if you still feel nervous, but you have nothing to feel nervous about. In fact, a certain amount of pride in your appearance would be completely justifiable."

  "To be honest, master, I feel that way at times," said Pulazzi. "And I feel very glad that you approve of my appearance."

  "Good, I said, "then you may continue disrobing."

  "All I have left on is my panties, master," said Pulazzi entreatingly.

  "Remove them," I said. "Modesty is not permitted to slavegirls."

  "Yes, master," Pulazzi said, her soft voice tinged with lust. She slowly and carefully removed the panties. Her pubic hair was thick and the same deep black as the hair atop her head, but it didn't hide the pink gleam of her labia.

  "I am naked before you, master," said Pulazzi, gazing at me.

  "That's good," I said. "Now you are ready to make your obeisance to your master. Kneel before me, face to the ground, butt in the air, hands clasped behind your neck." "Yes, master," Pulazzi said, and her voice was just a little thick, just noticeably choked by emotion. She knelt as indicated, her face just inches from my feet.

  "Spread your knees wider," I said. "A slavegirl always remains physically open in the presence of her master. Her knees are always apart in his presence unless otherwise ordered."

  "Yes, master," Pulazzi said, spreading her knees farther apart as ordered. Her voice was a little thick with emotion, still, and also a little muffled by the carpeting her face was pressed into.

  "Now, crawl forward and lift my foot and put it on the back of your neck," I said.

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi. She crawled forward, slowly and clumsily, pushing herself with her spread-apart knees. I could have told her she could use her hands, but I didn't. Just for one thing, I was really enjoying seeing the curve of Pulazzi's naked hips and butt as she crawled. Her butt was heart-shaped and her skin was beautifully smooth with a gorgeous olive tint to it, and the sight of such beauty advancing toward me in such a servile way was extremely pleasant.

  When I felt Pulazzi's hands on my shoe I obligingly lifted it and allowed her to guide it to the back of her neck. While I didn't press down on it or anything -- way too dangerous -- I did allow the weight of my foot to rest fully upon her neck, though I was instinctively tensed up to remove it if need be.

  "OK, now cross your hands behind your back as if bound," I ordered.

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi, obeying.

  "Now how do you feel?" I asked.

  "Completely exposed, helpless and vulnerable, master," said Pulazzi. "The strange thing is, I think the thing that bothers me most is not having your foot on my neck, though that does make me feel very much under your control. The thing that bothers me most is being so naked and having my legs spread so wide apart. I can feel the air between my legs, and I'm not at all used to that and it keeps me very conscious of my condition."

  "Good," I said. "If you elect to become a slavegirl for your husband, you'll probably get used to it, after a while. Perhaps a long while. Now, tell me what you are, and to whom you belong."

  "I am a slave, master, and I belong to you," said Pulazzi.

  "Do you give yourself to me, completely and utterly, as the master of your body and your heart?" I asked.

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi.

  "Then say so," I ordered.

  "I, Sara Pulazzi, give myself to you, John Bowman, as your slave," said Pulazzi. "My body and heart are yours, to do with as you please."

  "Is your submission to me total, complete and without reservation?" I asked.

  "I submit myself to you totally, completely, and without reservation," Pulazzi declared, and there was a bit of pleasure in those words.

  "Good, I said. " I accept your submission, accept you as my slavegirl, to do with as I please. I accept ownership of your body and your heart."

  "Thank you, master," said Pulazzi from beneath my foot.

  "Has the act of submission excited you, slave?" I asked.

  "Yes, master, I believe so," said Pulazzi.

  "I think so, but let's check," I said. "I want you to turn around and then resume your present position."

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi.

  I lifted my foot from Pulazzi's neck and she crawled around in the confines of the van until her butt was facing me. She crossed her arms behind her back.

  "Spread your knees wider," I said.

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi, spreading her legs wide. Her butt was absolutely gorgeous, its rounded contours now fully presented to me, her labia gaping slightly apart as she was spread so wide.

  "All right, slavegirl, now take your hands and spread your labia apart so your master may see your wetness," I ordered.

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi, a little nervously.

  She reached around with her hands and delicately placed the index finger of each hand on her outer labia, then pulled them apart, revealing the pink folds of her inner labia.

  "Very nice," I said. "Now hold still."

  I leaned forward and slowly and carefully shoved my forefinger into her pussy. Her whole body tensed, then shuddered as I did so.

  "Your pussy is very wet," I said, leaving my forefinger in place.

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi, and her voice was definitely choked with emotion this time.

  "Tell me how you feel," I said.

  "Oh, master, it's hard to say," said Pulazzi. "I feel many things. Holding my pussy open like this makes me feel so exposed and vulnerable and, well, slutty. But I also feel this strange exhilaration at being able to make myself so much yours. And the feel of your finger inside me is so incredibly intense. Hearing you say I was wet, as if I were a child and you were just taking my temperature and announcing it to anyone who was interested, was also very intense. I'm sorry I can't come up with anything but repeating the word 'intense,' but I'm filled with feelings I haven't felt before, or felt in quite this way. They remind me of the feelings I used to have as a child, when I first started having overtly sexual feelings. I didn't have a name for them then, or much understanding of what they were, I could only feel them and wonder at what they meant. That's kind of how I'm feeling now."

  "I understand," I said, and I thought I did. Those Gorean women had started new feelings coursing through my veins. Not feelings of submission in my case, but a certain fierce appreciation of the submissive aspects of male/female sexual relations, which I'd never consciously been aware of before.

  I slid my finger out of Pulazzi's pussy. It came out slick, sticky and smelling of female arousal, a smell that made my cock surge with interest.

  "Now kneel upright, facing away from me," I said. Keep your arms crossed behind your back."

  "Yes, master," Pulazzi said.

  She knelt upright. I reached into my emergency clothing kit and came out with several ties I kept on hand just in case I needed to look businesslike. I took one of Pulazzi's wrists and tied a loop around it, then tied a loop around her other wrist, then tied both wrists together.

  "As you have given yoursel
f to me, this may seem beside the point," I said, "but slavegirls spend a lot of time in bondage. Their bonds help reinforce their sense of themselves as being owned, and valued. And the bonds tend to amplify feelings of submission."

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi as I finished the tie.

  "Move your wrists around a bit, make sure they are not too tight, or too loose," I said.

  "Too loose, master?" Pulazzi asked as she moved her hands within her bonds.

  "A slavegirl shouldn't have to work to keep her bonds in place, they should remain snug even if she's actively engaged in, um, stuff," I said.

  "Like having her brains fucked out, master?" Pulazzi asked.

  "That's definitely one option," I said. "Now, lie on your side with your legs tucked up under your butt."

  "Yes, master," Pulazzi said, complying. I took one tie and wrapped it around her upper thigh. Then I wrapped around her shin just above her ankle, so that it formed a figure 8 around her legs, and tied it off in front of her shin. Her leg was now immobilized, her knee fully bent and her ankle tied in place under her butt.

  "Roll over," I said.

  "Yes, master," Pulazzi said, complying. But complying was not easy in the cramped confines of my van with her hands tied behind her back and one leg tied. It required much rolling and writhing. I watched with great enjoyment. When she was rolled over, I took another tie and secured her other leg. As I worked, I casually reached over and picked up her panties and tossed them into the car seat next to mine.

  When I was through, I said, "All, right, I'd like you to kneel before me, with your face right up close to my lap."

  "Yes, master," Pulazzi said gamely. With her arms and both legs tied, she had even more difficulty moving in the tiny space available, and there was even more rolling and writhing and inadvertent displays of ripe female flesh. I watched every second of it with enormous enjoyment.

  Pulazzi noticed. "Have I entertained you well, master?" she asked with her face just inches from my crotch, still panting from exertion.

  "Yes, you have," I said, grinning. "Just remember, nobody ever said a slavegirl's lot was an easy one."

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi.

  "Now, pardon me while I whip this out," I said, unbuttoning my trousers and zipping down the fly. I slid my boxers down and flipped my cock out of them, and there it was, bobbing and waving in front of Pulazzi's face, a thin stream of cock-drool issuing form its tip.

  "Whaddya think?" I asked conversationally.

  "It's a very nice cock, master," said Pulazzi calmly, as if complimenting me on a neatly pressed shirt.

  "Being a kind master, I am planning on giving you the opportunity to kiss it and lick it and suck on it," I said.

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi.

  "But before you get to do so, you must beg my permission to do so," I said. "What's more, it's got to be enthusiastic begging -- humble, imploring, that sort of thing. None of this pro forma begging. I have to believe it."

  "You want me to beg your permission to suck your cock, master?" Pulazzi asked with a hint of amused incredulity in her voice.

  "Yes, I do," I said. "In fact, I insist. A slavegirl is permitted no shame, no inhibitions, no shyness whatsoever. She must tell her master of her needs, and if he is not minded to satisfy them, must beg him piteously to do so. She must abase herself totally before her master, leaving no doubt as to what kind of sexual animal she is."

  "I understand, master," said Pulazzi.

  "What's more, while my cock is displayed before you, I want you to look at it, and not at my face," I said. "I would like you to address it as if it were me. This will help you understand your servitude as a sexual and not just a personal thing. You belong, not just to the person John Bowman, but to his cock. Understand?"

  "Yes, master," said Pulazzi, looking at my cock and talking to it. She was grinning as she did so, and I guess this was a silly scenario, but there it was.

  I leaned back in my seat and gazed down at Pulazzi.

  "Master, I beg permission to kiss your cock," she said. "I beg permission to lick it and suck it."

  "Why do you want to kiss it and lick it and suck it?" I asked.

  "Master, I am a woman, and at this moment, I feel very much that I am a slavegirl," said Pulazzi. "I want to explore my feelings, and I feel that they can best be explored by kneeling here before you, bound hand and foot, and taking your cock in my mouth. It will give me great pleasure to do so."

  "That was good, that was very good," I said magnanimously. "It was honest and true, not some made-up drivel about my masculine wonderfulness. But it lacked a certain abjectness. It implied that you had some kind of right to suck my cock. Whereas, as a slavegirl, you have no rights. You can only hope for my generosity, my willingness to allow one as lowly as you the privilege of putting her lips upon my cock."

  "I'm having trouble understanding that, master," said Pulazzi. "Are you trying to say that, as a slavegirl, sucking your cock is something I must ASPIRE to?"

  "Well, not exactly," I said. "You can't really aspire to suck my cock, because as a slavegirl, you'll never really have any right to, having no rights to speak of. You can only HOPE to suck my cock, in an abject sort of way. If master is kind, and well-disposed toward you, and in a good mood, he may allow you to serve him sexually. Therefore it behooves you to do everything in your power to make sure master is in a good mood, and well-disposed toward you personally. Fortunately for you, I am a kind master, I have it on good authority from several slavegirls."

  "Slavegirls who had just been given the opportunity to serve you, master?" Pulazzi asked.

  "As it happens, yes," I admitted.

  "I see, master," said Pulazzi. "Well, then. I know that I am not a worthy slavegirl. Yet still I beg you, I implore you, I entreat you to allow me to suck your cock. I will do my humble best to give you the pleasure you deserve. I am but a mere slavegirl, yet I ask of you this favor out of my deep need, and hope that you will do me the very great kindness of allowing me to take your huge, wonderful cock in my undeserving mouth."

  "Much better," I said. "Tell me, is it making you wet to kneel before me, naked and bound, and beg abjectly to suck my cock?"

  A moment's hesitation. "Yes, master, it is. It is making me very wet."

  "And would it make you wet to suck my cock, naked and bound and kneeling before me?" I asked.

  "It would make me very wet to serve you so, master," said Pulazzi.

  "Then you may kiss and suck my cock, slavegirl," I said, "but be sure and look me in the eye periodically as you do it."

  "Thank you, master," said Pulazzi. "I will look you in the eye, master."

  Pulazzi had to struggle a bit more to get her mouth within comfortable range of my cock, but she did it, because she was motivated, you know. She had had to beg, naked and bound, to suck it, so she was going to suck it.

  She kissed the head of my cock slowly and lovingly, and looked up at me as she did so. I smiled down at her, with what I hoped was a masterful smile, and not a goofy smile. She continued to kiss and nibble on my cock and look me in the eye. Her expression was watchful, as if trying to read every little detail of what I was thinking from my expression. As if a guy with his cock in close proximity to a woman's mouth can be said to be thinking.

  After kissing it, she swallowed it, and she sucked it, pausing frequently to look up at me as if seeking approval. She was very good with her tongue. I put my hand in her hair and gently wrapping my fingers in it, not to pull it but to let her know I controlled her head.

  After a time I came. I came in her mouth. She looked up at me as I did so, accepting my cum. I looked back at her, accepting her submission. Then I gently pushed her backward.

  She knelt before me, swallowing and licking her lips and looking just the tiniest bit vulnerable.

  "Open wide," I said.

  Pulazzi looked a little startled for a moment. Then she remembered she was a slavegirl and said, "Yes, master," and opened her mouth wide.

&nbs
p; I reached over on the seat next to me and grabbed her undies. A pink satin thong. There had been a reason her butt moved so sexily. I folded the thong carefully so that the straps were nestled inside the sex pouch, then I slowly pushed the thong into Pulazzi's mouth.

  Her eyes were wide with genuine puzzlement and alarm as I shoved the thong in. I took my last tie and used it to secure the thong in her mouth.

  She sat there for a moment with the thong gag in her mouth, and I could tell she was troubled. She shifted her hands behind her back and I could see one hand. She was shooting me the bird.

  I immediately untied the tie and pulled the thong out of her mouth.

  "What's the matter?" I asked as soon as the thong was clear. "Are you OK?"

  She spent a moment working her mouth and looking mildly distressed.

  "I'm OK, I guess," she said. "I just panicked a little when you put that gag on me."

  "That's OK," I said. "We've come quite far already. We don't need the gag. We can stop now, if you like."

  She shook her head.

  "Just ... give me a minute," she said.

  "OK," I said, sitting back in my chair.

  She closed her eyes for a minute. I cleaned myself up a bit with her thong while she thought.

  "I want to go on," she said. "I want the gag. I guess what I'm looking for from this isn't just the slavegirl experience, but to be pushed a little farther than I am really ready to go. The gag scared me a little, but I want to be scared a little. It's just that I felt so helpless from being tied up, and then having that gag on me ... I suddenly saw myself as totally helpless, totally unable to control what happened to me, and it freaked me. I was so frightened. But I'm over it now."

  "Are you sure?" I asked.

  "I'm sure," she said. "I'm ready to be gagged."

  "I'm afraid you're going to have to beg for it now," I said.

  Pulazzi smiled at this. "I will beg, master," she said. "I have learned that good things come to the slavegirl who begs for them."

  "Was the gag comfortable?" I asked. "Did it choke you at all?"

  "No, not really," she said, "though I was bothered by the thought that the thing in my mouth had been rubbing against my privates all day."