Yes, Master!

by Reese Gabriel

  He picked up her sudden tension. “What is it, Lee?”

  “I...nothing.” She shook her head.

  Kyle frowned. “Slaves are not permitted to hide from masters. Your feelings belong to me, as much as your body.”

  She felt a hot rush between her legs. “Master, please, I don’t want to—”

  He took hold of her nipple, pinching it pointedly.

  “Ow, Master, I’m sorry,” she squirmed.

  “Tell me what I want to know,” he said relentless.

  “I have...feelings for you...” she blurted.

  He released her instantly. “I have them for you, too.”

  “Y—you do?”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “Come on,” he took her hand. “Let’s see what’s on TV.”

  She sat on the floor at his feet while he flipped channels. She rested her head on his knee. After a while he took her by the collar and had her lick his shaft. She had to suck a very long time before he was erect again.

  They went to bed and made love, soft vanilla love, though there was no doubt as she lay beneath him who was the man. He twined his fingers in hers holding her arms above her head. Her legs were parted in pure offering. Her body was his to enjoy, just as he’d said...and her feelings.

  “Oh, Master,” she moaned softly, conquered. “I...I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he murmured, kissing her neck.

  She sighed, slipping into climax. She had no permission, but he made no objection. He waited for the soft waves to subside, a purple haze of feminine pleasure, holding back his own orgasm.

  “That was so beautiful, Master...”

  He smiled. “I’m going to come in your ass, sweet heart.”

  “Oh, yes, please, Master...”

  He put her on all fours, facing the headboard. She lowered her head in a show of pure submission.

  “I have a paddle, Lee,” he told her. “It’s a large one. I’m going to beat you first.”

  “Yes, Master.” Her voice was tense. “Thank you, Master.”

  “You will remain still and silent. You will take it...for me.”

  “I will,” she vowed.

  The paddle felt more like a tree trunk and just as large. He slammed it with little regard for the softness of her skin and smallness of her body. She was jolted forward, caught quite off guard despite his warning.

  She cried out, a tiny shrill sound which she quickly checked. “S—sorry, M—master,” she whimpered.

  He hit her again, harder. She swore he was invading her very bones, crushing her whole frame. This time, though, she didn’t budge.

  She received no praise. She was a slave obeying orders, nothing more.

  He continued to rain down cruel punishment, efficient, powerful strokes, so many she lost count; or was she just too out of her mind to perform any rational mathematical functions?

  Her behind was throbbing so bad, she could scarcely feel where one blow let up and the other began. It was like everything he’d done before, all rolled into one. Her mind was transported back, made completely pliant and malleable. At the same time, she was feeling herself thrown into an unknown, bottomless future.

  She loved Kyle and he loved her.

  No man had ever loved her before.

  Kyle was done with the paddle. He set it down on the bed and put his palm on her freshly beaten ass. “Mine,” he said.

  “Y—yours, Master...”

  He inserted a finger inside her. It was cold and creamy, coated with anal gel. “I’m going to fuck you harder than you’ve ever been fucked, slave.”

  “Yes, Master.” Please do, she wanted to add, but speech was a bit difficult at the moment.

  His cock was like a steel spear. He took her, entering her with all the force of a conquering warrior. She opened herself, knowing she was his, that he had the right to use her how and when he wanted. Slaves did not play coy; they did not make excuses with headaches. They spread on command, crawled on command, orgasmed on command.

  He clamped her waist, one hand on each side. He sank himself, using his own body as leverage. The anal dildo was child’s play compared to the reality of her master.

  Her eyes began to moisten. She choked back a sob.

  He switched his hands to her breasts, holding, cradling, punishing.

  “Yes.” He squeezed them hard. “Let it out, girl. I want your tears.”

  Kyle’s words released the floodgates, years of pent up emotions. She broke down, her shoulders shaking, the salty drops pouring from her eyes. Kyle savaged her, splitting her wide with his thrusting, unrelenting dick. He twisted and pulled at her nipples and the tears were mixed with screams.

  It hurt so much...

  His cock thickened inside her. Her empty cunt ached. He was going to come, she could feel it. He groaned, deep and satisfied...inside of his property. Liandra took his sperm up her ass...it was his hole and she was his bitch.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she moaned.

  No vanilla woman could possibly understand...

  This was home for Liandra. Subjugation. Cruelty—mixed with love. The perfect formula.

  The one she never expected to find in life.

  They took a long shower together afterwards. Kyle washed her body, thoroughly and very intimately. He made her keep her hands above her head while he soaped her breasts and belly. As cruel as he was before, he was loving now, incredibly devoted so that she wanted to cry again, but in a different way.

  She was a little self conscious when he knelt down before her under the cascading water and went to work on her pussy, licking expertly with his tongue. She had to put her hands on his shoulders to support herself as he showed her a new kind of conquest.

  If she’d ever thought it was a submissive act for a man to perform oral sex, Kyle proved quite the opposite. He was in control, totally, confident and enjoying himself and her. She came as he wanted, responded as he wanted. This was his will, his game.

  No, not a game. Kyle didn’t play games, not like Rave.

  Kyle was starving by the time they were dried off and so was she. He had her put her clothes back on, sans underwear.

  “Slaves go naked underneath,” he said with a great big, sly grin that suggested he had more mischief in mind.

  She dressed with delicious butterflies in her stomach, her body flying like it was her first love all over again. It was true, she really did love Kyle.

  And yet she didn’t even know his last name.

  Then again, what did it matter? She had only one name for him, his right title of Master.

  Liandra tried not to squirm too much on the passenger seat as they drove to the restaurant. It was odd going without panties. She was self-conscious because she was wet. She couldn’t help it. He was sitting there beside her, so cool and calm, in his slacks and golf shirt, smelling of fresh musk and soap, so manly. She wanted to rip the clothes off him, kiss him all over. But that wasn’t her decision. Not her place in the relationship.

  At one point she reached across to his lap, trailing her fingers over his crotch. He moved like lightning, slipping his hand under her skirt.

  She yelped as he pinched the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

  “Were you given permission to touch me?”

  “No, Master,” she whined.

  “You may unbutton your blouse as punishment,” he said. “Expose your right tit.”

  “Y—yes, Master.”

  He maintained the pressure as she worked the buttons of the blouse. Her jacket was in the back seat at the moment, which meant that exposing herself was relatively easy.

  She pushed the material to the right, letting her globe out into the light of day. A car next to them honked in immediate appreciation. Liandra was mortified. She was also hotter than she’d ever been in her life.

  “You don’t own me,” he said. “I own you. You wear clothes at my discretion, you act like a lady or a slut as I please.”

  “Yes, Master.” She was practically pa
nting. “I understand.”

  “Do you?” He seemed skeptical.

  “Yes, Master, I promise, really I do.”

  He unzipped his pants. “Suck,” he said simply.

  Liandra dove gratefully down to his lap, frantically releasing his cock.

  “You’re awful anxious not to be showing off to the truckers, aren’t you?” he mused.

  “Yes, Master...” That was true, but she also loved and craved his dick. She was addicted to it, if such a thing was possible.

  He had her perform fellatio for a while. He achieved a half erection, but he was clearly too expended from all their recent activities to come again. Liandra didn’t care. She’d do this 24/7 if she could.

  “All right, girl.” He tapped her shoulder. “That’s enough. We’re almost to the restaurant.”

  She sat up, her lips full and tingling. “May I button my blouse, Master?”

  “Yes, slave.”

  “Thank you, Master.” Her fingers trembled, knowing this was not something she could take for granted.

  “Are you wet, slave?”

  “Yes, Master, very.”

  “Good.” He smiled enigmatically. “That will make dinner more interesting.”

  She bit her lower lip. What did he have in mind?

  Kyle took her to an upscale steak house. He had the host seat them in the corner, in a small table. There was a flickering candle at the center. The light caused strange little shadows to be cast off the rough hewn stone wall. The environment reminded Liandra of a dungeon.

  The suits of armor and swords decorating the place definitely reinforced that particular image.

  “I can see why you like this place,” she teased as he pulled out her seat for her.

  “Yes, the filet mignon is excellent,” he said, taking his own seat across from her.

  She raised a brow. “I meant the décor, Master.”

  “What about it?”

  He was being coy.

  “It’s conducive...” she said, not wanting to spell it out.

  “For what?”

  “For...playing. For...us. This could be a dungeon, with torture in it.”

  The waiter arrived, introducing himself. He was a tall, bald man with a gaunt face. He had on a black tie and white jacket. “May I welcome you and share our specials?”

  Kyle did all the talking. He ordered from memory, without looking at the menu. “We’ll have the fried mushrooms as an appetizer. I’ll have the filet mignon, rare and the lady will have a salad, house dressing. A bottle of wine, too. What do you have that’s nice today?”

  The waiter rattled off names, mostly French. Liandra curled her toes. He hadn’t let her order any dinner.

  The wine was agreed upon and the waiter left with a bow.

  “Master, I need more than a salad,” she protested.

  “You’ll eat off my plate,” he said matter of factly.

  Her jaw dropped. “But...”

  “You’ll eat off my plate, or you won’t eat at all,” he said curtly.

  “Yes, Master.” She lowered her eyes. Her nipples were rubbing on her shirt. She’d no idea he would dominate her like this in public.

  “Don’t slouch,” he said. “Back straight. You may also part your legs slightly.”

  A moan released itself from the back of her throat. The posture was intensely demeaning and quite sexual.

  Kyle tested the wine. “Yes, it’s quite good. No, just one glass will be fine.”

  Liandra’s cheeks were as red as the wine. The waiter kept looking at her, whether out of pity or just to see her cleavage she wasn’t sure.

  “Lean forward,” Kyle ordered.

  Liandra had to lay her breasts on the table. He put the wine glass to her lips. She sipped, letting the liquid coat her throat, sharp, pungent.

  “What do you say, little girl?”

  “Thank you, Master.” She was intensely conscious of the people around them. Were people figuring out she was a slave? What would they do if they did?

  Kyle drank some of the wine and refilled the glass. He gave her several more sips. The alcohol was hitting hard on an empty stomach.

  “Thighs further apart,” he said.

  Liandra spread on the seat. She was afraid she’d drip onto the fabric.

  The fried mushrooms smelled exquisite. She was starving by this time. Kyle pulled the plate just out of her reach. She was terrified to touch a fork.

  “Would you like one?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master, please.”

  He speared one with a fork. “You may beg for it.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, to see who was in ear shot. The nearest table was fifteen feet away. “Please, Master, may I have one?”

  “Beg as a slave girl,” he said.

  Liandra wasn’t sure how a slave girl begged. “P—please, Master, may your slave have something to eat?”

  He extended the fork. She had to work for it as he made her stretch her neck. She took it as a fabulous prize, wolfing it down.

  “Don’t forget to chew,” he said helpfully.

  “Yes, Master,” she promised.

  He let her have several more of the tiny morsels. In between he interviewed her. “So tell me, girl, what does this man of yours do that you like so much?”

  Liandra swallowed. She’d never talked about this with anyone, let alone another man. “I...I guess it’s more his attitude than anything, you know...”

  “No, I don’t know. Does he treat you like dirt, is that it?”

  “S—sometimes...”

  “Give me examples.”

  She bit her lower lip. “He...he makes me crawl. I...I cook for him. He uses his belt. One time, he brought another woman over.”

  “He made you do things with another woman?”

  Liandra nodded.

  “You enjoyed that?”

  “I liked being forced, although I was the one letting it happen.”

  “He uses you anally, this man?”

  She nodded again.

  “And you said he whips you?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “For punishment?”

  “Sometimes just for his pleasure.”

  “And what else?”

  “I’m his foot rest. I lick his boots.” The wine was making her bolder. “He calls me slut and cunt and shows up when he wants to use me.”

  “That’s not domination.” Kyle shook his head. “You know that.”

  “I don’t know anything. Master, may I have more wine?”

  He let her take a large gulp.

  “You’re happy with things the way they are?” he wanted to know.

  She shrugged, so much in her head. She let more of it out, telling him all about Virgil and the passion they’d shared...and Rave’s response, vowing to come down hard on her.

  “I feel like a rag doll or something,” she confessed. “In a tug of war.”

  “And do you see me pulling you, too?”

  “No,” she said honestly. “I don’t.”

  “Good, because I won’t ever do that. And this Virgil, from what you’ve told me about him, I don’t think he will either. He sounds to me like he’s filling the role of mentor for you right now.”

  “How so?”

  “A mentor is a dominant who will take a sub under his wing, when she’s vulnerable and without a master. He looks out for her, helps her screen prospective candidates.”

  “I’m not interviewing people,” she dismissed.

  “Of course you are. Every man you meet you’re evaluating. We all do that with each other, unconsciously or consciously. I tried to deny that about myself for a long time, but you woke me to the truth. I can’t live alone, I can’t hide in my pain forever. Oh, I’ll hurt, I’ll go on missing Vanessa, but I can’t crawl under a rock. There are other parts of life, new things to discover.”

  “You deserve the best,” she said.

  “So do you, Lee, but you don’t believe it.”

  She was silent.

/>   “You know slavery takes so many forms,” he said. “No two relationships are the same. You can’t be owned like Vanessa was owned. I’d be a fool to try.”

  “And are you going to?” she heard herself ask. “Try and own me, that is?”

  “Do you want that?” he retorted.

  “Can I answer after I go to the bathroom?”

  “No, you can stay where you are.”

  Liandra felt a surge of rebellion. “But I need to go pee.”

  “Permission denied. Your ass stays on that seat until you answer me.”

  She moved to rise.

  “I’d think twice, young lady, unless you want to go over my knee.”

  “You wouldn’t dare...”

  Would he?

  “Try me,” he said. “I will take you to the stock room. I know the owner and he is sympathetic to the lifestyle. You will be given the spanking you deserve.”

  Liandra’s lips formed a pout. “You’re being mean to me. Fine, if you must know, I do not want to be owned.”

  It was Kyle’s turn to frown. “Get up,” he said.

  “Wh—where are we going?”

  “The stock room.”

  “But...but I answered your question.”

  “You answered with a lie, Lee and that won’t be tolerated.” He took her by the arm.

  “Kyle, Master, please,” she wheedled. “I didn’t mean it. I’ll be good, I’ll tell the truth.”

  “You’ll be very good,” he concurred. “After correction.”

  They walked into the kitchen, through the swinging doors. One of the chefs waved to Kyle.

  “Leon, how’s it going?” Kyle escorted his date firmly, turning left down a long corridor.

  The stock room was the second door on the left. Kyle closed and locked it. “Take off your skirt,” he said.

  Liandra was still trying to negotiate her way out of it. “Master, is there some other way?”

  “Strip!” he ordered, his voice harsh as she’d ever heard.

  Liandra scrambled out of her skirt, baring her bottom half.

  Kyle promptly ordered her to bend over a large crate. She had to brace her palms and feet on the floor. Her midsection pressed against the sharp edge.