We returned to the living room and went on with our work. After a while Mouche said, voice small and flat, “I’m a coprophage.” She touched her fly tattoo. “Like a fly. You won’t kiss me again. Nobody ever does.”
I said, “Is it a thing you need to do?”
She worked quietly for a minute, maybe putting words together in her head.
“Everything that comes out of the body,” she said, wrapping what looked like a very old book. “Piss, shit, sweat, cum. Even blood sometimes. Ear wax. I eat it all. Ever since I was little. I spent like half my life in psychiatrists’ offices. When I got to high school they decided I was cured. Then when I left for college I went completely off the rails. I’d go to BDSM things and hook up with random people. I got sicker and sicker, and dropped out of college. Then Karen and Daniel found me.”
“Doesn’t it make you sick anymore?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “But I think I must have just about every antibody in the world by now. And I just do it with Karen and Daniel anymore, so I don’t get a lot of new germs. They make me throw it up. And they give me medicine that helps. They taught me to clean myself afterwards. And they don’t give me their shit to eat every day, but just once or twice a week. Mostly as a reward. But I don’t think it was a reward today.”
We worked quietly for a little while longer, and then she said, “You see why I love them? They saved my life. And I like being their slave. They’re good to me.”
“Do they kiss you?” I asked.
“Nobody does,” she said. “I’m unclean. I spread disease.”
Master kissed me many times every day. Whipping me, ass-fucking me, or tying me in a knot, he’d pause for a kiss. I tried to imagine what life would be like without kissing. I didn’t think I could bear it.
I’d kissed Mouche, and now the memory made my flesh crawl. I didn’t want to kiss her again.
That evening, Mouche and I served dinner, and afterwards we ate ours from the same dog bowls we’d used at Master’s dinner party. No one peed in Mouche’s bowl tonight. While we ate, Daniel and Karen watched us and traded ideas for ways to use us at the New Year’s Eve play party. They’d gotten excited watching Mouche go down on me at the dinner party, and ever since then they’d wanted to do something with the two of us.
“Tie them together,” said Daniel.
“Yes, obviously,” said Karen. “But how?”
“Let’s see,” said Daniel. “How about if they were side by side on the table, tied together?
“Or bind them face to face,” said Karen, “and make them kiss.”
“One of them could wear a facial dildo,” said Daniel, “and fuck the other’s mouth. Or we could tie them in a sixty-nine and just let them eat each other out all night.”
“Or a sixty-nine with facial dildos,” said Karen.
“Sixty-nine with vibrators,” said Daniel.
After Mouche and I had eaten, they took us to the playroom to experiment, posing and tying us up in various ways and having long whispered discussions while we held the poses. This wasn’t very sexy. Mostly what we accomplished was to figure out that their ideas were impractical. They didn’t leave us in any scene long enough for us to have fun. By the time we were done for the evening, I was bored, but also reassured. Bored because we had nothing much to do or think about, but had to let them move us around like puppets, and reassured because, despite their extravagant fantasies, they seemed to understand that there were limits to what they could make us do. It was fun for them to fantasize about tying us up and inviting all the partygoers to fuck us, but they understood that they couldn’t get away with that.
After we were done in the playroom, it was time for bed. Mouche and I stood by as Daniel and Karen brushed their teeth, changed, and climbed into their big four-poster bed. Daniel said, “You two can go now.” He smiled and added, “Do what you want till morning. We won’t need you.”
Back in our tiny room, we took turns cleaning our makeup off and brushing our teeth. Our blankets were twin-size, so it made sense to lay out two separate beds, side by side. But soon after we’d crawled in and said goodnight, Mouche scooted over to be closer though she kept her back to me. I started to feel the same stirrings I’d felt the night of the dinner party. What we’d been doing tonight had been boring and unsexy, but I’d been looking at Mouche’s naked body all day, and the memory of her pale, fine features, dark eyes, and emaciated body excited me. I sat up and rearranged our blankets so they were over us both instead of between us, then lay down again facing her. I remembered her brown mouth and how she’d purged and scrubbed herself, so fastidious about the kink that would have made her an outcast almost anywhere but right here.
I thought about her open pussy and how I’d kissed her there, just once, briefly. I was ashamed that I didn’t want to kiss her, and my shame aroused me, as it always does.
I touched her shoulder and whispered, “Mouche?” She rolled over and gazed at me, eyes wide and curious. Her lips were delicate and exquisitely curved, pale now in the faint light. She made no move towards me.
I said, “Kiss me.”
She mewed quietly. We wound our arms around each other and pressed our bodies together. She smelled clean and fresh, nothing like shit or piss. The skin of her back was smooth under my hands. Her breasts were soft and warm against mine, her barbell piercings spots of cool hardness. But it was the kiss that mattered. My stomach lurched as my lips touched hers, but the revulsion passed in an instant, and I loved her hungry lips, her tongue searching inside my mouth, the way she breathed me in, devouring my scent. Oh, you can’t survive long without a kiss! She held me so tightly she was flattened against me from thighs to lips, and her nails dug into my back. I thought we might grow together like trees planted too close.
I enjoyed her ardor for a long time, then gently pushed her away, down towards my breasts. She kissed my nipples, which were already swollen for her, and she slid down my body to tease my belly button. She lay between my legs and kissed my mound, nibbled my thighs, traced the outline of my labia with the tip of her tongue. She sighed and breathed heat and life into me, and I spread my legs wider.
“Harder,” I whispered, and she sucked my clit into her mouth. I wondered if we were betraying our owners. Our bodies were not ours and we were stealing this pleasure, but Mouche’s need made me weak, and whether it was betrayal or not, I couldn’t bring myself to stop it. And if I didn’t do this, who would kiss Mouche? Who would touch her, if not another slave—someone with no dignity to lose? I thought of her tattoo, the sad girl holding her heart in her hand, and I came, a long gentle orgasm. I stifled my cries with a fist.
I lay on my back; she was on her side, turned towards me. We rested for a while.
She said, “My name’s Amanda.”
I turned to her. She looked into my eyes, the way she always did.
I said, “It’s beautiful. Not a name for a fly, but a beautiful human girl.”
I kissed her and drank her desperate need, squeezing her nipples, petting her stomach and thighs, exploring her pussy, already wet, penetrating her. And my own need drove me down her body: to her nipples, her belly button, her thighs, her mound. Her pussy drew me in—clit, urethra, dark opening. I thrust in with my tongue. I kissed her gently and followed her growing passion till I was eating her out with lips and tongue and teeth, not quite believing how good she smelled and tasted, how warm her flesh was under my hands, how musical her mews and moans. When she came, she whispered her cries as she whispered everything.
We lay together again. I drew designs above her breasts with a fingertip.
“Emily,” I said.
Amanda whispered, “Emily.”
I was drifting into sleep, holding her. I’m not sure if I dreamed that I heard a soft rustle from the little hallway leading past our bathroom to the door, and in a far corner of my vision saw movement, a flash of something white. Maybe it was in a dream that I turned my head and saw no one there.
* * *
We worked during the day, drawing out our tasks because there wasn’t all that much to do. In the evening, we submitted to their experiments, and before falling asleep at night, Amanda and I made love, deliriously licking, nibbling, and spanking pussies, ears, nipples, asses, belly buttons—everything. I was sure Karen and Daniel were aware of what we were doing and didn’t care—or maybe our lovemaking was part of their plan somehow.
Over our three nights together I became more and more the dominant partner, and Amanda the submissive. Already on our second night, I was directing our lovemaking as if it were a play. After we made love, she begged to drink my piss, and I found it easy to do—I don’t know why. We lay down a towel, and I squatted over her face and peed in her mouth. I thought I must be feeling what Master had felt—power, superiority—when he did this to her. Urinating, I marked her as mine. By the third night, I was ordering her about like any Dom, having her arrange our bedding, lick me just so, and bring me things, while she murmured “Yes, Emily,” sounding for all the world as if she were really saying “Yes, Mistress.”
I was surprised by the direction my relationship with Amanda was taking, but I suppose I shouldn’t have been. Doms are different from subs in important ways, but we all share a belief that we’re most likely to find happiness in a relationship that’s strictly hierarchical. With the right partner, I suppose many subs who’ve never considered themselves switches could become Doms. There was something about Amanda—she wanted someone to manage her, and it seemed a kind thing to do, and easy.
On the morning of New Year’s Eve, a moving crew came and, in just an hour, swapped the playroom and living room furniture. Most of the playroom furniture was distributed along the walls, leaving a large space in which the partygoers could mill about, but a huge bondage table had been placed in the center of the room. Amanda said, “They usually put it over there,” pointing to a space along the wall where a man in a white jacket was setting up a bar.
At six thirty we served Daniel and Karen a light dinner, and after that we ate the same dinner from our bowls. Guests would begin arriving at nine.
Around seven thirty, Daniel led us to the party room. He pulled a gym bag out from under the bondage table and took out a big tangle of leather straps, which he separated into two large harnesses.
“You’ll wear these tonight,” he said, “with collars and leashes.”
Daniel and Karen fitted them on us. They were ingeniously constructed so they looked a bit like clothing but covered nothing. Straps outlined our breasts like bras, but didn’t cover them; they ran down to our crotches like bathing suits, underneath and up over our asses, but they didn’t cover our pussies or cracks. Here and there were rings for attaching ropes and straps. The harnesses were exciting. Amanda looked ravishing: I wanted to run to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.
They fitted leashes on our collars, and Daniel said, “Now—here’s the plan.”
The doorbell interrupted him.
Karen said, “Why don’t the two of you go see who that is?”
We ran to the door, and Amanda put her eye to the spyhole. She gave me a big smile and opened the door wide.
My heart gave a leap, and I shouted “Master!” He looked absolutely demonic in a leather tuxedo, with a wicked smile and his coat over one arm. I couldn’t help myself: I charged and leapt at him, wrapping arms and legs around him.
He let me have my way with him for a few seconds and then said, “Do we really want to do this out here?”
I climbed down, blushing, and Amanda and I led him inside.
He greeted Karen with a hug and a kiss, and Daniel with a handshake. “Forgive me for being early,” he said. “I thought I’d look in to make sure my slave was in one piece.”
Karen smiled and said, “We used her hard, but she’s sturdy.”
Daniel glanced at his watch. “It’s not quite eight,” he said. “If you’d like some time alone with Famula before the party, you’re welcome to use one of the bedrooms.”
“Thanks,” Master said, “I’d like that.” He walked towards the bedrooms, assuming I’d follow, and of course I did. I’d missed this feeling of joyful submission—I’d obeyed Karen and Daniel, but now I yearned to sit at Master’s feet and be petted.
There were several bedrooms in addition to Daniel and Karen’s and the little one Amanda and I had shared: I followed Master into one of these and closed the door.
He sat on the bed. I knelt beside him and looked up at him happily.
“What have you been doing, Emily?” he said. “No—I’ll tell you. You’ve been helping set up for the party, cooperating with Daniel and Karen’s scheming about what to do with you tonight, and making love to Mouche.”
My heart skipped a beat—but he was smiling, and his eyes were warm and kind. “Did they tell you, Master?” I asked.
“They did,” he said.
“And you’re not angry for . . . for what I did with Amanda—Mouche?”
“Is that her name? Amanda? No, I’m not angry. It sounds as if they wanted the two of you to make love—I don’t know why. You were being obedient, even if you didn’t know it. Did you learn more about Mouche’s kinks?”
“Yes, Master. And I learned that I have at least one hard limit. Shit.”
“That’s a start. There are other kinds of edgeplay that you could probably add to that. Bloodplay, asphyxiation. When you insisted on condoms, you were ruling out barebacking. Those kinds of limits are easy for most people to make.”
“Yes, Master. All those are hard limits.”
“It was generous, what you did with Mouche after you learned about her kinks.”
“People don’t kiss her, Master. It’s terrible to have to live without kisses.”
“You deserve a reward.” He stood up, unbuckled his belt, and undid his pants. “Lie here on the bed,” he said, gesturing.
I lay on the bed, near the edge.
Naked below the waist, he straddled my head and put his cock in my mouth. Already hard, he was delicious—how I’d missed him! He reached down and stroked my pussy, exposed between my leather straps. I spread my legs for him and relished what his strong, gentle fingers were doing to me.
He gave my pussy a sharp slap, and I said “Gmmf!” around his cock as lightning flashed from clit to nipples and all through me. I sucked him harder, willing him deeper into me as he returned to massaging my clit.
He pushed in deeper and thrust three times, then slapped my pussy again.
“Ngghh,” I said, and he fucked my throat hard and slapped—not rhythmically, but at irregular intervals so I didn’t know when the next slap would come, and waiting for the slaps was almost as delicious as the slaps themselves.
He came in my mouth, and when I’d swallowed his cum and he’d pulled out of me, I said, “Master, please, can I have an orgasm?”
He said, “Later, Emily. You need to be fresh for tonight.” He carried his pants to the bathroom adjoining this bedroom and came back a minute later looking as calm and freshly pressed as ever.
“Come, Emily,” he said, took my leash, and led me back to the party room.
It was a little after nine, and guests were already beginning to arrive. They were more or less respectably dressed: they’d change as the evening progressed and they started to unwind.
Master took me to where Daniel and Karen were chatting with one of the new arrivals. Amanda was with them, Karen holding her leash.
Master handed my leash to Daniel and said, “Treat her well. I’ll collect her after midnight.”
Then he strolled off to talk to the partygoers.
Everyone who arriv
ed had to say hello to the host and hostess, and since Amanda and I were with them, we got to see everyone close up. Karen and Daniel didn’t introduce us, of course, since we were only slaves, but occasionally a new arrival would take a moment to admire one or both of us, and even compliment us.
Mostly, though, people looked at us briefly and then paid no more attention. I looked around the room. A lot of people had changed into play clothing—a wild variety of outfits in leather and latex, from Master’s tux to just a jock strap, slinky dresses to harnesses even skimpier than Amanda’s and mine. There were stranger things, too: a man wearing a chastity belt, a woman in a diaper, a bearded man dressed like a schoolgirl, a woman in a straitjacket.
People were beginning to stage their scenes. A naked man was cuffed into the frame, and his Domme was flogging him. I watched, remembering the first time Master had flogged me. I guessed that the table in the middle of the room would be popular: a heavy woman with a ball gag was tied up there in an impossible-looking knot, hands bound below her ass, legs above her head, ass up high, while an equally large man straddled and fucked her. From their behavior I guessed that scene would be over with soon.
Near me, a man said, “Your slave is beautiful.”
I looked away from the table and saw him looking at me. He was about fifty, with a lean, strong look, short gray hair, and blue eyes that seemed to see right into me. He was dressed in a tuxedo—nothing kinky about his clothing. He gave me a little smile. Looking at him was like touching a hot stove, and I shifted my glance to the woman whose leash he was holding. She was lovely, with an oval face, creamy skin, sparkling blue eyes, and short brown hair. She looked at me critically.
Daniel gave me a warm glance and said, “She’s not mine, really. I’ve had her on loan from Frederick for a few days, and she’s been a fine slave.”
“Frederick?”
“There in the leather tuxedo,” said Daniel, nodding in the direction of Master, who was halfway across the room talking to a woman of about sixty with an elaborate hairstyle and a red corset.
The man stared at Frederick for a few seconds. Now his slave was looking at me with dislike. I gave her a reassuring smile.
Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set Page 9
