Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set

by Serafina Conti

  “Yes, Emily,” she whispered.

  She twitched as I dripped wax onto her mound, and then she pulled her labia apart so I could drip the wax into her slit. She squirmed and mewed, but didn’t flinch.

  “Nice?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she sighed.

  I dripped different colors into her pussy and all around, covering outer and inner labia and mound.

  “It makes your pussy even prettier,” I said.

  Ai said, “It feels good when you peel it off of oiled skin. Start with the breasts.”

  Amanda sighed as I carefully peeled the wax off everywhere I’d dripped it, drawing out the process to prolong the pleasure. Then Ai said, “Your turn, Famula.” Amanda got up, and I lay on my front. Inkei’s hands were warm, confident, and sensuous as he smoothed the oil over my back, buttocks, and legs, then everywhere in front. He didn’t linger over my breasts and mound—he was a well trained slave.

  His cock was hard again as he retreated to the wall, where Amanda crouched beside him, staring. Ai said, “You may, Mouche.” Amanda moved around to the front of him and, without any preliminaries, took his cock in her mouth. He closed his eyes and looked happy.

  Ai dripped some wax onto my thigh and said, “I started with your pussy the other night, so you didn’t get a sense of how subtle the pain of the wax could be. And the melting point of these candles is quite low compared to some.”

  Every now and then I glanced at Amanda, who was expertly deep throating Inkei. I wondered if I could do it with a cock that big.

  Ai dripped some more wax: it made a little spot of intense heat, followed by a streak of sensual warmth. She worked her way up my thigh, not quite to my crotch, and then moved to one of my breasts—the one without the ring. She raised the candle high and held it, waiting. It was scary, my body was revving up, adrenalin coursing into my bloodstream; and when she finally tipped the candle and the wax dripped, almost but not quite, onto my nipple, the heat radiated all through me. “Oh, that’s good,” I said.

  The next drop hit my nipple—there was a flash of pain, and then it was a warm finger tracing a line towards my armpit. More and more, she switched candles, pleasing herself with the different colors, and held them closer to my skin, making the sensation more intense, flame arcing through my body.

  I looked over at Amanda, still sucking Inkei’s cock: he looked as if he was struggling to keep himself under control. Ai looked around too and said, “It’s all right, Inkei.” Within seconds his breathing grew deep and labored, his chest heaved, and Amanda coughed and spluttered.

  “Inkei produces prodigious amounts of semen,” Ai said. “I’ve been encouraging him to bequeath his prostate to medical science, but as he has no other possessions, he’s reluctant to have a will drawn up for that sole purpose.”

  Inkei’s cock was shrinking now as Amanda licked it lovingly. Ai moved to my pussy and dripped wax onto my mound, again starting with the candle high and slowly moving it closer. My labia were still a little chafed and sensitive, and the wax burned and stimulated as it dripped down in and around my slit, making me groan and writhe. It was an effort not to reach for my clit.

  Finally Ai said, “Mouche, do you want to clean Famula? Come, Inkei.” She lay on the floor and spread her legs, and Inkei obediently went down on her. Already his cock was getting hard again.

  Amanda’s eyes shone as she approached me. The wax peeled off my oiled skin easily, but she went slowly and massaged me gently where the wax had sensitized my thigh and breast. When she’d cleaned the wax off my nipple, she sucked and licked it, and it was the best feeling I’d ever had there. She did the same for my pussy, too, when she’d peeled off the wax, and brought me to a soft and delicious climax.

  We cuddled and watched Inkei service Ai: he lay on his back now, and she was riding him. After several minutes she had a quiet and dignified orgasm, and then she stood and said, “That’s enough, Inkei. You’ll have a generous reward tonight.” He got up and returned to his station along the wall.

  Mistress Ai turned and looked at me. “I hope we can play again,” she said, “as friends, the way we did today.”

  “I’d like that, Mistress,” I said, knowing that being Ai’s friend could never mean being her equal. She would always be the Dominant, whether we were drinking tea or playing, whether I was the bottom or the top. I liked this new friendship.

  “Why don’t you two run along and have a nice shower,” she said. “You’ll find towels under the sink.” When we got to the bathroom I realized I needed to pee. A sub like Amanda comes with responsibilities, which I’d been neglecting since her arrival. I took care of her now, and we showered together and had fun soaping each other up and picking off the last of the wax. Then we got dressed and returned to Ai.

  It was time to go. Ai saw us to the door and said, “Now tell me once more what you’re going to say to Christopher.”

  * * *

  “I won’t agree to be lent out anymore,” I said.

  We were in his study. He was sitting in a big leather armchair, and I sat cross legged on the floor in front of him.

  “It’s in your contract that I can lend you,” he said.

  “And that I can refuse to be lent. I’m telling you now that I will always refuse, so you may as well not ask.”

  “Why is this, Emily?”

  “Because I felt horrible after our party the other night.”

  “You seemed all right. You were happy at the end of the evening.”

  “It gave me a nightmare, and I realized that I don’t want to be the kind of girl who has sex for somebody else’s pleasure.”

  “You have sex with me to please me.”

  “You’re my Master, and it’s my pleasure to please you. And sex with you also pleases me, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “You have sex with Mouche to please me.”

  “I won’t do that anymore, Master. It doesn’t feel right.”

  He sat back in his chair and studied me, thinking behind steepled fingers. At last he said, “I won’t give you permission to have sex with her merely for your own pleasure.”

  “Master has that right.”

  “I don’t have any other use for her. Frankly, I find the idea of having sex with her myself repellent. There’s no point in my renewing her contract at the end of the week. She’ll have to go.”

  I thought Mistress Ai had probably envisioned this conversation as a chess game, but if so she’d been mistaken: the game was chicken. I studied Master’s face: it was set and determined. He looked the way I felt.

  “You’re saying that to pressure me,” I said, “because you know I’m responsible for her and won’t let her be on her own and die. But it won’t work. If she goes, I go.”

  His face went rigid. For the first time since January, he was really angry. “Very well, then,” he said. “You go.” He rose abruptly and left the room, leaving me stunned on the floor.

  I breathed deeply. This was no time to be losing my head. I went upstairs and collected Amanda. I said, “We’re not welcome here anymore. We’re leaving tonight.”

  “Where’ll we go?” she said.

  “We’ll try Mistress Ai,” I said, and tried to call her, but I could only leave a message.

  “We can go to a hotel,” said Amanda.

  “The only credit card I have is his,” I said.

  “I have one,” she said.

  I looked at her in surprise. “Wonder girl,” I said. The Washington Square Hotel was the closest I could think of. I called up and got us a room. We threw changes of clothing for her and me into an overnight bag and left the house.

  In our hotel room, Amanda fell asleep quickly, but I lay beside her for much of the night thinking of angry things I wished I’d said to Christopher. When I couldn’t think of any more I worked on angry things to say to Frederick. It was after three when I fell asleep.

  * * *

  Mistress Ai called in the morning and ordered us over to her place. My phone rang as
we were walking there. It was Christopher, and I didn’t answer. Seeing his name on the screen just pissed me off.

  Another naked male slave, also hairless, let us into the apartment. Ai greeted us in her living room and said, “Thank you, Kuso.” He silently disappeared.

  “Christopher just called,” she said. “Of course he’s beside himself and full of self-recriminations and apologies. He realizes how foolish he’s been. He’ll make any concession to get you back.”

  I said, “He can go fuck himself.”

  “He really loves you, and I believe his contrition is genuine. It might be possible for you to find happiness with him, if he could find another way to satisfy his voyeuristic urges. But you have a choice.”

  “Are you talking about Frederick?”

  “He’s desperate to have you back. He’s been in despair, thinking there’s no chance of it. He figured out that he’d made a mistake long before Pipit ran away.”

  “And there’s Andrew,” I murmured.

  “Andrew?”

  I told her about Andrew.

  “If you know him well, he’s a real possibility,” she said. “But he sounds naive. That makes him risky.”

  “They’re all risky, aren’t they?” I said. “At least Andrew and I were together and happy for more than a year. But they’ve all hurt me. I don’t know if I can trust any of them.”

  Ai said, “People are imperfect, and when you’re talking about someone as powerful as a Dom, there’s the potential for ordinary human frailties to become magnified and do great harm. I know it’s easy for me to say, being a Dominant myself, but it’s worth considering the possibility that exposing yourself to the risk of that kind of harm is actually one of your greatest sources of pleasure.”

  What she was saying made sense. “Danger does excite me,” I said, getting a little excited.

  “It’s true,” she continued, “that these men all hurt you. But the two I know are eager to learn from their mistakes and have you back on your own terms. They have their flaws, but they’re good Masters, and with a good submissive, one who truly understands the power dynamics of the relationship, they can learn to be better. They’re well off, too. Not Christian Greys,” she said with a smile, “but comfortable. Does your Andrew have money?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “He’s been working in the perfume department at Saks.”

  “You don’t have to worry about money,” said Amanda. “I have lots.”

  I stared at her.

  “I lived with Daniel and Karen for four years,” she said. “They’re rich, you know. They put something in an account for me every month. Daniel said it grew. There’s a lot there now.”

  “But that’s yours, Amanda,” I said.

  She shrugged. “I don’t really want it,” she said. “I want to belong to you, Emily.”

  “I don’t want it either,” I sighed. “I want to own nothing at all and belong to a Master.”

  “There are three good men who want to own you,” Ai said. “Just pick one—or if none of them will do, we’ll work on finding a fourth.”

  I thought about the three of them: my stumbling, fun start in BDSM with Andrew, Frederick’s strength, Christopher’s elegance. Ai was right: they had all been good Masters, even if they’d made mistakes. It wouldn’t be easy to forgive them, but I thought I could do it.

  “I’ll have to think about this,” I said. “Maybe sleep on it.”

  “You’ll stay with me till you’ve decided,” said Ai.

  We stayed and played with wax again. This time I dripped the wax on Amanda’s bottom and back and removed it by flogging it off her, and Ai did the same for me. Amanda hit it off with Kuso, another genuine toilet slave, and while they were discussing their shared interests, Ai gave me important pointers about the care and feeding of that particular kind of slave.

  I lay awake much of the night, trying to decide among the three Masters who wanted me. In the morning, over breakfast, Ai said, “Well, you’ve slept on it. Have you made a decision?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mistress,” I said. “Each of them has lots of good qualities and at least one important drawback. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I thought you might have trouble deciding,” said Ai, “and I’m ready with another suggestion. Do you want to hear it?”

  Chapter 11. A touch and a promise

  This isn’t subspace. Where is it . . . hell? I can’t see . . . can’t hear. Pain . . . stimulation—they’re the same. Mouth open . . . dry . . . tongue thick. Need to speak . . . can’t make words.

  Except one.

  “Satis!” I cry. It’s my safeword, the one Andrew gave me so long ago—Latin for “Enough!” I’ve told it to each of my Masters, but I’ve never used it or understood its true power. In an instant, it changes everything.

  It only takes Master a minute, here in Ai’s playroom, to lower me to the floor and extract me, weak and trembling, from the ropes, take out the probes, and detach the nipple clamps. He gathers me up in his arms—my head rests on his shoulder—and carries me to the bathroom, where he sets me on the toilet and runs the bath while I pee. He shakes in some bath salts and pulls up his sleeve to test the temperature with his wrist.

  I wipe myself and try to get up, but my legs won’t hold me. I fall back onto the toilet seat. Master picks me up again—how strong he is!—and lifts me into the bath. He sits by the tub, watches, and waits, saying nothing. I close my eyes, soak, and feel the bathwater work on my sore skin and muscles.

  Strength returns to me slowly. Maybe I’ve slept a little. I open my eyes and he’s still there. I know he’s been with me the whole time.

  Why did I resist using my safeword for so long? It’s hard even to remember: half an hour ago was another life. Maybe I believed saying it was a failure of submission, or maybe I thought I was too tough to need it. But the instant I said it, I understood that I had given Master a great gift. In using the power of my word, I had shaped and defined the power I was giving him, and I had given him permission to use all of that power to dominate me. When I asserted the power of the word, I submitted to him utterly.

  “I’m okay now,” I say, and sit up. He reaches for a white towel as I stand and step out onto the mat. I’m wobbly, but I stay upright. He pats me dry, not hurrying, and wraps the towel around me. He picks me up again, carries me to the bedroom Mistress Ai assigned us, and lays me on the bed. There’s a bottle of sweet almond oil on the nightstand, and he massages me everywhere—back first, then front. It cools and soothes me, but it leaves me aroused and needy again. I’d beg him to make love to me, but I know I have to be patient.

  Finished with the massage, he bends down, cups my chin in his hand, and kisses me—all too briefly. He stands, and I raise myself and sit on the edge of the bed.

  He says, “They’re waiting.”

  * * *

  Mistress Ai chose the date and insisted on hosting the event. She made her slave Shita (who had a fine calligraphic hand in addition to surpassing skill at cunnilingus) make up three cards that read:

  TO BE SOLD

  by private auction

  on Saturday, June 23rd, 2012, at 1:00pm:

  SLAVE GIRL EMILY

  also known as Famula.

  Payment is due immediately upon winning the auction.

  Collaring will take place upon payment.

  This lot is sold without warranty

  in “As Is” condition.

  At the bottom was Mistress Ai’s address and “RSVP” with her telephone number. She had Kuso deliver the cards to Andrew, Christopher, and Frederick, with strict instructions (on pain of most unpleasant punishment) to place them directly into the hands of the addressees. It was easy to deliver the cards to Frederick and Christopher: Ai’s name brought Frederick out of a partners’ meeting and Christopher from seclusion in the library. Andrew was harder to find, since he worked irregular hours and spent little time at home, but the slave finally tracked him down in the break room at Saks.

&n
bsp; All three of the men called within a few hours and peppered Ai with questions. They all wanted to know if the auction notice was serious. It was, she said. I fully intended to become the slave of whoever won the auction. They all wanted to know who else had received the notice, and she told them, as we’d agreed she would.

  Frederick wanted to know what the point of the auction was, since it was obvious that he could easily outbid a college professor and a store clerk. She told him that outbidding his rivals might not be as easy as he expected. Christopher wanted to know if in-kind goods (for example, the deed on a house) would be accepted as payment, and she said such things would be as good as cash. Mistress Ai had to talk Andrew into attending at all. She explained to him why I was unattached and looking for a Master. He said he had little hope of competing with the other two Masters: he barely made enough to support himself, let alone bid on expensive goods at auctions. She told him it was my earnest wish that he be there, and added that he should not assume that he wasn’t rich enough to win. In the end he agreed to come.

  All three men asked if they could talk to me, and her answer was no. I wanted to remain in seclusion until the day of the auction.

  Daniel called and asked if he could attend and bid; so did the repulsive Teddy from the New Year’s Eve party. Mistress Ai said she was very sorry that she could not permit them to either bid or attend. She received a number of similar calls from would-be Doms (mostly fantasists and psychopaths, she said), and she left it to her slaves to fend them off. It seemed that my auction was the talk of the New York BDSM community. At my request, Ai invited my mentor Kevin to attend as a friend and witness. Four of her slaves would be in attendance (the fifth slave, Anma the masseur, had to be in Melbourne for a cardiology conference). Inkei and her slave girl, whom she called Asoko, would serve refreshments, Shita would assist in the playroom, and Kuso would tend to the needs of guests in the bathroom. Amanda would be with me. We spent the days before the twenty-third playing and planning.

  I spent some of the time questioning Amanda on the subject of her money. She was maddeningly vague about it, but between what she told me and what I learned later, I managed to work out that Daniel and Karen had been depositing twenty thousand a month in a brokerage account for her over the past four years, a total of not quite a million, and with extra deposits made as presents, Daniel’s clever management, and his access to insider trading information, the value of the account had grown to somewhere around three million. Daniel and Karen had performed some complex legal maneuvers, which I never did fully understand, to evade the taxes Amanda would have had to pay if the money had been simply gift. Further, they had made a final deposit of one million the day after Amanda left. I impressed upon her that the money was really hers, even if she believed she belonged to me, but it was hard to get the point across. She seemed to have almost forgotten what money was for. But when she learned that she could have an apartment in Manhattan or a house in Brooklyn, she got excited and started to study online property listings—though she was far from realistic about what she could afford. It was strange to think that I could easily wind up living in a home owned by my slave.