Much of my free time I spent playing with Mistress Ai and her slaves and learning new things: about fire and ice, the properties of different floggers (hair brushes, wooden spoons, martinets), and new kinds of role play. I studied Ai’s technique as a Dominant. Sometimes I caught myself wishing I could be her slave, though in my more sober moments I realized she was more valuable as a friend. She rarely punished her slaves or even issued commands: the force of her personality was such that they watched her attentively and tried hard to anticipate her wishes. For her slaves, life was strenuous but mostly painless.
Seeing how fascinated Amanda was by Inkei, Mistress Ai assigned him to her for the duration of our stay. They satisfied each other at least once a day, usually more, and Amanda even managed to lure him into the bathroom once or twice. It occurred to me to wonder if their attraction was more than sexual, and they might make a couple, but when I hinted at the possibility to Amanda, she became agitated and clung to my side for the next five hours.
Ai helped me think through my relationship with Amanda. I had been content to allow it to take its own course, but she rightly insisted that that wouldn’t do. I would have to make rules for her and set her to work, and we’d all have to understand in advance what constituted an infraction or a failure to perform. For the time we were with Ai, I was allotted a share of the household chores to assign to her. Kuso was normally in charge of both the apartment’s bathrooms, but Amanda was given one of them to keep clean. She was given a share of the laundry duties as well, and the kitchen floor as her sole responsibility.
On Ai’s recommendation, I made Amanda go naked in the apartment like Ai’s own slaves. Ai’s slaves also ate comme animaux de compagnie, as she delicately put it, and I had Amanda eat the same way. I required her to get my permission for any sexual activity, including masturbation (which I now learned she practiced enthusiastically several times a day), and also to give me an orgasm at least once a day. I forbade her to consume her own excreta, figuring that this would enable me to better monitor that particular kink and keep her healthy. She was a little disappointed, but admitted that Karen and Daniel had imposed the same rule. We had other rules as well, and we typed them up and printed them out. We were evolving a contract.
Amanda was a naturally meek and tractable person, and punishment was almost never necessary. During this period, I only had to punish her once, after I caught her violating the excreta rule one morning. After I’d supervised her cleanup, I consulted with Ai about an appropriate punishment.
“Of course it’s necessary to punish her,” she said, “but you deserve much of the blame for this infraction.”
“How’s that, Mistress?”
“As her Mistress, it’s up to you to see to her needs, and Kuso tells me you’ve been neglecting them.”
I wilted a little.
“It’s difficult for me, Mistress.”
“Is it too distasteful?” Ai asked.
“I think I can deal with that,” I said, “but It’s a hard thing to do to someone you care about. It feels like abuse.”
“But it’s not abuse,” she said. “It’s the thing she needs from you most, after love. It’s the price of keeping her with you.”
“You’re right, Mistress. I owe it to her, and I’ll make myself do better.”
“As to her punishment,” said Ai, “I suppose that corporal punishment wouldn’t work any better with her than it does with you.”
“I think you’re right, Mistress,” I said.
“Orgasm denial?” she asked.
“That would probably be effective. She’s been getting four or more orgasms a day, between Inkei, me, and frequent masturbation. I don’t know how she does it.”
“I think one day without orgasms would be enough,” Ai said. “Any longer would be cruel, given what she’s used to. Or maybe twelve hours, with teasing.”
“Twelve hours,” I said. It was almost exactly nine in the morning.
Amanda was in the bedroom awaiting her sentencing. I sat beside her, held her hand, and told her what her punishment would be.
“No orgasms at all, Emily?”
“No orgasms, baby.”
“Oh.” She looked desolate, and I came close to relenting. But of course that would have been the beginning of the end of our relationship.
I put my arms around her thin, naked body. She huddled against me, seeming very small, though I wasn’t all that much bigger than her.
After a few minutes, I turned to her, nuzzled her ear, and let one hand drop to her left breast. I toyed with her nipple and her little barbell. She sighed and leaned into me, and I listened to her breathing get deeper.
I turned her head towards me and kissed her. I let my hand return to her breast, and when I sensed her kiss growing more passionate, I thrust my tongue into her mouth and reached for her pussy. She was already wet as I massaged her outer labia, and she was wetter as I probed into her with a finger.
“Oh,” she sighed—a frustrated sigh, because she knew what was coming but couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
I laid her down on the bed and teased her labia with my tongue. How I loved the dark pink of her and the unearthly whiteness of her skin! I tongued her opening and teased her clit, the softest possible lick, and she responded, hips moving, saying, “Emily, please—”
I closed my mouth over her pussy and jabbed my tongue into her clit, knowing it would be too much sensation, but she couldn’t resist; she writhed and cried out, “No, please!” I could sense the orgasm building inside her—she always came so easily!—and when she was almost there I sat up and said, “I think you have some work to do in the kitchen.”
“Yes, Emily,” she said dejectedly, and slouched away to see to the kitchen floor. I almost cried at the sight of her rounded shoulders. I sat on the bed for a long time, breathing in the scent of her that remained on my lips.
When Amanda was done in the kitchen, I was waiting for her with a wand vibrator.
“It’s time for my orgasm,” I said, and made her stimulate me with the vibrator and then go down on me till I’d come. I felt mean and worthless, and my orgasm was stingy and feeble. Then I made her lie down on the bed and teased her with the vibrator, not letting her come, till she was weeping and pleading. The rest of the day went the same way. I made her give an orgasm to Inkei, used my mouth, hands, and various toys to tease her, and kept her with me so she couldn’t masturbate in secret. As the punishment went on and she became more desperate, I became more aroused despite (or maybe because of) my empathy for her, so that by eight or so I was nearly as frustrated and needy as she was.
As she tried to eat dinner from her dog bowl, ass high, I played with her pussy and a butt plug I’d put in her, making her whine and squirm. By the time she’d eaten all she could, it was almost nine.
I took her to the bedroom. “How do you want your orgasm, baby?” I asked.
“Would you do it, please, Emily?”
I got a double dildo—the kind that has a sharp angle in it—from the playroom. I undressed and spent the last two minutes of her punishment lubricating the dildo. Then, just as the hour ticked over on the bedside clock, I inserted one end of the dildo into me, turned Amanda onto her stomach, and thrust into her from behind.
“Touch yourself,” I commanded, and fucked her hard. It didn’t take long for her to come with ear-piercing shrieks that went on for nearly a minute.
I held her in my arms, and she said, “I love you, Emily.”
I said, “I love you too, baby.” Then I took her to the bathroom, where I did what I had to do. After that I put her to bed, and Ai, seeing the state I was in, suggested that I spend some time with Inkei. I’ve never been a size queen, but I have to admit that an hour or so with him both soothed my nerves and bolstered my self-esteem.
That was the first time I ever punished Amanda, and, mysteriously, it brought us closer together, like everything we did during the time we spent under Ai’s care. Even though I longed for a Master and was
anxious about the auction, still those days were idyllic. By the twenty-third of June, I knew I had a friend for life in Ai, and I was determined that Amanda would be a non-negotiable part of any contract I signed.
* * *
At around one o’clock on the day of the auction, Andrew, Christopher, Frederick, and Kevin arrived at Ai’s apartment within a few minutes of each other. Inkei and Asoko served drinks and refreshments in the living room while Mistress Ai and Shita prepared Amanda and me in the playroom. Kevin sat cross-legged on the floor and watched. Ai had already made me up extravagantly, with extra dark eyes, dark red lip gloss, a pale foundation, and black nails on both hands and feet. We took our clothes off and Shita carried them away. Ai tied me in intricate and elegant knots and suspended me from the ceiling with my head as high as a man’s. I was upright from my head to my knees, legs spread wide and lower legs tied up behind me. My arms were bound as in a straitjacket, but behind my back. My left hand was bound to my right arm, my right hand free. It was scary and exciting being so exposed, and surprisingly comfortable. Ai tied Amanda’s legs together at the ankles, above the calves, and around the thighs. She laced her arms together behind her back and bound them tight to her body. She laid her on the floor beneath me, on her side and facing forward, slightly bent at the knees and waist. Her sad girl tattoo gazed wanly into my crotch.
Mistress Ai said, “I’ve had the slaves warn everyone that they must not speak a single word or make a sound in the playroom. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
She lit candles and dimmed the lights. She blindfolded both Amanda and me with eye pads and ropes and fitted ball gags into our mouths. She put a marble in my right hand: if I dropped it, the auction would stop. Then she went to get the men.
I heard the shuffling of feet, but nothing else. I listened for breathing, coughing, anything, but could hear nothing. It was easy to guess that they were staring at Amanda and me in astonishment—Mistress Ai had a flair for the dramatic. I wished I could see their faces, but it was my own choice to be blindfolded.
Ai spoke. “Welcome to the auction of the slave girl Emily. I’m going to explain some things about this lot and how the auction will work. This slave, a twenty-three-year-old female, comes with a one-year contract, renewable on mutual agreement. What you see here is exactly what you will get. Aside from a few nugatory items, she has no possessions of her own except one, the slave girl Amanda, also known as Mouche, who is exhibited here with her. Amanda is Emily’s unalienable property. By purchasing Emily as a slave, you implicitly accept the presence of Amanda, much as you would if Emily owned a cat or other pet. You will have no rights over Amanda or her relationship with Emily, except insofar as you negotiate them with Emily. If this is not acceptable to you, now would be a good time to excuse yourself from the auction.”
She paused, but I heard no feet moving. My skin prickled as if I could feel their stares.
She continued. “Each of you has been given an envelope with a numbered card inside. During the auction, Emily will know you only by this number. You may offer one bid only—you will not have an opportunity to revise your offer. Your bid will be in two parts. The first part is a touch. You will be permitted three minutes during which you may touch Emily with your hands, wearing latex gloves. During those three minutes you’ll be with her in this room, alone except for Kevin and me. You may touch her only with your hands. You may not speak to her.
“The second part of your bid is a promise. Your promise must be sincere and heartfelt. You may not promise money or any tangible property—nothing with even the smallest monetary value. It must be a single promise, not a list. After the touch ceremonies have concluded, you will write your promise on the back of your numbered card, replace the card in the envelope, and give it to me. I will read the promises to Emily, and then she will evaluate the touches and promises and choose the winning bid. If you have questions, raise your hand. I’ll accompany you to the living room and answer your questions there.”
She paused for a moment and said, “excuse us, Famula.” I heard the shoes again, and the door closed. We waited. In the dark, hanging from the ceiling, I had no way to judge the passage of time. I wished I could talk to Amanda. I hummed a tune, and Amanda hummed along with me. This little bit of communication was a comfort.
I heard the door open, and a few seconds later Ai’s feather-soft voice said, “All three are still here, though some were disappointed that they couldn’t offer money or goods. Are you ready, Emily?” I nodded. “One minute,” she said. A short time later the door closed, and she said, “Number One.”
I heard nothing. Was it my imagination, or some subtle combination of odor, sound, and gravitational field, operating below the level of consciousness, that made me believe I felt the presence of Number One near me? My pussy tingled; I wondered if I’d drip on poor Amanda, there below me.
My heart skipped a beat when a hand rested on my left hip—I was so exposed and vulnerable!—then my blood raced as, a second later, a finger touched my right side. The finger traced a pattern on my skin, curling under my right breast, around and up: it was the path of the rose vine. I shivered with the sensuousness of the touch and the easy confidence of the hand on my hip. What was the feeling? It was admiration, love, possessiveness—not only of my sex, but also of my body as art, or at least a medium in which art could be created. The finger touched the ring in my nipple, and the hand shaped itself around the curve of my breast and ran down my side, around behind me, cupping my ass. The other hand moved from my hip up to my waist—then the hand on my ass was gone. Something touched my clit ring—surely I was dripping now!—then pulled it gently. The hands left me, and a few seconds later touched my toes and fingers and followed the rose vine from my ass up over my back. Oh, Number One believed I was beautiful, and the thought was divine. After a short time, the hands moved to my waist, and he now held me with both hands, exerting light pressure, a little like an embrace.
“Time,” said Mistress Ai. The hands left me, and I was alone again in the darkness and the silence, without sensation. I counted silently this time and got to forty before Mistress Ai said, “Number Two.”
Something—a finger—slid into my slit. How bold this one was! I sensed ownership in his hand, and now I had no doubt that I was wet, responding strongly, excitement racing through my body, lighting me up. His hand covered me as the finger slid into me, deep inside, and fucked me gently and slowly. His other hand touched a breast, the one with the ring, just covered it warmly with a palm, fingers closing around the swell of it. I tongued my ball gag and my mouth watered. Then Number Two took my nipple ring with his fingers and pulled. That nipple seemed wired to my pussy—sensation arced between them. The first finger slipped out of my pussy and back to my anus while the other hand went to my clit. I could move my hips a little, tied and suspended as I was, and I pushed forward, wanting more stimulation—he responded by rubbing harder. I wanted to save myself for Number Three, but couldn’t resist the raw sexuality of these hands; I knew I’d come soon if he went on . . .
“Time,” said Mistress Ai. Those hands, too, were gone, and I waited, impatient and feverish now. Amanda made a soft, tuneless sound down below me, like a purr. I answered her quietly, and calmed a little.
“Number Three,” said Mistress Ai, and we both fell silent. It was many seconds before the finger touched my lips, tracing their outline around the ball gag and probing into me below the ball. My mouth watered and overflowed, and my pussy was hot: by now both my saliva and my pussy had to be dripping on Amanda. The finger traced a wet line from my lip to my chin, the path of my drool—then it was gone. Again it was many seconds before I felt another touch. This time the hand spanked my right breast—just hard enough to sting and no more: Number Three knew exactly how hard to strike to produce the sensation he wanted. Oh, that hand was good, it was controlled. I wanted another spank, but it didn’t come, not on my breast. Time passed, as before, and then the spank came on my
bottom. I twitched in my ropes; once again it stung just enough to suggest control and knowledge of me and my responses. Now a finger traced a path from my ass down to my thigh, around my leg, and up to my pussy. It toyed lightly with my clit, teasing. I was already wet. This wasn’t enough sensation—I twisted and made a little noise in my throat, like Amanda’s mewing, pleading for more. Then the hand spanked me again, on my pussy this time, just hard enough to promise much more pain and pleasure. I jumped in my ropes and tongued my ball again—I must have looked obscene, a strand of saliva escaping from my mouth, hanging from my lower lip, dropping to my mound. I could come just thinking about the indignity and sensuality of it . . .
“Time,” said Mistress Ai. “Now the bidders will have ten minutes to consider their promises and write them down. I’ll go to the living room with them, and Kevin and Shita will be here to make sure you stay safe.”
I heard the retreating feet, and then someone removed my ball gag. “Amanda?” I whispered. “Kevin?”
Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set Page 20
