That night we watched TV. Or at least, he did. I watched him watch TV while I knelt by him on the floor.
Today is two months since I last wore clothes.
My back and my knees soon started to hurt and I shifted as subtly as I could on the carpet. We stayed like that for a long while. He flipped channels until he came to a political talk show where he lingered. The droning voices of the talking heads made me sleepy and I forced myself to stay awake. I kept making sure to diligently gaze up at his face even though he never acknowledged my presence. I was becoming such a good little slave pet! The sight of his strong masculine features soon began to blur and fill my mind with a collage of images. I suppose that having to watch somebody for hours on end would make anybody daydream. I started to feel infatuated with the object of my forced attention. Perhaps it was inevitable given how beautiful my master is. Before being with him I never realized that a man's face could be so interesting. With time his features have acquired something akin to a hypnotic effect on me. The more I gaze upon them, the more enthralled I become with his rugged appearance.
I was wrested out of my thoughts when he suddenly reached for the remote and clicked the TV off. Without a word he stood and walked over and seated himself in the couch facing the kitchen. He grabbed a medical journal, plucked his glasses and put them on. I had followed him crawling on my knees. I hadn’t been told to stand.
“Are you thirsty?”
“Yes, Master.” Being in milk made me almost constantly thirsty. I knew he was well aware of that.
“Go ahead. Go get yourself some water.”
“Thank you, Master.” It felt slightly painful to stand after kneeling for such a long time on the hard floor.
He saw me reach into the cupboard to get a water glass and I heard him clear his throat. The almost invisible tiny little hairs on the back of my neck stood on edge. I froze, my arm outstretched expecting his guidance that I knew had to be coming one way or another.
"If you are thirsty, I'd rather you took a bowl instead of a glass." I could hear him flipping pages in the medical journal he was reading behind me. Gingerly I closed the cupboard with the water glasses and opened the one with the soup bowls. The time spent with Dr. Branigan had taught me nothing if not to pay especially careful attention to those times when he’d instruct me to do something almost as an afterthought. I had learned by now that it was his way to bait me into questioning him or even outright rebellion. It never ended well for me. Somehow I always wound up doing what he had initially suggested but with a chastened behind or heated pussy. I felt my heart beat faster. What was he planning?
I took a medium-size glass bowl, filled it with water, and looked up at him questioningly. He seemed deep in thought engrossed with whatever he was reading, his glasses perched on the tip of his beautifully symmetrical classic profile. He didn't look up from the text. "Place the bowl on the floor and drink from it. But don’t use your hands." He flipped the page again shaking his head in mock disappointment with something he had just read. My mouth fell agape. He wanted me to lap up water from a bowl like a dog! My hands which suddenly started shaking with nerves and frustration. I so wanted to refuse his nasty idea.
No! I knew better. That would only serve his purpose. He had been suspiciously light this morning with my ritual flogging. The couple of gentle swats across my bottom had been all and for an anguishing moment I had almost begged him for more. The guilt that had overcome me at my own depraved craving had almost taken my breath away. What was I becoming? A pain slut!
At first I thought that the reason I hadn’t been punished with my master’s habitual severity was Mr. Henry’s midday visit. Now, however, I knew why Master had spared me a couple of hours ago. He was going to bait me into yet getting punished tonight!
I took a deep breath and bade my mind to not fall for his simple manipulation. Carefully I placed the full bowl of water on the floor and knelt by it. Even after weeks of time spent on my knees the submissiveness of the posture made my womb tighten and my pussy moisten the moment my knees touched the expensive hardwood. A little shiver ran all across my body and I gasped. My senses shifted gears and I began entering that new space I had recently started discovering in my psyche. I could hear every little rustle of paper as he turned pages. I could sense the cold air of the room wash across my rapidly hardening nipples and felt a million of water droplets as they trickled onto my tongue and into my mouth and down my throat. The sounds of my lapping lips filled the room.
"Keep drinking," he said and I felt him look up at me. “I want it all gone. For every milliliter of water left, you will get the strap once." I almost screamed then, my body went rigid as every muscle stood on edge. I resumed drinking. What was I to do? I kept lapping even as I started cursing myself for having chosen one of the salad bowls from the cupboard. I kind of liked the retro etchings in the crystal along its rim. It was nice and wide and I was able to stick my face in it, purse my lips and try to make them into something like a straw as I attempted to suck in the water. Soon however I was down past the limit where my lips or tongue could reach no matter how much I pressed my face into the vessel.
I whimpered miserably. I had no idea how many darned milliliters were left but it seemed like a lot. My belly rumbled with the sensation of all the water I had taken in. He was going to punish me and yet he was also making me feel somehow complicit in my pain. After what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, I finally got the level of water down to the midway point. I allowed myself to take a breath of respite and then continued.
As I kept going I felt rather than saw Master Branigan stand. I heard him go to use the downstairs bathroom. The bastard! For a fleeting instant while I heard him do his business I had the irrational impulse to jump and pour out the remaining liquid into the kitchen sink. But I supressed the thought. It would never work. Master always found out when I tried to skirt some order of his and the punishment was always severe! My eyes misted with tears but I continued miserably lapping at my bowl.
The strap! Until tonight he had never strapped me before going to bed. I would probably not even be able to fall asleep with the aftershocks of my chastisement once it was done. I had been thinking that my day of tribulations was over. How wrong could I be?
Time has slowed down to a trickle as I squirm and kneel painfully at my master’s feet. Should I? Do I even have a choice? Is he playing me, waiting, baiting me to wet the carpet rug where I kneel just so that he can punish me more? It is almost two hours since dinner and all this water I drank has now made its way through my body.
"M-master?" My voice sounds small and wavering. At first I'm not even sure he has heard me. It is as if the room's thick and expensive Persian rug and leather furniture have swallowed my voice up into nothingness. Another shameful convulsion.
"M-M a-"
"Yes, sweetheart?" His voice sounds warm, inquisitive and as if his mind is on something else entirely.
"I am I'm sorry but all this water I drank…"
"What about it?" Now he sounds almost annoyed with my pettiness.
“I have to pee!” I blurt out like a three-year-old doing all I possibly can to not dissolve into tears. He looks at me from above those glasses of his and seems to be expecting me to say something more. I just gape back and a sense of indignant outrage makes me want to bounce up and slam that stupid laptop of his shut just so he can pay me his undivided attention. Then I realize my mistake.
"Master," I add quickly, uttering the word I'm sure he's been waiting for. A terse thin lipped smile edges across his face. The silence builds but then he visibly relaxes in his seat.
“Good. You may go to use the facilities now."
"Thank you, Master," the sincerity of my own words makes the small hairs on the back of my neck rise in tingling humiliation.
"Thank you," I whisper again and stand and run to the little washroom adjacent to his office so that I can relieve myself at last.
I’m back as soo
n as possible and resume my spot demurely kneeling by his desk.
“I’ve changed my mind about tonight’s penance.” I look up at him unable to hide the questions racing through my mind. Is he going to make it even more humiliating and painful than simply using the strap?
“I will allow you to use your own hand and spank your nipples an equal amount of times each. I know I told you that you will be punished based on the amount of water you couldn't drink after dinner. I have changed my mind. I want you to decide the strength and number of strikes you think you deserve."
His voice strikes me as being unusually deep and husky and something about the way he almost bashfully looks at his laptop and resumes working makes me choke up with emotion. I am touched like I never thought I could be by the enormous vote of confidence he has just given me. I want to run up into his arms and hug him as tight as I can. Instead, I demurely keep my place and leave him to work. I already know that I have now made up my mind to really demonstrate my devotion. I will not spare myself. In fact, I will make sure that tomorrow morning when he reaches down to nurse at my breast, he will be impressed by the red and blue bruises I will have left there for him to appreciate.
***
I was just about to go clean up in the kitchen when I remembered something. "Master?"
"Yes, sweet girl." Dr. Branigan appears to be doing email.
"The forms from the court arrived today." He looks up and I can see the smile reflected in his eyes.
"The ones about your name change?"
"Yes, Master." For some reason I am finding it hard to meet his eyes again.
"Anything I should know?" There it is – that ominous glint that never fails to make me feel as if the temperature in the room has dropped at least ten degrees.
"No… Just… That I still don't know what my new name will be."
"That's probably because I still haven't told you."
"Yes, Master." I remain standing and I feel my bottom lip quiver. I bite it and suck on it but the tears start pouring down my cheeks and onto my chest. Master is tapping away at the keyboard and for a long moment appears completely oblivious to my outburst.
Then, finally, he looks up. His eyes are brimming with irritation, then his frustration seems to be washed away and replaced with pity.
"Come here, pet." He pushes back his laptop and puts away his reading glasses and scoots back in his chair. I walk over sniffling and make to sit in his lap but he motions me to kneel instead. "Do you trust me, sweetheart?"
His knowing hands are everywhere – gently sliding through my hair, wiping away my tears, carefully squeezing my shoulders. I nod and hiccup with anxiety. I don't want to cry but for some reason I just cannot stop. He watches me, his eyes now full of sympathy.
"Don't you see? You're still not quite ready. When I have earned your full unconditional trust and you surrender yourself to me completely, when you no longer care what you’re called so long as it makes your master happy, then I will tell you your new name. Now for the time being, you will fill out those forms and leave your new name blank and then give them to me."
"Yes sir," I hear myself say and another small part of my old self dies. He moves forward in his chair, his knees now crowding me in on both sides and slowly, like in a dream I watch him unbutton his fly and open it up.
He’s correct, of course. I'm completely helpless – and this fact is strangely empowering right now. There's no point in worrying, no point deliberating what if's – he can choose whatever name he likes for me. I have already agreed to it. Then he softly tilts my chin up with his fingers. He bends his head and kisses me, his beautiful mouth feels sweet and gentle on mine. I look up at him wondering if I should speak.
What should I say? Should I plead to have a vote on the name he chooses? Should I ask to be set free? I want to see humanity somewhere buried deep in his eyes but I only see him watch me and wait. His lack of words right now suddenly takes all of mine away. I cannot find the strength to bargain with him, so I bargain with myself instead. Perhaps giving him the pleasure he so obviously wants will feel me fill me with the sense of accomplishment I so desperately need right now. Then maybe I might even be able to get him to tell me what my new name will be.
A now familiar response warms my body making me crave what is to come next. He feeds himself to me as my lips greedily work to unveil him from the heavy darkness between his strong muscular thighs. My mouth suckles on to him and he moves his hands to run along through my hair again. I swoon reassured and inhale his manly scent. It has been mere weeks since he taught me how to deep throat. I had lost my voice from the bruising he had inflicted upon my vocal cords but now I know how to move and open up correctly and soon his breathing comes heavier and louder. When he spills himself into me, my only regret is that he is in too deep for me to be able to really taste him.
He uses his strong hands to squeeze and massage my throat and help me swallow and for some reason again I blush hotly and want to die.
“Now bid me good night,” he orders and immediately I just do his bidding. I kiss his ring, bow and kneel back on my heels.
“Good night, Master.”
“Good night, sweet slave. Don't forget to do your reading from the book I told you. Tomorrow I will quiz you and if you fail again you will be punished.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you.” I hurry out the room padding down barefoot along the cold marble floors to his study to take the ancient volume of evil fairytales. There will be no negotiating with my master tonight. Nonetheless a new thought keeps bothering me now – Mr. Henry mentioned that the leader of my Master’s society will insist that I am shaved down below. But what about my chastity belt! How in the world is my master going to ensure that I am denuded of hair if he doesn’t have the key?
Or maybe he will not be the one to shave me there? The thought that I will have to bare myself to yet another man I have never even met is too much for my innocent virgin heart and I almost swoon and faint to the floor. Somehow I manage to steady myself and having taken a deep breath, I open the door to his study. A big dusty tome sits ominously atop his large desk.
Actually, I'm grateful for the new homework he has assigned me. I know better than to protest being sent off to bed like that but the truth is I'm really not sleepy yet. It is only 8 PM. I still have one more hour before my first pumping for the night.
This reminds me to stop in the kitchen and pour myself a big glass of ice cold water. It is important to stay well hydrated at all times. My master is still hoping that my milk output will increase. It will break my heart to disappoint him.
~
Lena:
When I woke up that day I knew something was terribly wrong. I could sense it like a gentle unease, a malignant anticipation of something uncomfortable in my immediate future. I pushed it to the side of my mind and went about completing my morning routine. My pussy felt hot and my nipples were tender where I had slapped myself on my Master’s instructions last night. Still woolly-minded from sleep I decided against chastising myself. I decided to wait for Dr. Branigan's instructions later. Last night, when he had instructed me to punish myself at the end of the day, he hadn’t said anything about the morning, and even though it had been my instinct to try and impress him, I now lacked the will to carry through on my own idea. Instead, I stuck to my normal morning routine.
I did submission and repeated my mantra of devotion for my master on my knees in front of his framed photo hanging on the wall of my sparse bedroom. Then, I showered and had a quick bite to eat making sure to drink enough milk and juice so I would be well hydrated. Master still had high hopes that my milk output would increase even more and I didn’t want to disappoint him.
Finally, it was time to go and gently begin waking him up. I would start by first reading him select passages from the book The Source by James Michener, one of his favorite authors who we had been reading recently. Then, upon a sign that he was ready, I would crawl into his bed, he would spread his legs wider as I made
my way up from the foot of the bed, my breasts heavy with milk hanging from my chest, and my nipples hot and hard with swollen eagerness.
He would lift his cock up with one hand and I would cover him with kisses. I would worship him with my mouth until he was ready to drink. I would be careful to not bring him to completion with my mouth. He usually preferred to save himself and not come until late in the afternoon, or early evening when his work for the day was done. He had once explained to me that the thought of coming in my mouth or my nether hole was all the motivation he would need to get through even the hardest workday.
My daydreams were cut short the moment I stepped into his bedroom.
The bed was empty and Dr. Branigan was not in his room. The bed was perfectly made and it seemed as if he hadn't even slept in it. On his pillow was a note, written in his terse flowing script.
"My sweet child," it said. "It is time. Today they will come for you. This is your last chance to leave me. It is your last chance to exert your own free will. If the emissaries from the society find you here, they will take that to mean that you have tacitly accepted your own subjugation to its ancient customs. These are people who will no longer honor your contract of service to me. You will be treated as a slave in the full meaning of the word. If for any reason you find that idea as abhorrent as it sounds, if it conflicts with your own wishes, walk out now!" He had underlined the last three words and capitalized them for emphasis.
Lena's Fall: Volumes Eight through Fifteen of Lena’s Journey Page 11
