by Harte, Roxy
I wag my rubber tail, letting it smack ass cheek to ass cheek.
“You come in here, looking so dark and dangerous, mysterious. You have every sub within sight drooling over you, dying to be topped by you. And yet you are here, begging me to master you. Don’t think you are going to top me from below, mutt. If that is your game, it isn’t going to happen.”
She kisses me, filling my mouth with her tongue. I kiss back, I can’t help kissing her back, mouth and teeth and tongues in a desperate battle of wills. Sitting back on her heels, she looks at me hard and I meet her gaze. “You don’t kiss like a puppy.”
Standing, she walks behind me and jerks the butt plug out none too gently.
I stay on my hands and knees, knowing I fucked up. I was supposed to be submissive. How hard can that be? I whine, lie down and roll over. I try my best to look needy and pathetic. Submissive. I keep my eyes lowered, even when she asks, “Why?”
I stare at the intricate design of the oriental rug until it blurs, trying so hard to think of something to say, knowing it wouldn’t go over very well if I admitted that I’ve wanted to fuck her since the first moment I saw her. Finally I whisper, “Punish me. Please.” God. Why did I say that? There are hundreds who would willingly beat me to death if I turned myself in to my enemies and yet I kneel here, naked, before this slip of a woman.
I hear her footsteps, walking away from me.
No, no, no. Daring to look up, I watch her cross the room, expecting her to open the door and demand I leave, but she doesn’t. She opens a large cabinet that displays floggers, paddles, canes and crops. “Training a new puppy is hard work, time-consuming. I’m not convinced I want to make that investment in you.”
Lying on my back, hands and feet in the air, I nod and whine. She wiggles a finger, gesturing for me to come to her. It is the most entrancing vision of a woman I have ever faced. God. What is it about her? I roll back onto hands and knees and hurriedly crawl forward. I pant, hoping she can see how happy I will be to please her. Hurt me. Hurt me. Hurt me. She squats beside me, stroking my scalp. The sensation is delicious. I only notice too late she is also going to add small clamps to my scrotum. The bite of pain is quick and not so delicious. Normally I like pain. Like it a lot, but it seems every healed bullet wound flairs anew with pain. Four. Five. Six clamps.
I drop to my elbows, moaning. She comments, “Low pain threshold. This should be interesting,” and then she chuckles.
Low pain threshold? You’re joking, right? I flew halfway around the world with almost a dozen bullets in me and didn’t pass out. That’s a pretty high tolerance if you ask me. But she doesn’t know that, does she?
She stands, then retrieves a birch cane from the cabinet. When she walks back to my side I drop my eyes, refusing to look at her until her boots enter my field of vision.
Without warning she strikes my ass and though I absolutely refuse to cry out my knees buckle under me. She waits, impatiently tapping her foot, as I force myself back into position and try to remember how to breathe.
The wind whistles just before the birch makes contact with my skin, and I brace for impact. Holy mother of God.
I scoot away, not enjoying being on the receiving end of this.
She steps in my way and I collide with her boots. I look up guiltily. “You don’t really believe you deserve to be punished, do you? All of this is merely a bitter pill to swallow, a means to an end. You’re only here because you want to stick your nasty thing inside of me. You want to get off and go, maybe brag a bit about what it was like to hear Mistress Morgana cry out your name in ecstasy?”
I don’t agree or deny. I do flush, sweat pouring from me, and hope she doesn’t see it as an admission.
“I’m today’s conquest. Tomorrow there will be someone new.”
“No, Mistress.”
“You and dozens of others in this place with the same fucking fantasy.”
Her rage rolls off her and I realize this is going terribly wrong.
She knees me in the ribs hard enough to make me grunt. “Is that it?”
“No, Mistress.” Unexpected emotion floods my chest, making it heavy, making it hard to breathe. I can’t remember the last time I felt anything. I lean down to lick her boots. I need to stay. Here. With her.
She jerks her foot away from my reach. “I’ll tell you when I want you to do that. Licking my boots is a privilege you must earn and you certainly haven’t gained any favors from me yet.”
I swallow hard, not understanding the need making my body throb.
“Tell me what you need, mutt.”
“Forgiveness.” I whisper so softly, I doubt she heard me.
She taps my flaming ass with the cane, making me jerk. “You can’t take it, but I’d bet my last pair of shiny, patent leather platform boots you love dishing it out though.” Her voice is venomous as she asks, “Do you know how many cocky assholes I see every damn day?”
I shake my head, trying not to look at her guiltily.
“Too many,” she says softly and it seems her indignation has waved a white flag. “So you’re here seeking redemption for some crime?”
There’s no forgiveness for the things I’m guilty of.
She jerks the chain attached to my collar, lifting my head, stretching out my throat. Seeing her smile wickedly, I know she is going to hurt me and enjoy doing so, because I recognize the look in her eyes as pure pleasure. She grills me. “Did you cheat on a partner? Lose a bet? Trying to win a bet?”
I am ashamed of the evil I’ve done, remembering so many screams of agony. I’m a bad man. I’ve committed atrocities far beyond the imagination of this woman. I give her no answers to her questions.
“Can you serve me loyally, mutt?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Are you willing to wade the fires of hell to earn the privilege of serving me?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She pushes the back of my head down so that I am staring at the floor and I feel her hands swiftly unhook the collar at my neck. The heavy leather and heavier metal thuds as it hits the carpet. “This is Garret’s collar but I don't believe for a minute you are his, not really. So why are you under his protection?”
I stay silent.
“He can’t protect you as long as you are in this room—with me. Did you know that this room is the only room in all of his domain that doesn’t have cameras recording every move?”
I shake my head, keeping it down.
“Does that make you nervous?”
“No Mistress.”
She laughs and it is the most terrifying sound I have heard in a long time.
Minutes later I am stretched out and tied spread-eagled. She seems exceptionally fascinated by my genital piercings and before I know it I am wired, electricity coursing through my dick and balls. I think she enjoys my grunts of pain, my screams, because she claps and laughs when I curse her. Morgana raises and lowers the voltage on her whim, making me go up on tiptoe even though my ankles are bound.
Lowering the voltage to a hum, she lubes me and fucks my ass with her fingers. I don’t expect the mind-blowing jolt of pleasure. “Tell me you like it when I finger-fuck you.”
“I like it, Mistress.” I growl, near orgasm.
The voltage goes up and I scream, any pleasure I’d felt prior ripped away by the agony inflicted on my dick. She is a fast little hellion, untying me, changing my position.
I don’t try to escape. I asked for this.
She sends me into a small cage then places a metal manacle around my neck and, anchoring it with chains to the four corners, arranges me in an impossible position. My arms are stretched wide and manacled. My ankles are lifted into the air and attached likewise. I am balanced in a sitting position on my ass, my tailbone the fulcrum. Am I comfortable? Not a chance. Is she enjoying my discomfort? I would have to guess yes, she is enjoying my discomfort very, very much.
The front of the cage is open…at least for now. I am insanely uncomfortable. Spread. St
retched. She attaches wires to my nipple piercings, the ring at the base of my cock and my tongue piercing. I momentarily wonder how safe this can possibly be. I struggle, but the effort is wasted. She has me bound more securely than I’ve ever been bound by my enemies.
She switches on the power and I am lit up like a Christmas tree. Voltage alternates between tongue and tit and cock without pattern. Each shock is a distinct painful jolt.
“Do you like that, mutt? I’ll just turn the voltage up a little bit higher.”
The pain makes me grunt involuntarily. She asks me questions that I try to answer even though the clip on my tongue makes it almost impossible.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Nom.”
“A boyfriend?”
“Nom.”
“Are you in any type of relationship?”
I shake my head frantically as the voltage goes up and the pain becomes a relentless rhythm of agony. Time loses all meaning. I cannot relax and even though I know we are in a safe, sane, consensual environment I begin to feel tortured.
And then it stops and through a haze of white-hot need I watch her stride away.
She folds open the doors to a wall-mounted cabinet that at first glance seemed a dreary black-and-gray mixed-media piece depicting a cemetery scene. I’d thought it only gothic art and didn’t see past the tombstones jutting through swirling fog. Inside there is a wide-screen monitor. She turns it on and a scene from inside the club rolls, obviously footage from a security camera. She aims a remote at the wall, adjusting the frame until I realize I am watching myself. Flirting.
“You wish to top her?”
“Nom.”
The electricity on my tongue, which has been a low, annoying buzz, suddenly stings.
“Fuck,” I say.
“Funny. She’s a very active submissive in the club. Why else would you be flirting with her if not to get in on some of her action?”
“My job.” I slobber, forcing myself to enunciate. “Make customers feel good.”
She alters the voltage pattern and I jerk as my chest and belly spasm.
My muscles are fatigued from being stretched in the position they are in. At least that is what I tell myself when I start shaking.
She walks to me and pinches my cheeks between her fingers. “So, if I make you my puppy you’ll be able to give up all other women? All other men?”
Is she being serious? Or is this only part of today’s game? Is this what I want? “Yes, Mistress.”
I meet her gaze and any doubt I’m feeling vanishes. I’ve never felt the way I feel now looking at anyone. I think I lost my mind at some point but in her eyes I feel I can find the keys to my salvation.
She leaves me chained, saying as she exits the room, “Sleep while you can.”
Is she insane? My tailbone has gone numb, my body is held at an awkward if not painful angle and my neck is immobilized by the wide collar.
She won’t leave me here. Like this.
Time ceases to have any meaning. My mind has split in two. Laughing maniacally seems to be my only recourse and I decide I really have lost my mind.
I wake up to find her holding my bound body and kissing my face. I realize tears are streaming over my cheeks. Some part of my mind believes I am being held in the arms of an angel.
Have I been forgiven for my sins? Not a chance, but for a minute, just one, I feel relief from the weight I hold on my shoulders. Quick-release snaps see me free. She removes the manacles from my wrists and ankles, removes my collar and tosses me a hand towel. “Clean yourself up, mutt.”
I collapse back, my shoulders on the platform, my legs dangling over the side. My entire body is shaking as I take the cloth in hand. I’m not sure where to begin but manage to wipe my face, then my body, removing as much saliva, sweat and tears as I can without showering. I’m not certain how I find the energy to sit up, but I do. I even manage to meet her gaze.
“Think you still want to be my puppy?”
Hell no! This woman is more on edge than I am—dangerous—and I need to get out of this room while I have the chance. If this was a preview of her power, whatever comes next can’t be good. I’d be a lunatic to stay, wouldn’t I?
“Yes, Mistress.” She pets the top of my head and I apologize. “I don’t know why I’m shaking.”
She bends at the waist to meet my gaze, lifting my chin with two fingers to keep me from looking away. “Sure you do. You’ve had people in just this place, ridden by adrenaline and fear, waiting for the hammer to fall, waiting to discover if you let them live or die.”
I lick my lips, the truth of her words making my mouth go dry. She can’t know the truth, not possibly. If she was an agent, my brother would have told me.
“Are you a sadist, mutt?” She lifts my chin a notch higher. “Do you think this is the way to gain my trust so that you can play a power-switch on me?” Her voice seems verged on hysteria. “I. Don’t. Switch. Understood?”
I don’t blink. “Understood, Mistress. All I desire is to be your puppy.”
She laughs in my face before spinning away from me. I sit still, quiet, watching her pace the room as if she were a caged cat. She clicks her incisors together and I know that she is thinking too hard. Almost to herself she says, “There’s no fraternizing between employees. It isn’t allowed. Period. I could lose my job and I can’t lose my job here.”
Still pacing, she hugs herself and it is as if she has forgotten I am in the room.
“You don’t belong to Garrett. Why do you wear his collar? Why didn’t he claim you from the Puppy Pound?” She stops suddenly and looks down at me. “He didn’t even give you a second thought.”
I glance away.
“Why do you wear his collar?”
She waits but I say nothing. In frustration she demands in a screamed voice, “Why?”
I meet her gaze. “A lot of people want me dead. He is hiding me as a favor.” Why the fuck did I just admit that?
“That is the first thing you have said since you entered this room that was not a lie.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She sighs, seeming to relax with my assurance. Her entire posture changes. She drops the strap-on harness to her ankles and steps out of it. She peels herself out of the latex panties she wears beneath the dress and drops them to the floor as well. In a slow, sensual tease, she peels down one long glove at a time, rolling them off and discarding them.
My heart speeds up as she walks away, turning her back on me. Her scent is thick in the room as she sits in front of her vanity and removes her makeup. I don’t move, I can barely breathe as her true beauty is revealed. Pale skin, freckles and a soft fringe of auburn lashes. She pivots on the cushioned seat, her knees wide enough to give me a full pussy view. She is shaved bare, her labia pink. “Help me with the boots.”
Exhausted, I lumber off the platform and crawl to her. I take her ankle in my hand, lifting her foot to slide down the zipper. I tug off each boot one at a time, revealing bare skin, bare feet, toenails painted bright red. Without asking permission I lift her foot and suck her big toe into my mouth.
She doesn’t reprimand me, her eyelashes flutter closed and she sighs softly.
Encouraged, I worship each toe with my mouth, sucking, licking. I draw my tongue down the arch of her foot.
“Enough! Back off, mutt.”
I sit back on my heels and note that her expression reflects the confusion I feel.
“I am The Mistress,” she seems to be reassuring herself more than reminding me. “I am The Boss, Your Goddess, understood?”
I bow my head forward. “Always, Mistress.”
“This isn’t a game.” She stands and paces the room, muttering to herself, “Who is he? What is the real story? I am breaking every rule. Do I even care anymore?” She stops moving suddenly and turns slowly to face me. Her eyes narrow. “You are crafted from deceit and you are very good at keeping secrets and telling lies.”
There is no correct answer
here.
She leans at the waist pressing her face close to mine. “If this happens, you will not lie to me again and I will not lie to you. We will be each other’s most important secret.”
I see what I missed before. She isn’t an agent but she too is in hiding, her life here is a construct of perfect lies, and she is under the protection of Garrett. Oh she is a sadist; that is truth, whether genetic or learned, and she is dangerous, perhaps even insane. “Yes, Mistress.”
“I don’t want to own anything until I know I’ve found the place where me and things belong together. I’m not quite sure where that is just yet.”
Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Chapter Four
Kitten
San Francisco
Pregnancy has given me new insight about myself. I’m a perfectionist. And a workaholic. Who knew? I would have never believed the truth of it but how else can I explain how hard I drive myself, pushing the limits of mental and physical exhaustion to new heights? At twenty-seven weeks my back aches constantly and I feel grotesque, I’m constipated…and today all I can think about is strawberries. Strawberries! I sent Holly, my secretary, to the market to fetch them and immediately felt guilty for having her go. But I needed strawberries! And I ate the entire quart without sharing. I should feel guilty, and not solely for the sake of the strawberries. Today she has done her job and most of my work too.
I just can’t concentrate. I keep wondering how long I should wait to ask her to run to the market and get me more strawberries. I’m a horrible, selfish person.
Awakening from falling asleep at my desk is the last straw and a sure sign I need to be home…in bed…sleeping, not having sex. Because despite what I consider my enormous, very pregnant with twins, not very sexy shape, my Master can’t seem to get enough of my body. Especially now that my other Master, Thomas Stephanopoulos, has been called away on an assignment. A very long assignment. On the other side of the nation.
Garrett has taken advantage of the situation and feels that sex twice a day, every day is not too often. Normally I’d agree. Two times, three times, a dozen times. Let’s go! I love sex. But not this week. Emotions, deadlines and pregnancy on top of a full night crawling around in feline persona as Garrett’s sex pet have taken a toll on my body. I know I can’t keep up the pace I’ve maintained for the last year…and the truth is, no one except myself expects me to.
