Worthy of a Master: The Tale of a Perfect Slave

by Chelsea Shepard

  It was a relief to see Khiru was ready to live with me. Although I would lose part of my independence, sharing home with him would facilitate my adjustment to Khyra and its alien customs. On the spacecraft, it had taken me two days to find out how to alter the voice-controlled lights in my bedroom. I shuddered to think of all the subtleties of domestic life I was still to discover. And there was so much more than domestic life to consider!

  What would I do on the planet? Go to school? Learn a job? Give conferences on life on Earth? My future activities were still a mystery.

  I had only two certainties, but they were the most essential ones.

  First, I would still enjoy the company of my friends. Myhre, Jova and her first partner Liu also lived in Mhoakarta. As to Naari, he came from a southern region, but he often worked as a pilot for the Space Center where Khiru was a permanent officer. He promised he'd visit us often.

  More importantly, I would live with the man I loved. A man full of surprises and challenges. In comparison, anything else looked trivial.

  Something else happened during those light playing days. I began to ache for more bondage. The cuffs, the rope, the gag, all these toys were cute, but when I knew what was available, even there on the ship, I was drooling with desire for heavier gear.

  I could have asked Khiru, or just hinted, but I didn't. On the one hand, it didn't seem appropriate for a Southie to make any suggestion. On the other, I was too worried about what my request would unleash in terms of intensity of play. All I did was emphasize my excessive freedom while Khiru teased and possessed me. If he didn't tie my waist to the bed, there was no reason I should hold it down. If my knees were unrestrained, I would fold them as I pleased.

  It didn't take too long before Khiru promoted me to the next level of power games.

  Chapter TWENTY-TWO

  Khiru had an exceptionally stressful day. Strong solar winds from a star we passed too closely had modified our course, and the engineers had to recalculate our trajectory. The procedure was not unusual, but the fight that ensued between two senior pilots was. Both of them advocated conflicting approaches, and Khiru had to dive into the battle and placate the opponents by coming up with a solution that satisfied them both.

  "Emotions are more complicated to deal with than lightspeed travel," he sighed when we finally made it to his room, late in the evening.

  We made love gently and fell asleep easily. I expected him to return to the bridge early the next day, but when I woke up, he was just coming out of the shower. A breakfast tray lay on the desk, and the fruity flagrance of our infusions filled the air.

  "Am I early, or are you late?" I asked, stretching my arms and catching a last glimpse of his tanned body before he put on a white T-shirt and black pants.

  "Neither. I'm in a mood for something special today."

  My senses jumped to a state of alert as I watched him sit in the unique chair in front of the desk.

  "Come here."

  Without looking at me, he pointed at a spot on the floor next to him.

  "Don't bother to get dressed. And please refrain from talking."

  I swallowed back the question I was about to ask and knelt at his side, already breathing much too hard.

  "I believe you're ready for more than handcuffs," he continued while pulling off a chunk of pastry with his hands. "Open your mouth."

  Chewing the soft cake, which he fed me bit by bit, and drinking the infusion from the cup he held to my lips somehow distracted me from my growing apprehension. I hadn't prepared myself for a big scene that morning; I was supposed to have class with Vhar. Was my teacher still waiting for me?

  Khiru answered my unspoken concern and confirmed that Vhar knew I was dodging his lesson that day. I had better things to learn, he added.

  Once I was fed, clean and as ready as possible, considering my state of agitation, Khiru asked me to stand by the bed, then pulled open a large drawer underneath it.

  Mesmerized with mounting lust, I offered my body to his artistic hands. Fear disappeared, replaced by a feeling of pride and accomplishment, as if I had gained the right to be initiated and was being prepared for a sacred ceremony.

  First, Khiru strapped a large lilk belt around my waist. Then, he enveloped my hands in tight mittens made of thick real leather, not lilk, and crossed them over my belly before locking their extremities to D-rings on each side of the belt. I had seen such mittens before, but wearing them, feeling their warm, heavy embrace around my fingers, palms and wrists made me feverish. To prevent any slack, Khiru also locked the other ends of the mittens together, in the middle of my waist, thereby tying my arms together most effectively.

  "Lie on the bed."

  I hid my too-willing smile as I took position and watched Khiru wrap leather cuffs around my ankles, chain them together and lock the chain to the footboard.

  The belt, the mittens and the cuffs were all deep chestnut brown and looked quite attractive against my pale skin.

  As I waited for more bondage equipment to follow, Khiru walked to his desk, lifted a cover on the breakfast tray, and returned with a plate full of tiny cubes and a plastic glass with a straw, the kind of no-spilling glass you give to young children.

  "Those are protein cubes. Not particularly tasty, but they're easy to catch and swallow. And this is peg juice. It contains a high volume of sugar; good for your energy level."

  Why did he put food on the bed within easy reach? I wasn't going to need to eat for another two hours. Was he going to leave me? I hadn't planned for my first bondage session to be solitary.

  While my fingers nervously attacked the leather inside the mittens, Khiru fixed a lamp to the wall on the other side of the room, right in front of me.

  "This is a sun lamp. It will change position like a real sun. I don't need to explain more; you'll soon figure it out. There, you'll all set. I'll be back at sunset."

  And with that, he left me. Remembering the first rule, I strained to obey and stared at his tall silhouette as he walked out the door, whistling happily.

  The lamp was casting its light on the side of the bed, the edge of the halo touching my right shoulder. I soon noticed the different temperatures between the light and the shade and, as the corona slowly covered more of my body, I welcomed its warming sensation. It was like lying in the sun without getting burned.

  I squirmed to move into the sunlight and purred like a cat on a windowsill. I stretched my legs and body languorously and mentally thanked Khiru for being so nice after all.

  After a while, though, the hot glow became pernicious. Maybe it was the excitement of my first serious bondage session with Khiru. Or the combination of a relaxed body with an active mind. Or just a trick of the light. Whatever the cause, I was totally aroused and ready for sex.

  But sex didn't seem to be on my agenda for the next few hours, and the itch grew worse. Drops of liquid glided along the inside of my thighs, and blood throbbed around my labia.

  Sunset, Khiru had said. Judging from the dawdling pace of the lamp, sunset wasn't due for another four or five hours. It wasn't even noon yet. Damn. I hoped he was only teasing.

  When the beams hit me in a straight line, I figured it was time to eat and propped myself up to grab the cubes with my teeth and sip some juice. The process was a little degrading, and I was glad to be alone.

  I lay back down in the sunlight and tried to take a nap, but I was too restless. I kept an eye on the non-opening door, still hoping for early relief. However, Khiru was not the kind of Northie who would joke about these things.

  Despite my best efforts, I hadn't been able to calm down. I was now so needy, a touch of my expert fingers would be enough to trigger the explosion I craved. Too bad this wasn't one of my old self-bondage sessions. The matter would have been solved quickly. Unless...

  I turned to lie on my stomach and rubbed my pubis on the bed as hard as I could. First, it helped. Then it made things worse. Much worse.

  I was getting angry.

  "Fuck
him," I said out loud.

  Perhaps I could get rid of such simple bondage if I tried? I imagined Khiru's face if I escaped and came to visit him on the bridge with a huge grin of victory. Come to think of it, this might not be such a good idea. Besides, simple as it was, my bondage was secure and inescapable. Although I tugged hard, I couldn't move my arms at all. And pulling on the chain holding my feet to the bed was an even sillier idea.

  My eyes brimming with tears, I sat up, fell back down, rolled over on one side, then the other. Just losing it.

  Why would he do this to me? I liked the bondage and the idea of the lamp teasing me with its heat, but these long hours of sexual frustration were unbearable. What was the point? What did he want?

  The answer struck me as obvious: my submission. It didn't matter what I wanted (his presence, his touch). What was important was for me to respect his decision and do my best to accept it, whether I liked it or, more significantly, not. If he enjoyed driving me crazy with lust while he went on his own errands, it was his call, not mine. I tried to imagine how he was dealing with the situation on his side. Was he impatient to come back and see how I was coping? Did he erase me from his thoughts until it was time to take action? Was he in a similar state of arousal?

  As I focused on Khiru, not me, I closed my eyes and dreamed of him making love to me. Then, of our future life together. The trips we'd take, the meals we'd share, the parties we'd attend. My sex was still throbbing for attention, but I knew Khiru would see to it soon. Voluptuous clouds filled my head, replacing my impatient struggles with sexy hallucinations.

  Finally, the door opened and Khiru came in, smiling. The sunlight had moved all the way to the left, and its halo was no longer touching me. I was quiet, yet horny; exhausted, yet restless. Best (or worse) of all, I was no longer in control. He was. I was simply waiting for him to decide what to do next.

  He sat next to me on the bed.

  "You did well, Megan, really well."

  My face lit up with pride.

  Keeping his eyes on mine, he started to caress me lightly, moving from my shoulder down to my breast, where he lingered a while, then over the belt and down to my thigh, my knee, my ankle. His hand moved back up, following the outline of my shivering body, but avoiding the only spot that demanded attention. His fingers brushed the inside of my legs, feeling their moisture, but ignoring the cause. I would have liked to grab his hand and lead it where it must go, but all I could do was squirm and pant. I was even afraid of begging, as one word might stop him.

  After a long, testing day, ten minutes of foreplay were more than I could take. Half angry, half desperate, I sighed loudly, but all he did was abandon my legs and thighs to focus on my nipples. He pinched and pulled. I gasped at every flicker of pain and grumbled. He pinched harder, and I let out a cry before I stopped squirming and forced my hips to stay down. Obedience, I remembered.

  Finally, his hand found my crotch. One finger slipped inside me, then two, then three. They poked and twisted and pressed my G-spot. I sighed with lust as the first contractions hit me, and readied myself for the big one that would inevitably follow. With his three fingers still inside, he placed his thumb on my clit. The touch was almost enough to make me come. I was so close now. What was he waiting for? Why did his hand freeze in such a merciless hold?

  I looked up and met his eyes. Fierce, dominating, commanding. I sustained his stare, refusing to yield. With his hand cupping my sex, he kept the ever-growing pressure inside.

  I lowered my eyes, conceding defeat.

  One second later, his thumb brushed my clit, and my body exploded. Wave after wave crashed over me until I collapsed and smiled stupidly, lost in heavenly stupor.

  "Not bad," he said when I opened my eyes ten minutes later. "But I can see we'll have a lot of work with rule number two."

  Still too dazed to speak, I questioned him with wide-open eyes.

  "Patience, Megan. Obedience and patience."

  I sighed. "Oh, it was so long, Khiru. I got so angry and desperate."

  "I know."

  "You know?"

  I scanned the room quickly, afraid to understand.

  "On the mediaframe, there," he explained. "A hidden camera directly connected to my computer. I can zoom, too."

  "That's not fair!"

  "Who said it had to be? Like I said, I'm pleased with you. I didn't expect you to be so aroused with such little means."

  "Was it the sun lamp? Is that why I got turned on so fast?"

  "No, it wasn't the sun lamp. It's your mind, Megan. Your mind is my best toy. And obviously, it's working splendidly. I can't wait to take you further. But before that..."

  He casually threw his clothes on the floor and mounted me while I was still restrained and chained on the bed.

  "Khiru, how did you know I was ready for a real scene?" I asked him later when I had added a couple of orgasms on my list of accomplishments for the day.

  My arms were still locked around my waist, and my legs stretched to the end of the bed. My head rested on Khiru's chest, and he gently stroked my breasts, which had remained taut as steel for hours.

  "I knew it before you did," he replied. "You were always ready for this, Megan. I was waiting for me to be ready."

  "You? But you're a pro. You're always ready!"

  "Not when I'm in love, darling. Not when I'm in love."

  Then he slid from under me and kissed my breasts, the tender valley between them, and my neck. With his tongue, he explored my ears until I yelped like a kitten.

  "Oh, so sensitive, huh?" he teased. "I finally understand why Earthlings have such funny appendices. Let me explore them a bit more."

  Under the mittens, my hands gripped the leather frenetically, and sweat glistened under the belt and ran down my hips.

  When Khiru moved his mouth to my sex, I thought I would die from too much pleasure.

  * * *

  Once it was established that I could deal with confinement, solitary or otherwise, Khiru broke his self-imposed dam of moderation and let his imagination loose. We only had a few weeks before deceleration required his constant presence on the bridge, so he wasn't about to waste any opportunities.

  A day didn't pass at least partially in restraints. At first, our games were restricted to Khiru's bedroom. I was already used to a minor degree of bed bondage; in a few weeks, I discovered that four cuffs were a minimum when we had gentle sex.

  A normal play session required belts or rope around my shoulders, waist, hips, and legs. When Khiru went for higher sophistication, he added a head trainer, a corset, mittens. He also varied the positions: face down, face up, hog-tie, legs up, spread out, joined together.

  Although his poster bed was our favorite playground, we explored every corner and tried every piece of furniture in the room. The desk and chair were common alternatives. The shower was fun, too, particularly because of its special massage jets.

  With such basic equipment, Khiru could tie my body in any configuration he chose to, provided the laws of physical anatomy didn't get in the way. But he had gone to school for this, and learned his lessons well. Never did I feel any discomfort that wasn't intended. Never did he leave any chance for escape.

  While he tightened the knots around my flesh, I relaxed and prepared myself for what was to follow. I soon found that bondage preliminaries allowed me to enter what I liked to refer to as my Southie self, a trance where I would stop thinking for myself and relinquish that power to Khiru. In that state, my breathing became deep but regular, my eyes remained closed, with or without blindfold, and no words passed my lips. The only exception to silence was when Khiru asked me a direct question. Then, my only possible replies were "yes, please," or a negative nod.

  "You will never say ‘no' to me," he warned when he established the rule.

  When he was finished, Khiru gave me a few minutes to get used to the various sensations and test the security of my restraints. My initial attempts at escaping the bonds, or at least loosening them, wer
e pathetic. I ended up pulling on them once for good measure, then resigned myself to lying, sitting, bending or standing still for a couple of hours.

  That moment was critical. I never knew whether Khiru intended to leave or play with me. I hated the first option as much as I loved the second. In both instances, I would suffer long moments of dissatisfaction before he chose to relieve me, but teasing had a sweeter taste when it came directly from his fingers. On the other hand, by some illogical effect probably derived from my Southie temperament, being forced to submit to a situation I disapproved of increased the sexual tension. For the first time in my life, I was confronted with a paradox: I was turned on by what I disliked. So could it be I liked it after all?

  I didn't have to dawdle over my confusion since, in any case, I had no say in the matter. When I dared to pout or complain about Khiru's decisions, he laughed, then left me alone again the next day to punish me. He made it so easy to learn proper manners.

  Thank goodness, Khiru enjoyed tormenting me more than watching me on a mediaframe. Needless to say, gnawing frustration was still on the program even when he attended the show, but at least pain never was. Neither Khiru nor I ever raised the subject of my recently acquired paranoia, but his avoidance of whips or other torturing instruments convinced me that he knew they were now on my "not-to-do" list.

  I liked to think of his technique as pain-free torture. For a girl who'd fantasized about floggers and clothespins all her adult life, it was astounding to discover that a feather or a fan, not to mention fingers, could create sexual distress of equal intensity. Khiru would tickle my softest spots until I cried (and came at the same time). He used vibrators and plugs with an expertise that made me wonder, with more than a hint of jealousy, how many female orifices he'd practiced on.