The Gifts of the Masters

by Eva Gill

  Anya stood, walked quietly to the door, and with a deep breath, pushed it open to find out where the hell she was, and whose house she was in. The bedroom door opened smoothly, and had no locks on it, not even a handle. She peeped out into a long passage, painted the same pale grey, and smelled coffee. Automatically following her nose in the direction of the alluring scent, her stomach twisted up into a ball of knotted anxiety and fear of what she had done.

  At the end of the passage, she came to a large, open-plan room, lined on one side by a very long counter and leather stools, which separated the space into a kitchen, a living room and dining area. Anya quietly walked over to the counter, and stood staring at a notepad which lay in the middle, a pen across the top.

  There is coffee in the kitchen, please help yourself, I apologise, but I do not yet know your name. - Alexander.

  “Oh God,” she said, bending forward and resting her head on her arms. She had come home with a man. She hadn’t yet straightened to stand when a deep voice behind her startled her so badly she jumped.

  “What did God do to you so early in the morning?”

  She whirled, and landed with her back to the counter. “Um, I, sorry, I guess I was hoping I had been responsible,” she stuttered, staring at the shaved-headed, tattooed, T-shirt wearing god who had just entered the room. Her hormones set her body on instant alert.

  He moved closer again, and Anya backed a little further away.

  With a smile, he held out a hand. “I am Alexander, and I promise I won’t bite. I brought you to my home when I found you outside the club, incapable of looking after yourself. I promise I didn’t touch you inappropriately, merely dressed you in clean-smelling clothes so that you could sleep comfortably.” He spoke kindly, as though to a feral kitten.

  Anya shook his hand, noting the size of it; in comparison to hers it was massive.

  “Anya, that’s my name,” she said softly. “Thank you Alexander, I am sorry about last night, I had a rough time and it got a bit out of hand.”

  He merely nodded and walked into the kitchen. “We’ve all been there. You haven’t had coffee?” He turned to face her, and the blue of his eyes left her momentarily speechless. “Anya? Coffee?”

  “I would love some, thank you.” She watched intently as he reached up to a shelf, bringing down a mug and pouring strong black liquid into it.

  “Do you need sugar and milk?”

  Anya shook her head. He stood staring at her from across the counter as she raised the mug to her face, which was so big she practically disappeared behind it.

  He spoke. “I get the feeling you are not in such a great place Anya. I usually have good instincts about people, so I am going to give you a card with my number. I want you to go away and think about what you’d like to do to get to a better place in your life, and if you want my help, with anything at all, call me. Will you do that?”

  She left his house an hour later, still wearing his T-shirt over her dress from the night before. As she’d walked into her apartment, and looked at the mess, she’d broken down in tears and called him.

  Through her floods of agony, she had simply said, “Please, I don’t know why I am asking you, of all people, but yes, help me.”

  For some reason she had felt safe with him, and knew she could trust this man.

  ***

  Anya tried not to move a muscle when she opened her eyes on Saturday morning, but Alexander was aware she was awake before she could hide herself.

  “Morning kitten,” he purred, gently running a hand through her hair. Anya tensed instinctively, and behind her Alexander chuckled. “Aw, so nervous, why baby?” He licked her neck.

  She turned to face him. “Morning, sir. Well, I know you want to play today. I am always nervous before we do that. I don’t know what to expect.”

  Alexander stroked her cheek. “That’s good, I like you on your toes. It just occurred to me that I don’t have to wait until this afternoon to play with you. I have you all day. Go and fetch your ears and tail, I want to play with my kitten, it’s really the perfect morning for cuddling a little kitten in bed.”

  His voice had taken on a playful tone, and Anya jumped up to do as he asked. If he was in a good mood, she was going to keep him that way for as long as possible.

  Her chest of toys was at the foot of the bed, and she removed the kitten tail butt-plug, a set of ears attached to a headband, and four glove-type paws. Alexander stood next to the bed, waiting for her with the bottle of lubricant in his hand, while she put on her ears along with the little hand-paws and leg-warmer paws. When she climbed on all fours onto the bed in front of him, a shiver of anticipation ran down her spine, right to her curling toes.

  She went down on her elbows and wiggled her arse, presenting herself to him in the most vulnerable of ways, fully exposed. To someone new, this was one of the most humiliating positions. Anya giggled briefly as his finger applied cold lube to her, and then hushed swiftly, freezing when that finger slid oh so slowly into her body. His finger soon left, and she heard him make an appreciative sound behind her, shortly before she felt the cold steel of the plug at her tight opening.

  Alexander was so experienced he could make anything pleasurable. He slowly moved it against her tense muscles. He reached his free hand up to stroke her back, distracting her attention from it entirely, and she almost purred at the contact. Her body relaxed to accept the intrusion, and Anya gasped as the widest part popped in, hollowing her back under his hand.

  He chuckled again. “Hold still, pet, let me wipe the excess lube off, I don’t want a mess on my sheets.” He wiped her intimately with a wet-wipe, leaving her squealing at the cold and indignity.

  She stayed still as he lay down on his back on top of the covers and then patted his lap, giving her the signal she’d been waiting for. Anya crawled toward him, stretching the paws gracefully ahead of her, and sprawled across his legs. She purred loudly as he ran his hands through her hair, down her spine, tugged gently at the tail, and then continued down her legs. He did that for such a long time her eyes began to drift shut. Just before she fell asleep, he pulled gently at the hair above her ears.

  “Does my kitten want a saucer of milk?” he asked softly.

  Anya almost spoke, stopped herself, then raised her head and let out a loud meow. Alexander shifted her gently off his lap to stand, then waited for her to follow him, all the way to the kitchen attached to these rooms, crawling on her hands and knees, making purring and meowing noises as she went. He poured milk into a saucer, placed it on the floor, and watched as she struggled to keep her hair out of the way and lap up the liquid. He bent to stroke her, and she purred again.

  When she finished the milk, she sat up and groomed, cleaning her little paws as a cat would, licking, wiping her nose, which got covered in milk, then licking again. As she finished, Alexander lead her back to the bedroom and sat down at his desk, pulling a large, well-cushioned animal bed, with pink pillows and blankets, closer to his feet. He watched her curl up, petted her again and opened his laptop. Anya fell asleep content, comfortable and feeling safe.

  Anya stretched and yawned a little while later, gasping when the plug shifted inside her with her movement.

  Alexander smiled down at her from where he sat typing. “Hey, sleepy kitty,” he said, reaching down to stroke her hair from her face.

  Anya felt her bladder urging to be emptied, and grimaced. This part of the pet-play realm killed her, the particular type of loss of dignity. Alexander knew exactly how badly, so he kept her in her role until she had survived the unspeakable, almost every time they did this. It didn’t happen often, so she tended to forget to relieve herself beforehand, and was usually caught unawares.

  Alexander did what he did to remind her of her station as a slave, and she suffered the indignity and humiliation purely because of how happy it made him. She was always willing to do these things for him, these animal based things that left her feeling embarrassed to her core, without question. She allowed
herself to be debased to please him.

  She nudged his thigh, uttered a pitiful meow and stared with desperation into his smug visage as he spoke.

  “Well, you know what to do, little kitten, you have been trained.”

  She dropped her head and crawled to the oversized pit of perfumed kitty litter in the corner of the room, just beyond his desk. She clambered carefully in and squatted there to relieve herself. At that moment, Anya had to pretend the world fell away and that nobody could see her, so she closed her eyes. Alexander was onto her mental coping mechanisms though, and came to stand beside her, carefully lifting her tail before her tinkling stream of urine fell onto the crystal litter.

  Anya’s back stiffened when she felt his hand. She hadn’t heard him approach. Now all her concentration had to be on relaxing her bladder, and it took a while.

  “Do you have performance anxiety, my pet?” He chuckled above her, and she opened her eyes, directing a malevolent glare in his direction, and hissed.

  When she finally completed the task, she kicked litter from under her feet, spraying it on the carpet. While she was a kitten, Alexander looked after her, thus cleaning up the mess she made. Let him deal with that kitten mess, she thought darkly, ignoring him to go and curl up on the bed and nurse her injured dignity.

  For his part, he left her to it, let her curl up on the bed and went back to his workspace, shaking his head at her stormy temper. Quite placidly, Alexander fetched a small brush and dustpan, swept the spilled litter into it and disposed of the crystals.

  ***

  Morning turned into afternoon, and Alexander freed her from the bondage of her kitten-guise. They sat down to lunch at a local coffee shop to let her relax a bit, and he placed his hand over hers.

  “You always get so angry, yet I am so proud of you for doing whatever I demand. You are a good slave to me, Anya.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers as she sat blushing, her head lowered.

  “Thank you Master.”

  As they strolled back to the car Anya found herself watching Alexander from the corner of her eye, and saw his mood tangibly darken. They seldom spent nights at the club anymore, preferring to go home to his apartment. When the night dragged on, as last night had, the quarters he kept on the premises were a convenience she appreciated.

  His apartment, a refurbished warehouse in the old harbour district, and the same place where she had woken up that Saturday morning so many years ago, was still one of the most beautiful and comfortable homes Anya knew of. She felt safe there.

  Alexander’s jaw was clenched tight when she glanced furtively at him, having slid comfortably into her seat and fastened the seatbelt. They drove in silence, passing several lively restaurants, the aquarium, and a few ships on the way. As the garage door opened silently, Anya wondered what had hurt his good mood.

  When Alexander stopped the car in its parking spot, he turned to face her. “I want you waiting for me in front of the cross, naked. Fetch your collar, two lengths of rope in whatever colour you would like, and my two floggers.”

  He stepped out of the car to open the door for her, and kissed her forehead. He paused in the doorway, facing her, to take a big breath and stare deeply into her eyes.

  “Anya, I love you.”

  Alexander left Anya standing there with those words ringing in her ears, dissolving into a puddle of nervous anticipation and aroused beyond comprehension. He said that sometimes before play that broke her, when he knew she would need to remember the fact that he loved her to hold out. Anya’s hair fell across her eyes as she climbed the stairs to the basement entrance.

  He would be checking on the club staff who were preparing for an event that evening, a private group, and Anya felt sure he was simply making sure they would have privacy for as long as he required it. She walked up the steps, carefully and slowly, and stopped in front of her chest of toys to pick up the floggers and her collar. She selected two lengths of deep red rope, a soft cotton variety from the basket next to her chest, and with those items in hand she left the bedroom.

  ***

  The St. Andrews’ cross stood in the central, sunken floor area, and it was made of railway sleeper wood beams, polished smooth by touch and the staff who cleaned everything daily. As Anya rested her cheek against the wood, she inhaled the comforting scent, so familiar. Goosebumps broke out along her arms when a chilly breeze caressed her naked skin, blowing from the passage to the private rooms. Her eyes fell on the floggers she had hung on hooks nearby for Alexander, and on her collar which lay on the counter. She would never put it around her neck herself, which was forbidden. Only Alexander collared her and removed it again.

  When she was alone like this, waiting in anticipation for him, for play, her mind frequently dwelled on the first time she had seen his dungeon, when she was still only eighteen. Anya was lost in those memories and didn’t notice him enter.

  Alexander stopped when he entered the large space, standing to watch her as she stood leaning against the cross, brushing her cheek over the wood with a faint smile on her face. He knew where her mind was, and didn’t mind. He fondly thought of their first months together when he was alone, too. With a deep breath he stepped into the sunken space, placing the narrow cane in his hands, just out of her sight. His boots thumped when they made contact with the floor. Anya was yanked from her reminiscing, and turned her head slightly to face him, still smiling.

  She watched silently as he picked up her collar and approached her, reaching around her neck to fasten it securely with the buckle. She heard the thud of the uncoiling rope as it hit the floor, and shivered in anticipation. That sound was a mental switch for her, an instant trigger to her senses, telling her what was to come.

  Alexander looped a bight of rope over her left wrist, tied a single column tie, and pulled it taut through the ring at the top of the cross’s strut. He did the same with her right hand, and then both ankles, leaving her spread-eagled and vulnerable. Anya shivered in the chill breeze moving through the area. He ran his hands up her sides, from ankle to arm.

  “Are you cold pet?” he asked, pressing his body to hers.

  She nodded. “A little, sir.”

  He moved behind her and picked the lighter flogger off its hook. “Don’t worry, we can fix that quite easily.”

  The first gentle blows licked at her shoulders, and Alexander slowly, almost lazily, worked his way down her back, her thighs, and her calves. When he started on her shoulders again, he used a little more force. Anya’s breath came a little harder when he switched to the heavier flogger. He hadn’t started yet, but she was trying to prepare herself mentally for the beating.

  A sigh escaped her when she felt his fingers trace her spine. When his hand cupped her arse, she moaned. Alexander stood behind her, watching her torso rise with her breathing, and a thrill ran through him as she moaned at his hands on her.

  This control, having this beautiful creature so willing to please him in any and every way, was what he did these things for. He certainly didn’t lack control in his everyday life. With a club to run and over thirty employees, he was always in charge. Here, though, he could let go. Anya understood him and knew his desires, and she bent graciously to his every whim.

  He took a few steps back, knowing the exact fall of his whip, and smiled at her gasp when the heavy suede made contact with her shoulder blades. This time he focused a lot of attention on her arse and thighs, leaving reddened welts in the wake of the thick strands. Anya did not know the cane was coming, she hadn’t seen it nearby, and he liked warming her skin nicely beforehand to avoid breaking it. If he was going to make her bleed, it would be intentional and not by misjudgement or fluke.

  When Alexander stopped, hanging both the whips where they belonged, Anya stood panting, and a few stray tears ran down her cheeks. He moved behind her again, and this time when he pressed himself to her, he reached around her body to cup her breasts in his hands. She writhed against him, rubbing herself on his erection, tangible
through the fabric of his jeans.

  He bent her head to the side with a hand in her hair, and softly kissed her neck, moving up to nibble her ear. Her neck strained as he twisted her head and kissed her. He could feel her gasp through the kisses, and when he released her, she hung limp in his arms. Alexander moved his hand down, across the soft skin of her belly, and when he ran a finger between the lips of her sex they came away slick with moisture.

  His mouth at her shoulder he murmured, “Hmm, nice, my pet. I like your response to my whips.”

  “Please, sir, let me cum, please,” she begged.

  Alexander chuckled. “No, I don’t think you sound quite desperate enough yet.”

  He stood back and picked up the cane, held it to her lips and waited. Anya whimpered, but kissed the tool, then closed her eyes. He expected the show of respect, especially for this, because he knew how she feared the cane, but making her submit to it was for his pleasure. He loved marking her with its stripes, and enjoyed the knowledge that she saw and felt them for quite a while after the actual event, a tangible reminder of his ownership.

  When he stood back again, he measured where his strokes would land, running it over her already red skin gently, watching as she winced in anticipation. He drew it back and swung, leaving a vivid stripe across the top of her arse cheeks, and worked his way down while she clenched her jaw and hissed at the impact, the one just below the curve where her arse met her thighs eliciting the first loud cry from her.

  Alexander changed his stance, and took the backs of her thighs one at a time, moving in rapid succession down each one, admiring the plethora of interconnected bright lines left behind. Anya was audibly crying and struggling against her restraints, but he ignored her pleas of ‘stop, no more, please’ because they were not her safe word. He took his time, finishing both her thighs before laying the cane aside.