by Joey W. Hill
She remembered that first day, coming into their hardware store to bring the UPS package that Clarence had left at the wrong store. She also remembered the weighted feel of Logan's eyes on her as she'd gone back to her own store. This had happened at that moment. Troy's careful wording told Madison he was trying to communicate something about the reality that had led them here, without disrupting the fantasy, and she was hanging onto every word.
"He looked at me as if he was coming out of some dark tunnel," Troy said. "He blinked, then smiled that smile he has."
"Dangerous, make-a-woman's-knees-weak?"
"If you want to put it that way." Troy sounded a little aggrieved.
"Don't be a baby. What did he say when you asked if she was a sub?" Shale's voice was warm, teasing.
"'Oh yeah. Through and through.' I asked him if he was thinking of taking her into training, but he shook his head, said he was interested in something more than that. 'I want to see the spark turn into a fire.' That's what he said. I guess this is our answer. He didn't want to train her. He wanted to own her."
Madison drew in a breath. He already did, didn't he? Alice had given her to him.
Troy twitched the tether attached to her collar, the little tug a silent message of accord and reassurance she welcomed.
Did all guided fantasies work like this, or was it unique to her, what she was feeling, who she was? Yes, Logan had done everything to draw her into the role of Nameless Slave, bound to a Master she desired to serve above everything else in life. He knew so much about her, including her penchant for dress-up, for role-playing with her sister when she was young. He also knew just how far she'd taken herself away from play and make-believe for the past few years, such that she was starving for it now, but starving for it with an adult woman's desires and needs. She didn't even want to think of herself as Madison. She was simply the soldier's property now.
Yet Troy's words pointed out the message that kept replaying itself, whenever she was involved with Logan this way. This wasn't happening just because of Logan's consummate skill at creating the sensory input for a viable fantasy, but also because of her own deep-seated desires and needs that meshed with his. She'd worried about being enough of a sub for him, but he'd said it that night on the stairs, hadn't he?
"It's not my switch you need to worry about turning off."
She thought about how she'd reacted each time he'd led her down this path. Uncertain, one hand tentatively holding on to her perceived reality, but as Logan took her other hand, took command, she let go of that reality without hesitation and let him take her into his.
Into theirs.
A radio chirped, maybe on Troy's belt, because she heard him unclip it. "Sir?"
"I'm done up front. Bring her to my compound. I'll be just ahead of you."
"Yes sir."
Another car ride, again sitting on the cloak. She was getting used to being unclothed. The auction house would have been almost uncomfortably warm if she weren't. The A/C in the SUV gave her goosebumps, but when Troy's fingertip slid along her forearm, detecting them, he must have made some gesture to Shale. The temperature almost immediately modulated, and she was no longer cold.
A few minutes later, another method of warming happened. The bullet started vibrating.
So did the plug.
She hadn't expected the latter to be electronic, but the thick rubber was unmistakably humming against her stretched rim as the bullet was doing the same against her clit and labia. If it hadn't been both at once, she would have assumed she'd shifted or done something to set one off, but then she thought of what he'd said on the radio.
I'll be just ahead of you.
They were following her Master, and of course he had the remote. She shifted, which was a mistake. She was already intensely aroused, her brief interruption of mulling notwithstanding. A rolling feeling like waves of surf, ebbing and surging against her anus and cunt, ratcheted it to a much higher level. She bit down on her lip, tightening her fingers into balls at her side as she sat in the seat and tried not to wriggle or squirm, moan or gasp. Partially because she was self-conscious, partially because she knew the self-restraint was vital. She would not be allowed to come without his permission, and if she gave in to the feeling, she'd be there all the sooner.
But oh God, the stimulation was overwhelming. Feeling that hum against her sensitive anal rim, the buzz against her clit and labia, she had all she could do not to lift her hips in a coital rhythm.
"You better get rid of that hard-on before you get out of the car," Shale advised from the front. "Or he'll use a needle to deflate it. I'll help him."
"Kind of difficult to control," Troy muttered, and she realized his eyes were on her, watching her struggle. Could he see the light perspiration like dew on her skin? She imagined her Master's lips sucking the moisture away, entirely the wrong thought to have.
"Oh . . ." The plea escaped her lips, despite herself. She heard Troy bite back an oath. He'd be trying to obey his Mistress, she was sure of it, and yet this would give Shale a reason to taunt and punish him later. Her Master liked to reward his helpers as diabolically as he knew how to torment his own possession.
His slave. He'd called her that. The vibration's intensity bumped up, and it changed rhythm. No longer concentrated only in the nose of the bullet, it moved over her labia and pattered over her clit. Her hips convulsed, and she thrashed her head, pulling against the hold Troy had on her tether. "No . . . no . . ."
There was no help for it. She couldn't stop herself. She tried to rein the reaction back, but her Master wasn't going to give her any choice at all. He was hers to command, hers to push over that edge whenever he wished, no matter if it won her a punishment.
"Help . . ." But there was no help being offered for this. The climax took her, squeezing her internal muscles down on the plug, her pussy rippling beneath the vibration of the bullet. She squirmed on the folded cloak, hips jerking, fingers splayed wide in their bindings against her thighs. It got more and more intense and she screamed in the contained space of the vehicle, the sound rebounding and echoing against her like additional vibration and stimulus. Her nipples were throbbing, still tender from the clamps.
She choked it down as soon as she could, cognizant that she'd released without permission, but her hips were still moving with that rhythm, her breath choking in her throat. The vibration didn't abate, such that she jerked and writhed on the seat like a caught fish. She couldn't make it stop. Couldn't control her body. Because it wasn't hers. It was his.
"Yes, sir. She's done now."
The bullet and plug eased down to a hum again, like a slow lick over her tissues by a lover's tongue. She moaned in relief and heard Troy shift next to her. There was a click as he let off the radio. She realized he'd been holding it up close to her face as she climaxed, so her new Master could hear her. She thought of him driving ahead of her, thought of how his erection had probably swelled to an impressive length and thickness. Then she thought of her mouth on him there again and licked her lips. She'd just had a climax, but it wasn't enough. She was still throbbing. She wanted him inside her, in every orifice, penetrating heart, soul and mind.
As the car rolled to a stop, she rested her temple against the seatback, trying to catch her breath. She was close to Troy's face, his breath sweet and warm on her forehead. "This is your new home, pretty slave," Shale said from the front. "Serve your Master well."
The car door was opened and she was drawn from the vehicle with another tug against the collar. The smell of mown grass reached her nostrils. Things felt open and quiet, an absence of city noise. She could hear nighttime insects, perhaps some frogs on a nearby pond. Was this the soldier's property? A remote area, where no one would realize her owner had his own personal slave trained to do his bidding, 24/7, naked all the time if that was what he demanded.
Her legs were wobbly, such that Troy was supporting her under her arm and around her waist.
"Sir." He spoke, and she sensed t
he transfer of the tether to another's hand, one who firmly reeled her in until she stood right before him, his heat overwhelming her own. His fingers gripped her chin. "Did anyone give you permission to come, slave?"
"No, Master." Though he'd made it impossible for any different outcome. She didn't really care that it wasn't fair, though. What did that say about her?
"Then you understand you must pay the consequences."
"Yes, sir. My Master wanted me to come to have the opportunity to punish me."
She couldn't resist, which meant her mind wasn't really straight. She thought she heard a muffled chuckle from Troy, right before her Master's hand settled on her throat, just above the collar.
"The Training Mistress warned me about that clever tongue of yours. Another comment like that, and you'll have it strapped down by a gag for the rest of the night, when it's not being used in other ways."
She shivered at that tone he did so well. "Each time you come without permission tonight," he continued, "I'll mark it down. That's how many times my friends will get to fuck you."
"Will you tell me . . . about them?"
"What does that matter?" His tone sharpened, making her jump like the prick of a rose's thick thorn. "You'll serve whomever I wish."
"Yes, Master. I wanted to know more about them . . . to know how best to please them for you."
Silence as he thought that over. She could sense him circling her. She gasped as he caught her hair, jerked her head back, his thumb tracing her mouth. "Open wide."
She complied. As she held her mouth open so wide it made her jaw ache, he kept tracing her lips. "One of them has a very large dick. So large it makes a slave cry, even when she has to take it in her mouth. He likes that, likes feeling her tears fall on his cock. He'll strap you on a table, put your head over the edge so his balls will be against your face as he thrusts into your throat. Two of my friends like suckling a slave's nipples while he does that. They'll put their fingers inside you, make you come again. They'll keep you tied down so you can only cry for mercy. What will you do, slave?"
"I will do as my Master wishes." Her throat was dry, heart pounding so hard he had to hear it. "I will please him and make him proud."
"We'll see."
He jerked on her leash, making her follow him. Hearing the vehicle start behind her, she knew Troy and Shale were leaving. It was just the two of them. Maybe. He was so good at this, she was starting to doubt what he'd said, that he would be the only one to touch her tonight. However, if that assertion was true, what he said earlier suggested her Master would be having anal sex with her tonight. As well as every other kind of sex he wanted to have.
She'd never done that. She had the safe word. But, as scary as some of this was, nothing was scary enough to make her want to use that.
He was so close in front of her, she was guided by his body heat. She was brought up onto a deck, taken inside a screened porch. The heat of flame suggested burning candles. It had to be night at this point. "Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to do otherwise."
"Yes, Sergeant Major." She hadn't tried out that title yet and liked how it came off the tongue. She knew Sergeant was an enlisted man's rank, not an officer's. She found that idea fit him perfectly. He was the type of man who preferred to remain directly in charge of those under his command.
The blindfold was removed, the tether snapped off her collar. Her wrists were freed from the thigh cuffs, though he didn't remove either set, indicating they might be used again. She heard him move away from her, the creak as he settled into a chair. The tab of a canned drink popped, so she imagined him drinking a beer while he studied her there, naked, waiting on his will.
"You may lift your gaze."
It reminded her of the provocative scene in True Lies, where Arnold sat in a corner of the hotel room and ordered Jamie Lee Curtis to turn and display herself, undress, dance for him. Just like in that scene, she could see Logan's outline, his features, but nothing specific in the semi-darkness. He sipped the beer, the heat of his gaze like the sun. She'd never imagined doing any of this, but her focus wasn't on the macrocosm, but on every unique detail.
Standing before him naked, silent, not allowed to speak, she couldn't create a shield of words to protect her vulnerability. No, she had to merely stand while he thought whatever he wished of her. The nearby candles, heated by the wick of flame, turned soft and molten under the inexorable burn, the fragrance released by the accelerated temperature. A drop of her own wax, so to speak, rolled down her inner thigh, hot and slick. She could hear her breath, slow and yet erratic, like a languid breeze passing through the branches of a tree.
Setting the beer aside, he rose. He came to her, and the shadows resolved themselves into his forbidding, handsome expression. He unbuckled one thigh cuff, slid it around, refastened it, then he did the same to the other. Then he guided her wrists behind her, crossed them. He'd adjusted the D-rings so they were beneath the fullest point of her buttocks, so now her hands were cuffed behind her, the position and crossing of her wrists pulling her shoulders back to a more severe arch of her back.
He hadn't said she had to look down, so she watched him with hungry eyes. She thought the olive-green coat and crisply ironed slacks, the gold buttons and insignia on the sleeve, the braiding and polished shoes, just added to his look of total command.
As did that intent gaze, that Master's absorption that said he was seeing, thinking everything. Her thoughts might have the randomness of autumn leaves spinning in a storm, but in a way it meshed, that submissive chaos orbiting the Master in the center. He had strategic focus, each point on the line to his goal marked with every action.
She'd vaguely registered her surroundings. The screened porch, the chair where he'd sat watching her, but now she detected a different scent. Heated water. He gripped her elbow, turned her, and she saw the hot tub in the corner, steaming. He had the bubbles turned off.
Unbuttoning his coat, he shrugged out of it, hung it up on a coatrack. Then he loosened his tie, removed it, and rolled up his sleeves. Casual movements she found unbelievably sexy, such that when he bent and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, she wanted to curl her arms around his neck, press her face there, feel the strength of his body against her breasts through the thin shirt. But he had her bound, denying her.
He sat her on one of the benches in the tub, the heated water coming up to her waist. Reaching below the water's surface, he lifted her legs and wrapped two straps around her ankles, spreading and attaching them to the bench across from her, her feet curled over the edge of it. Her thigh straps were hooked to steel clips on the bench she was on, limiting the mobility of her hips. He fastened the chain to her collar to a hook on the side of the hot tub, taking up the slack enough it pulled against the side of her throat, but it was a psychological reminder, not restrictive. Easing her head back against the wide, flat edge behind her, he strapped her forehead down. In this position she was arched back, her breasts thrust up at him, legs spread beneath the water.
Then he turned on the jets.
One hit her on the labia and clit, a direct, solid hit, the force enough to have her gasping and trying to writhe right away.
"You keep yourself positioned right in front of that. No wiggling away."
"Yes, Master," she managed in a desperate rasp.
He loomed above her, watching as the water stimulated her already overwhelmed tissues. She was caught in a permanent state of arousal, almost where she couldn't go higher or lower, just had to stay in this mindless needy mode. Where she'd beg to be fucked, just like he'd said. She kept her eyes latched on his, knowing the plea was in her gaze. He was watching the reactions of her body, those stern, detail-oriented eyes covering every response.
Picking up one of the candles, he brought the flame close enough to her exposed breast that she felt the heat. She quaked but didn't draw back. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her regardless, and then tipped it over her skin, already glistening from the steam off th
e water.
She gasped again at the heat of the wax, a fast sear of the flesh that turned to liquid heat, rolling over the crinkled ground of her areola and her nipple before beginning to harden. He did it to the other, and she arched further toward him, not away. Setting the candle aside, he placed the blindfold back on her, lacing it more tightly than Troy had, so the darkness was absolute. She doubted any light could filter through, even around the edges.
His hands framed her neck, thumbs resting on her collarbone, then they made a slow upward stroke over her windpipe, to the base of the collar. She raised her chin as his mouth touched hers lightly, tongue tracing her lips. She made a soft plea which he answered by tightening his grip, indicating he expected her to stay utterly still, passive. It made things all the more combustible. The water was stroking her, pummeling her, and she cried softly into his mouth. He didn't respond to that, instead taking his time playing with her lips, while she shut her eyes tight behind the blindfold, the contrast helping her keep her mouth slack, which only intensified the sensations.
"Mine," he murmured, leaving her mouth to speak against her ear. "My devoted slave, my treasure. Your sweet cunt is all mine."
Those were the words she'd told Logan she'd imagined her soldier saying, when all this-- everything he'd brought to life for her tonight--had been merely a masturbation fantasy to keep her company in her lonely bed.
Before tonight, she would have said she'd been fantasizing about a Master who couldn't possibly exist. But those words Logan spoke against her flesh didn't feel like mere imitation to fit her fantasy. It was as if he'd sent them to her dreams long before she met him. Logan was the Master she'd dreamed about, and he was here, incredibly, overwhelmingly real.
She was going to come. Oh fuck . . . She whimpered, conveying the desperation in the plea.
