ON
DISPLAY |
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She likes Her slave controlled. She likes
it when he won't stand or sit or kneel without asking
permission first. She loves it when he calls or
sends email asking for bathroom privileges during
the day.
She don't always grant them. Well, not
exactly when he wants them.
A long time ago, She learned that it's
good for him to learn to control himself alongside
learning how to accept Her control and then crave
it; to feel empty and directionless without it;
to know that when Her control isn't enveloping him,
that he feels lonely and almost purposeless. She
taught him that, little by little, and he learned
the lesson well.
From the time he woke up in the morning
and situated himself on all fours, with his head
down and his ass up and spread, he was under Her
control. When he felt his empty and naked balls
searching vainly for the ring that only She could
give him, Her control washed over him like gentle
rain on a hot summer day. Her heat seared his skin
and he welcomed the comfort Her control gave him.
There were only a precious few other women
who understood how to treat a slave and what was
best for them. There were, of course, plenty of
women who played at it, but very few who truly understood
the heart of a slave. It was time, She decided,
to take him to meet them. When he was allowed to
grow as Her slave was always her decision. Her rules,
Her timing, Her decisions created the control he
so desperately wanted and hated at the same time.
It tortured him when She controlled him; it tortured
him when She did not.
One morning, after he brought her coffee
and nestled himself between Her legs to awaken her
properly, She felt his stiff tongue working diligently
and she spoke mostly to the air because the only
visible part of him was his upraised and nicely
spread ass.
"We're going for a little drive this
morning, My toy." Her words were clear and
precise and his ears, embedded between Her legs,
struggled to listen while never ceasing his tongue's
requisite work.
"There's a little get together for
brunch," She continued without care as to whether
or not he could make out her words. "It's time
that I showed you off," she finished both verbally
and physically. His tongue was good, well-trained
and agile. He had learned well how to please Her
this way. What he didn't yet realize is that her
hunger to train him knew few limits. Boundaries
weren't her style.
She allowed him to hand her soap and Her
sponge in the shower and he knelt on the ceramic
to shave Her legs and touch up Her omnipresent decorating.
Exquisitely careful not to nick Her skin, he lathered
each leg and worked the razor elegantly to perform
the task. Rubbing his face against Her skin, he
checked to ensure his work was perfect.
After he dried Her, she dressed in a favorite
black suit with the accessories that felt good to
Her. Then she stared at him.
"Get your belt," she ordered
and he scurried to retrieve the custom leather belt
she had made for him -- the one with the special
harness for the plug and the extra-large ring she
specified for his large genitals to squeeze through
and stay available to Her, even under his slacks.
Whenever She wanted to feel him, all She had to
do was pat the front of his pants and within seconds,
his erect penis dripped for Her continued touch.
She was his trainer, his Owner and master; his task
was to respond to Her spoken and unspoken needs.
If She touched him, She knew he would become hard
and wet and She used his Pavlovian response to control
him just a bit more.
He loved it too much to complain. But he
wore his fear of new situations outside his skin
where She could touch, tease, and use it.
Belting him in the black leather device
and patting his penis both to make sure it was firmly
through the ring as well as to watch it begin to
rise at the mere closeness of Her fingers to his
skin, She nodded approval and flipped a finger toward
his black slacks with an almost disinterested order
for him to dress only enough to drive Her to brunch.
By the time she reached the bottom step, he was
starting down the staircase. He had learned well
to dress quickly and never keep Her waiting.
After a 40-minute drive, they arrived where
She wanted to go. He rang the doorbell and stood
behind Her so Her friends could greet her appropriately.
Then they stepped inside.
After pleasantries were exchanged, a single
look made him strip his black slacks and shirt and
stand naked, save for his belt, a single step behind
Her. No matter where she walked, that was his unleashed
position and he knew it well. After coffee, the
Women walked down the spiral staircase with their
slaves following in a silent procession. The naked
males were led to one side of the large room while
the women seated themselves comfortably at the other.
"Put Mine in a neck lock," one
said and a pair of hands began securing a male's
neck and wrists in a heavy wooden block. With his
hands raised to ear level, his range of motion was
absolutely limited.
One by one, the males were fastened into
a variety of weighty wooden devices that prevented
their movement and made them vulnerable to their
Owners' touch. Some in head gear, others over wooden
horses, and still others dotted the landscape in
simpler but effective shackles and chains. Finally,
he heard Her voice - - that clear voice he knew
so well whether it was throaty, crisp, loud or a
mere whisper that burned his brain with its intensity.
"Put mine on the stand," she
spoke easily.
Hands lifted him ignominiously onto a two-foot
high wooden block while other hands removed his
belt and the plug that felt as if it were a natural
part of his flesh. When it was gone, he felt empty,
as if a piece of him were missing - - the piece
that was Her inside him. Sighing silently, he stood
naked and vulnerable atop the block and waited.
Eager and trained hands re-lubricated his warm ass
and he felt the rigidness of another, new type of
plug invade him. Too afraid to meet his Owner's
eyes, he stared at his feet and forced himself to
take even breaths to maintain the composure needed
for whatever would transpire next for him at Her
direction.
The stiff plug invaded him more deeply
and his lips wanted to cry out in surprise. He held
his tongue, as he had been taught, and still dared
not meet Her eyes. If he had, he would have seen
two blue eyes twinkling at his plight.
She adored it when he was faced with the
unknown. He wore his apprehension so well. And today,
she grinned, his apprehension was well-deserved.
Without warning, the new plug pulled away
from his ass and the empty feeling filled his heart
again. Suddenly, it returned, wedging itself deeper
inside him this time. And then it disappeared.
As he stood locked on the wooden stand
to a stiff pole embedded in the thick wood, a plug
entered him and exited in rapid succession as he
stood there, staring at his feet, still afraid to
look at Her with obvious rising terror on his face.
She knew his fear; She used it. Repeatedly. The
plug continued its abhorrent rhythm thrusting into
his warm ass and then pulling out and he stood there,
taking it for Her pleasure. How he felt didn't matter
to him; he was there for Her use.
"A little faster," she spoke
quietly and the plug seemed to take a new tempo
on its own.
"And a little deeper," she almost
cooed in a whisper that was heard clearly throughout
the large room.
The device continued unabated while he
stood there, the object of the plug's insertion,
not a man, not a person, not even slave. Just a
mere tool for Her enjoyment, to be used and abused
- - to suffer when She chose.
The plug was ceaseless in its violation
of his now-hot ass and he still dared not look at
Her eyes across the room. Struggling to maintain
any shred of composure, he was able to glean only
a few of Her words.
"Next Tuesday? Sure, My slave will
drive us there," She said.
And seconds later, "What kind of cheese
is this? It's delicious," spilled from her
lips and landed almost directly inside his brain.
And more, "Champagne and orange juice
is lovely!" Her apparent joy swirled inside
him. His own hunger, which was for Her control and
not for food and drink, seemed almost unbearable.
The mechanical plug drove in and out of
him incessantly and his ears sought only the sound
of Her voice. Other slaves made other noises and
lived in their own worlds, but his was a dimension
he claimed as his own. Transparent but sturdy walls
surrounded him and it was his Owner who held the
only key. The force up his ass increased and the
pressure built steadily. He felt almost unable to
hold himself upright and thought about sneaking
a look at Her to gain some strength from Her control
. . . just enough to enable him to continue pleasing
Her. But he didn't move his head an inch. He was
determined to prove his strength to Her.
He stared at his feet, clenched his jaw,
and suffered for Her.
Her touch was as shocking as it was welcome.
As if She knew he had reached his limit, She approached
Her slave and touched his hair with soft fingers
of one hand, while the other held a wineglass of
sparkling juice. She sipped as She patted his temple
casually and laughed while resting a single finger
under his chin and lifting his face to meet her
eyes.
It took the last ounce of his strength
to comply and the remnants of his inner reserve
to meet her stare.
She was smiling and his heart was as glad
as his ass - - and last shred of dignity - - ached.
"Get my flogger," she spoke in
that voice that knew that someone somewhere would
scurry to obtain it for Her and place it precisely,
politely and perfectly in her hand.
And he breathed huge and deep to inhale
both air and a drop of Her power as he readied himself
to please Her even more.
Unleashing one's lifetime of fantasies,
desires and needs is a powerful experience.
Saying them aloud is truly painful.
I hear your silent scream, my fucktoy,
and will use you for My pleasure.
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