Archive-name: Slaves/slave.txt
Archive-author: Loredich
Archive-title: Slave


This is the first part of a story under construction.  Any
opinions would be most welcome.


                     I

Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a
woman?  I doubt you have.  You enjoy a position
of power and control that few women ever experience.
You revel in stature and status that is given to
you as a birthright.  Do men understand this innate
superiority?  Do men recognize the power they have?
I know most of them use it, but do they question it,
analyze it, turn it over and over in their minds?
 
And it comes as no surprise that few women even
dream of seizing this power for themselves.  Few
women realize that their femininity can be as
persuasive a weapon as the natural power of maleness.
If men are the hereditary oppressors, as contemporary
feminism would have you believe, then women have been
their willing toadies.  There is power in femaleness.
There is a secret influence that women can wield.
 
Most women never suspect this.
 
Have you ever wanted to experience the other side of
the coin, then?  I have.  As a woman I have hungered
to feel as though I am the unquestioned master.  Have
you ever wanted to submit, to feel as though you exist
and behave as the consequence of another's wishes?
 
Yes.  I simplify.  I oversimplify, perhaps, but in
questions of sexual politics it is sometimes more
effective to use a blunt tool than it is to use a
sharp one.  I want you to understand me.
 
I am not one of these unsuspecting lackeys that
make you comfortable.  I reject that position.  I
do not style myself as your equal--this time I am
your superior.  I want to know how that feels, to
control and manipulate as you, quintesentially male,
have done without thought.
 
And you look at me with raised eyebrows--one
beautiful dark brow shoots up as I tell you quietly
that you are to take off your clothes.  You laugh,
then realize that I'm not smiling.  You realize that
this isn't one of our playful moments.  You realize
that this is somehow different.
 
You do as you are told.  You take off your clothes,
item by item.  I watch as your body emerges from its
protective cocoon, and, as always, I am moved.  This
time, however, I maintain a position of bored hauteur.
How many times have you remained unmoved by my
nakedness?  I want you to know how it feels.  I want
you to be me.
 
And your skin is smooth, white and fragile-looking
in the dimness of the room.  You look somehow
vulnerable, penis not yet erect, puzzled look on
your face.  I like this.  I like knowing that I
have thrown you off-balance.  I like knowing that
the exercise has begun.  And will you do as you're told?
 
"Lie on the bed," I tell you, my tone neither playful
nor soft, but impersonal and cool.  There is a lesson
to be learned, you see, and I choose not to cloud it
with tenderness.  Your lips curve as you begin to
protest, and I curtail the flow of words before they
begin.  "You will do as you are told.  Otherwise,
you will be punished."
 
You start to speak, chuckling slightly, perhaps
a bit nervous. "Hey, you're in charge, then."
 
"Correct," I answer, neither sharing nor acknowledging
your amusement.  "Here are the rules.  You will not
speak unless you are spoken to.  You will not move
unless requested to.  You will address me as your
mistress, and you will function as my slave.  Is
that clear?"
 
You look puzzled, but I can see the beginnings of
arousal as your upper chest begins to flush pink
in the dimness.  "Yes, mistress."
 
And you still think this is a game, don't you?
You are playing along, humoring me, but that isn't
enough.  I desire your submission and compliance,
and I will have it.
 
"Lie on the bed," I tell you.  "On your back, arms
and legs spread."  You move to obey me.  This is
good.  As you participate, the playful mood will
leave you.  I plan to make sure of that.  You arrange
yourself on the bed, with your legs slightly parted
and your arms reaching above your head towards the
bars of the headboard.  Turning my back on you, I
open the top drawer of the bureau and withdraw two
sets of handcuffs, modified by the substitution of
long chains for the shorter ones.  As I turn, you
see me holding them and your whole body stiffens
in apprehension.
 
You and I have toyed with restraints before, scarves
and stockings, loosely tied.  But this is something
different, and the symbolism of the handcuffs in
comparison to the fabric ties is as powerful as the
actuality.  These are stronger, more definite,
certainly more menacing.  Certainly more erotic.
 
With no hesitation I affix the first set of cuffs
to your ankles, passing the chain between the bars
of the footboard.  Any movement on your part will
cause the cuffs to pinch your skin uncomfortably,
but you have been instructed not to move.  It is
really in your best interests to remain still.
As I turn to attend to your wrists, your hands
come down to stroke my breasts in the teasing
manner that you know I always crave.
 
Oh, not this time.  My tone is deliberate and
low: "You have been commanded not to move without
my permission.  This is a warning.  The next time
you misbehave, you will be punished."  Smiling
uncertainly, you withdraw your hands and return
them to the headboard as I resume the task of
binding you.
 
Really, it is a pleasure.
 
You are now secured and I stand to survey my work.
You are incomparably beautiful, impossibly helpless.
Your skin is now covered with the flush of arousal,
though I can still see uncertainty and apprehension
on your face.  I think it is time to reassure you.
I bend to kiss your lips, brushing them only gently
with my own, the first gesture of affection yet.
Your tongue hurries to meet mine, and I move away
from you with a warning glance.  Careful.  Careful.
 
"It's time to begin," I tell you calmly, and you
smile once again, certain that the lesson you will
be taught will be a pleasant one.  It will be, for
me.  And I hope that you will be a willing, eager
pupil.  That, however, remains to be seen.  Careful
discipline will ensure your cooperation, that much
is certain.
 
I kneel on the bed next to your prone form, looking
you up and down with a calculating glance.  Already
my dominance is beginning to excite me; seeing the
peachy tint of your skin and your partially erect
penis curving against the flatness of your belly
has always moved me, but never in such a proprietary,
gloating manner.  As I imagine mounting you and
possessing you thoroughly, feeling you withhold your
climax until I instruct you to fill me with your
heat, I become impatient.
 
It seems that I have a few lessons to learn as well.
 
I look at you at length, waiting until I have mastered
the wave of arousal that threatens momentarily to
undermine my authority.  Then I begin.
 
"You'll be a good slave, won't you?" I ask you softly,
testing the efficacy of my training.  You nod vigorously,
becoming intrigued with what you think is a game.  "You
will speak when I ask you a question," I inform you.
"Now, you will be a good slave, won't you?" I repeat,
directing the warmth of my breath into your ear.
 
"Yes, mistress," you answer, and I can tell that you
feel a bit silly, a bit self-conscious.  This, too, will
change once you become fully entrenched.  I'm sure of
it.  Because my fingers suddenly move to your nipples,
pinching them hard between thumb and forefinger.
 
"Good," I whisper, squeezing the pink buttons, not quite
enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of your position.
And your nipples are uncommonly sensitive, rather like
my own--usually you become erect with only a few passes
of my fingertips.  And as I watch you, I can see that
such an abrupt approach has the same effect: your penis
quickly becomes stiff as I roll your nipples between
my fingers, pulling them gently, watching your reaction
at my leisure.
 
Your eyes are closed now, and your mouth opens in a sigh
of pleasure.  "Mistress?" you ask, and I am so pleased
that you remembered my new title that I permit you a
question.  "Must I remain silent?"
 
"No," I assure you, stroking your now-tender nipples
idly.  "Sounds of pleasure are entirely appropriate."
 
As I play with your nipples more, you become restless
and start to shift on the bed, unconsciously moving
your hips in a steady rhythm.  This displeases me;
you do have explicit instructions not to move.
 
"You've been instructed not to move," I remind you.
"I warned you before.  Do you understand that you
have disobeyed my orders?"
 
Your eyes widen in surprise.  I can tell that you hadn't
even noticed the motions; they were purely instinctual.
That, however, is no excuse.  For me to control you,
you must learn to control yourself.
 
"Yes--mistress," you answer hesitantly, and I can see
that you want to offer some explanation.  I can also
see that you know that it will not be allowed.  Good.
You are learning.
 
"You have disobeyed me, and I will have to punish
you.  Do you understand?"
 
"Yes, mistress."  You answer this question more readily,
and you seem almost eager, and curious, to see how
I will chastise you.
 
My fingers caress your nipples slowly and gently,
returning you to the peak of arousal once more.  Your
eyes close in pleasure, and you seem to think the
punishment has been forgotten.  But I remove one
hand from your nipples and strike you on the cheek,
hard.
 
You gasp in shock and your eyes fly open.  You didn't
expect this from me, did you?  I have always been
so gentle--did I hurt you?  I did.  But I see that your
penis is now fully erect, and it looks almost painfully
hard.  "You won't disobey me again, will you, slave?"
I purr, stroking your chest once more.
 
"No, mistress," you answer, panting.  "Whatever you ask."
 
Whatever I ask.  Good.  I want you inside me, but it
will be at my convenience.  I think of the times you have
satisfied yourself with my body, leaving me unfulfilled.
I think of your helplessness and your utter submission,
chained before me.  I think of your fast heartbeat and
the red mark my hand has made on your cheek.  I think
of the hunger in your eyes as you look at me, and I
am ready.
 
I am damp and warm from this short lesson, and I stand
to remove my clothing.  You watch me as I undress, and
I make my movements purposefully lascivious to tempt
you more.  In other situations you would run your hands
up and down my body as I disrobed, squeezing and
probing in your impatience to have me beneath you.
I mimic your motions with my own hands.  "You want to
touch me, don't you?" I taunt you, recognizing the covetous
look you direct towards me as I slide my hands over my
small, firm breasts, pinching my own nipples as I had
yours.  With one hand I reach between my thighs and
stroke myself, feeling the slick warmth of my surfaces,
imagining the eager pink hue that I take on when aroused.
I masturbate as you lie there, unable to move or to take
part.  I am tempted to continue to orgasm, but I can do
that whenever I please.  Having you chained to my bed
is not an opportunity I choose to take lightly.
 
I straddle you then, and lean over so that my breasts are
just above your face.  "Lick my nipples, slave," I command
you.  "Just use your tongue."  Eagerly you comply, and I
place my hands on my shoulders to steady myself as the
delicious warmth of your tongue strokes me in just the
right way.  I lower my hips so that I can feel your
hardness against me--I am not yet ready for you to
enter me.  I want you to feel the frustration that I
sometimes feel.  I want you to whimper in anticipation.
 
Your tongue flutters over one nipple, then the other.  The
soft wetness is pleasing to me, and I hum my approval as
I guide to your mouth first one breast, then the other.
At the same time, I slide myself along the length of your
shaft, feeling you grow slick with my moisture.  I am
growing more impatient, and increase the pressure and
speed of my movements so that the head of your extended
penis slips over my clitoris.  I imagine myself opening
like a flower as I become more excited, and I visualize
the way you must look now, engorged and tight, with
the velvety head shiny and wet.  I think about the
moisture your own body produces as you become more
intensely aroused, that pearly drop of liquid that
quivers as your pulse throbs there.
 
And your lips have now closed around my nipple,
beginning a delicious sucking that makes me gasp--
a nip of the teeth now and then, how well you know.
 
"Slave," I say, and you understand my warning: you
have not been permitted that intimacy.  I briefly
consider a punishment for your unwelcome initiative,
but decide that it is not warranted.  Really, you are
doing quite well for such a new pupil.
 
I am ready now to take you inside me.  As I have
moved myself against your erection I have come
closer and closer to orgasm, and I know that the
moment I bring my body down upon yours I will
no longer need to hold back.  Angling my body, I
guide the head of your penis to my opening, and
with one smooth motion I slide down onto you,
taking you inside me deeply and fully.
 
And my wetness holds you close, like the friendly
embrace I been withholding from you.  I feel the
heat and hardness as you throb impatiently within
me, and I know it is taking a great deal of restraint
for you to remain still and silent.  How long can you
maintain such an obedient attitude?
 
I wait.  I wait for you to move, and you do not.  You
look up at me with a proud gleam in your eye: your
compliance has been noted and met with approval.
For that I am willing to reward you.  Raising my
hips, I let my full weight carry me down onto your
erection again.  I know you've always liked this,
you see.  "I will use you for my own pleasure," I
tell you, and you smile  as I come down upon you
once more.  You've always liked this.
 
I become more and more excited as I watch you
behave so submissively; to have such control is
immensely arousing to me.  I ride you slowly
and deeply, adjusting my position so that the
tip of your penis strokes me in precisely the
right places.  My speed increases as I become lost
in my own pleasure, lost in using you as a tool
to obtain my orgasm.
 
And it comes, lurking with a menacing intensity,
then bursting forth like a gorgeous surprise.  My
body shudders around you as I continue my hard,
deep strokes.  I come again and again, riding you
with a determination that is perfect in its single-
mindedness.  Your lower body is covered with my
wetness, and I notice the scent of my arousal as
I slow my motions, panting from my exertions.
 
The contractions of my climax subside slowly, and
I open my eyes to see you smiling at me, a lewd,
joyous smile that is deliciously wicked.  I'm not
sure I like that smile, though, and, since my pleasure
is complete, I quickly disengage our bodies so that
your penis, still hard and long, slides wetly from me
to rest against your belly.  I admire its rosy red
against the whiteness of your skin.
 
Your eyes have widened in deprivation.  "Mistress,
please!"
 
"Please?  Please what, slave?" I ask, assuming an
indifference now that I have obtained my own
satisfaction.
 
"Please, mistress--fuck me some more!"  Your
tone speaks of urgency, of your eagerness to be
enveloped in my warm confines once again.
 
"Do you want to come?" I ask you softly, and as
I speak to you your hips sway in deprivation.
 
"Yes!  Oh, yes!"  You are moving in earnest now,
and I am no longer interested in depriving you
of  some sort of satisfaction since I have had my own.
But I will not furnish the means to attain it.  You are
now responsible for your own orgasm.
 
I fetch the key to the cuffs from the bureau, and
I loosen the cuffs at your wrists.  Taking your hand
in my own, I guide it to your erection, wrapping your
fingers around the shaft to make my intention clear.
"You may pleasure yourself now, slave.  But you may
not come until you have gained my permission."
 
You briefly manage a disappointed look before the
pressure of your own hand begins to provide some
stimulation.  My slickness is still enough to furnish
lubrication, so your tightened fingers slide easily
over your hardness.  I watch you caress yourself,
becoming excited once more.  Your sounds are
intoxicating--I love the soft grunts and sighs you
produce as you stroke your erection.  My own hand
steals downward as I watch you, and I slide my
fingers inside myself, mesmerized by the motions
of your body as you masturbate.
 
Your whole body begins to quiver as your release
approaches.  "May I come now, mistress?" you plead,
thrusting strongly into the warm tunnel formed by
your fingers.
 
"Not yet, slave," I answer, and a look of utter despair
crosses your beautiful tense features.  "First I want you
to taste me."
 
And my words have the desired effect: I know that it
takes a monstrous effort for you not to erupt just
then.  But the motion of your hand slows, and I position
myself appropriately, with my hips straddling your
shoulders.  "You may begin," I tell you, lowering
myself against your lips.
 
Your tongue steals out and licks me with urgency.  I
imagine being in your position, under a woman as
you are, and I wonder what it must be like to kiss
her so intimately.  As your tongue stabs at my
clitoris with increasing fervor, I feel the pressure
building within me once more, and I direct you,
"Put your tongue inside me."  Instantly your tongue
is driven deep inside me, and the delicious thrusting
propels me closer and closer as my fingers tug at
my hardened nipples.
 
And I can tell by the muffled sounds that you make
that you are nearing your climax once more.  Just as
I feel the explosive pleasure begin to radiate from the
insistent probing of your tongue, I whisper, "You may
come now, slave."
 
With a loud groan, your body tightens, though you try
valiantly to continue the movements of your mouth.
You quiver and gasp in release, and the pumping motion
of your hand stops abruptly.  I move away from you
just in time to see your penis as it produces that hot,
whitish fluid that signals your satisfaction.
 
And you breathe hard, and your chest rises and falls
for several moments as the force of your release
subsides.  "You have been a good slave," I purr
approvingly, and I just catch your smile before
I bend to lick the semen from your skin.  I relish
your taste, love the heat of you.
 
Once I have finished, I unlock the cuffs from your
ankles, and you stretch luxuriously, bending your
joints to remove the stiffness.  "Thank you, slave,"
I whisper, returning to your lips for a final kiss.
 
"Yes, mistress," you sigh, closing your eyes with a
gentle smile of pleasure.

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