Sunday, June 19, 2016

Fiction: fs01 - Part 30

Author's note:
This follows after Part 29.

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XXX

The bell.  I drop the duster and move as fast as my shackled legs will carry me.  As I approach the living room I pull the ankle chains taut and waddle in.  I drop to my knees, bow my head and extend my arms.  1, 2, 3.  I rise, move and drop to my knees in front of her at the couch, repeating the position.  I brace myself for the crop.  It doesn't fall.  Relief.  I must have been on time.

"Wine.  Red."

I retreat to the pantry, making sure to kneel and bow at the edge of the room.  I head to the pantry and retrieve a bottle.  I pop the cork.  I shine a glass with a cloth.  I fill the glass and place it and the bottle on a silver tray.  I carefully navigate the room, careful not to spill.  I kneel before her.  I turn my upper body to set the tray on the coffee table.

"slave, position 1 is not necessary when presenting me something.  It wastes my time."

I turn the tray to her and serve as her table.  She takes the glass and drinks.  I breathe a sigh of relief.  In my haste I forgot to bow when entering.  She notices but lets me off the hook.  I take note.  When Mistress requests something, speed trumps ritual.  When I am summoned, both are equally important.

I keep my eyes on the floor.  I hear her.  She smirks.  She moans.  She giggles.  Noises flow from the tablet's speaker.  Mistress watches Femdom videos.  I remember her mentioning to me while at work that their adult division supplies some of the more popular Femdom video sites with fur and leather fetish gear in exchange for links and ads to her shop's adult site.

Mistress clears her throat.  Her hand shakes her empty glass from side to side.  She sets the glass on the tray.  Slap.  Her hand slaps my cheek.  I wince as I balance the tray to keep it from tipping.  I deserve that.  Punishment for letting my mind wander.  Punishment for insolence. 

I continue kneeling.  I try to block the pain.  I keep the corner of my eye fixated on her glass.  Her scent grows stronger.  She drinks the last sip of wine.  I balance the tray on 1 hand and reach for the bottle.  She sets the glass on the tray.

"I want lunch."

I bow my head, careful not to tip the tray.  I rise and head for the kitchen.  At the edge of the room I turn and kneel.  I set the tray down.  I bow my head and extend my hands.  1, 2, 3.  I rise, pick up the tray and depart.

As the food cooks my stomach growls repeatedly.  My mouth waters.  I debate sneaking a bite.  That will bring the prison strap or worse.  Mistress will know.  She always knows.  I clear my head of such thoughts.  I transfer the food to her plate and I place it on the table with her utensils, napkin, and beverages.  I approach the living room.  I enter, kneel, and bow.  I hold this position.

I hear the leather of the couch creak as Mistress rises.  I slowly raise my body and stand.  I back to the edge of the wall and keep my head down.  Mistress passes me.  Her perfume leaves a trail behind her.  I fight the urge for arousal.  I follow her to the table and help her into her chair.

"Position 5."

I bend at the waist, gripping both chains in my hands.  I brace myself.  She giggles.  This position provides discomfort.  She knows this.  Mistress eats slowly.  My body shifts and teeters slightly under the strain.  I hear the knife and fork fall to the plate.  I hold my position.  The blood rush to my head clouds my thoughts.

Her chair slides against the floor.  Her boots click across the kitchen.  The pantry door.  A plate clatters on the counter.  The faucet runs.  I hear her steps clack away across the room.  Dishes clatter lightly on the floor.

Mistress approaches.  Her hand slaps my buttocks.  

"The slave has earned some food." 

I release my position, kneel, and bow.  I rise and waddle across the room, keeping the chains silent.  There is a plate and a small dish in the corner.  I kneel.  2 saltines and some water.  I inhale the first and gulp down some water.  My stomach turns.  I was unaware of the level of dehydration.  I savor the second cracker.  Small bites.  Chew.  I lick the crumbs from the plate.  I finish the water, draining every drop into my mouth.

I wash the dishes.  I continue with my chores.  Mistress continues watching her tablet on the couch.  I am afraid.  Distracted.  Ready to run at a moment's notice.  The afternoon passes without interruption.  I finish my standard chore set.  My body aches and throbs.  I shiver in the cold.  My stomach growls. 

The bell rings.  I stay close.  Prepared.  I kneel and bow at the entrance to the living room.  1,2 3,.  I approach her, kneel, and bow.

"I want dinner."

I return to the kitchen, kneeling and bowing before I leave.  I cook.  My mouth waters.  The smells fill my nose.  I'm hungry.  I prepare everything in a single course for Mistress.  I hope and fear that this is the right choice.  I kneel and bow at the entrance to the living room.  She moans on the couch.  After a couple of minutes I hear the tablet on the coffee table and the creak of the couch's leather.  I rise as she approaches and move aside.

I follow and help her into her chair.

"Position 5."

I bend over and grab chain, careful not to let them rattle.  She eats very slowly.  My nose perks at the various aromas drifting in the room.  The food smells wonderful.  Her perfume is delightful.  The scent of her sex is strong.  Pain and discomfort prevent my arousal.  With each bite she reacts.  Mistress savors her food.  She chews and eats slowly.  This game amuses her.

Her fork and knife reach the plate.  A last gulp of drink.  The glass on the table.  Her chair slides on the floor.  She rises.  The pantry.  The fridge.  A dish clanks on the counter.  The faucet.  Her boots click on the floor.  She paces away.  The dishes rattle on the floor in the corner.

"The slave has earned food."

She walks past me.  The edge of her fur coat grazes my frozen skin.  It tingles in a good way.  My sex twitches.  I press my hands to my mouth as I rise.  The spikes dig into the flesh.  I mute my scream.  The pain forces me to my knees before it subsides.  I crawl to my food.  My mouth waters.

3 grapes.  2 saltines.  A small water dish.  I eat a saltine first.  Bite by bite.  The food enters my stomach.  It feels great.  The second saltine dries my mouth.  I wash it down with a sip of water.  The chilled grapes are cold and I shiver as the first one enters my mouth.  I bite in and relish the sweet liquid of its juices.  I chew slowly, with purpose.  I let the flavor linger in my mouth before swallowing.  I enjoy this privilege.  Am I broken already?

I finish the grapes and slowly guzzle the water.  My body invigorates slightly.  I gather up the dishes and utensils and wash them.  I return to the living room, kneeling and bowing at the entrance.  Mistress sits on the couch.  I hear her tap the crop against its armrest.

"A slow slave can be replaced with a faster one."

Her words are cold.  I shudder beneath them.  I feel her eyes trace over me.  Admiring her work.  The welts.  The swelling.  I remain face down and await her next command. 

"To the dungeon, slave." 

I rise and head across the room.  I kneel and bow before I leave.  1, 2, 3.  I rise and descend the stairs to the basement.  It's colder down here than upstairs.  I shiver as I cross the gate.  I kneel at the marks and place my hands behind my head.  I wait.

Several minutes pass.  My knees ache on the hard floor.  My ears perk.  In the distance.  Footsteps on the stairs.  Heels click on the floor.  They approach.

"Chain on the hook."

I stand and raise my arms, feeding the chain over the hook.  The motor whirs.  My arms pull upwards. It raises me to my toes.  Heels click behind me.  Her breath on my back.  My body stiffens.  A gloved hand finds my chest.  The fur on her sleeve drags along my side.  I glance down.  Mistress wears a different coat.  Her hand tugs the chain between the clamps.  I yelp and throw my head back.

I feel something cold drag along the skin on my back.  It's firm and rough.  A light scratching sound comes up from the floor. My mind races.  It's a whip. My breathing gets heavy.  My chest heaves.  The hairs on my neck stand up.  She's only used this once before.  Years ago.  Early on.  It did too much damage and was buried away since then.

Her steps click back and forth behind me.

"In case you are wondering, slave, this isn't a punishment.  I'm merely bored."

I hear a hard clack on the floor.  The air whizzes.  Crack.  The leather bites into the skin on my buttocks.  My breath leaves with a grunt.  It stings and burns.  My body bucks in recoil. I whimper.  Crack.  The whip bites my other cheek.  I cry out as tears fill my eyes.

A hard step.  I brace myself.  Crack.  The whip hits lower.  I shriek and sob.

"Yes!  That's it."

I slump against the shackles.  A faint sound.  She's rubbing herself.  Another firm step.  Crack.  The other cheek.  I wail and shake against the chains.  She approaches.  I feel her hand trace the lines on my skin.  She rubs.  It stings.  The skin swells and throbs.  I wince under her touch.  She coos.

Her steps move away.  A hard click on the floor.  Crack.  I shriek as the whip lands on my back.  Step.  Crack.  Tears flow.  I cry out to no one.  I dare not beg for mercy.  Do not invite more pain.

Crack.  I thrash under the strain.  Crack.  I yell, collapse, and dangle.  I continue to sob.

I hear the whip hit the floor.  Mistress paces away.  I hear rattling on the cart.  The flow of clothing.  She mutters under her breath.

"Too many fucking straps.  Fuck."

The motor whirs.  The hook descends relieving the strain on my wrists.

"On the horse, slave."

I waddle gingerly.  Each step is a chore.  My body throbs and pulses. I struggle to climb onto the bondage horse.  I hear her approach.  She pulls my ankle chain down.  Click.  It's held taut.  She moves around me.  I close my eyes.  She pulls my wrist chain down.  Click.  I open one eye and steal a glance.  Mistress's full length fur coat hangs open.  She wears boots and nothing underneath except her Reverb harness.  I shut my eyes.

I feel her breath on my cheek.  She whispers.
"Dom was right, you do like to seduce us women, don't you?"

I feel pressure on my rear.  A click.  She slides the plug out from inside of me.  I hear it rattle and slide across the floor, coming to a rest after it hits the wall.

Her hands find my hips.  Pressure.  I tense.  More pressure.  I let out a sob as she penetrates me.  She rubs her hands up and down.  My skin stings under her touch.  She thrusts deep.  My head arches back.  I wail.

"Scream for me, slave.  Scream!"

She pinches the skin on my sides and thrusts again.  I feel the harness against my rear.  Tears flow freely from my eyes.  Her hands find my back.  Her fingers press into the bruises.  She thrusts.  I scream for her.  It hurts.  I scream and scream again.  She moans and laughs, her hips slapping against my thighs.  She digs her fingers into the skin on my rear and drags her hands.  I shriek and wail.  She laughs and thrusts.  Where are you, Mistress?  I don't recognize this woman.

She continues to violate me.  Her moans and cries mix with laughs.  I scream until my voice is hoarse.  In and out, in and out.  My brain knows nothing but pain.  She increases her pace like a jack-rabbit.  My head slumps.  My eyes continue to flow.  Drool drips from my lip.  In and out, in and out.  Mistress cries out with a primal shout.  I feel her hips pulse as she cums.  She slowly guides the Reverb out of me.  I hear the movement of straps. She lets out slow moan.  Crash.  The sound of straps and buckles hitting the ground.

I feel the ankle chains release from their connector.  The strain on my legs decreases.  She walks around me and repeats with the wrist chain.  My eyes zone out and do not close.  Her coat is closed around her.

"Position 1."

I gingerly climb down from the horse.  My butt hurts.  My body hurts.  My heart hurts.  I kneel before her, press my forehead to the floor and extend my arms, palms down.

"I'm feeling kind, slave.  I shall grant you some warmth."

She walks over to the cart and returns.  I feel some cloth fall on my back.

"Dress yourself."

I rise and remove the cloth.  It's a burlap potato sack.  The side have been sliced along its length and there is a hole at the top.  I place my head through the hole and slide my arms up the side slits.  She throws a length of twine at my feet.  I pick it up and tie it around my waist.  The burlap stings and itches my skin, but it is warmer than nothing.  It's almost a shirt, extending slightly below my waist.

"In the cage, slave."

I crawl into the cage, keeping the chains taut.  She closes the gate behind me and closes the lock.  Mistress walks away.  She reaches the gate and shuts off the lights.  The gate closes.  I hear it lock as well.  Her steps drain away.  Up the stairs.  The lights go out completely.  I shiver.  I weep.  Alone.  My body aches.  Mistress.  Where are you?

END ACT

6 comments:

  1. Strange that no one is commenting on your slave story, fur. Be advised that I'm enjoying it no end, but wondering why it's leaving others with no response. What's your take on this? Of course, I'm weeks behind in my reading, and perhaps the comments are yet to come. We'll see.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Lady Grey.

      The optimist in me says it's because summer is up and going now. Vacations, longer days spent outside, children out of school, etc. My site traffic seems to say most readers were about 4-5 chapters behind each time I published a new chapter and about 30-60 people are reading them per week.

      The pessimist in me worries that I lost people along the way.

      I have slowed down on my writing quite a bit, so maybe things will pick up when I release chapters at a pace closer to what people are able to read with less free time.

      Delete
  2. Well, that was quite the thrill to read!

    I literally laughed out loud at the burlap sack...so cruel, especially after being treated so roughly.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Misty.

      Burlap is better than nothing, isn't it?

      Delete
    2. Im not so sure about that, that stuff feels horrible. I might rather be naked and cold.

      But I guess men are more accustomed to wearing uncomfortable clothing. :P

      Delete
    3. fs is rather accustomed to the punishment lining, which I originally envisioned as being similar to lightly starched burlap, so for him, it is likely an upgrade.

      Delete