Pulse from my heart.

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Summerslave 7

PREPARATIONS

I had planned to sleep in that Sunday morning, but to my surprise, I felt her slide out of bed around nine o'clock. I had given her a rough time Saturday night and expected her to be exhausted. She had always been one to sleep like a stone, though, then wake up early and feel totally refreshed.

The bathroom door closed. After a couple minutes I heard the hiss of the shower. I knew she had taken those minutes to remove her collar and the three sets of cuffs she had worn since the night before.

The bed was a damp mess. We had gone to bed sweaty and sweated even more in the hot Southern night. There was certainly more than sweat on those sheets as well.

I rolled over and swung my feet to the floor. Grabbing my robe from the top of the dresser, I threw it over my shoulders and padded out to the kitchen. Just as the coffee finished brewing and I poured my first cup, the shower stopped. Again there was an interval before she opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway. She leaned around the corner to glance into the bedroom, thinking to confirm that I was still asleep. She wore only her collar and the three unconnected sets of cuffs at wrists, elbows and ankles.

"I'm in here," I said. "In the kitchen."

She dropped quickly to her knees, face down and ass in the air. She clasped her hands behind her back. "Forgive me, Master. I didn't expect. . . I didn't get a chance to wake you properly."

"And how would you have done that?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"With my mouth, Master, as you directed. With my lips and tongue," she answered without looking up.

"Consider yourself forgiven," I chuckled. "Kneel up."

She displayed herself for me, knees wide, torso erect, head bowed. Her hands stayed clasped behind her. '

"Would you like a cup of coffee, slut?"

"Yes, Master," she said softly. "If it pleases you." )

"Come in here, then."

"Of course, Master." She dropped to all fours to crawl slowly into the kitchen. Stopping beside me, she folded down, face to the floor and clasped her hands behind her. I felt her lips softly caress my ankle. I poured coffee into two white porcelain diner-style cups and added milk. I picked up the cups and, reluctantly pulling my feet away from her soft lips, stepped over to the kitchen table and sat. Setting the cups in front of me, I waved a hand at the opposite chair.

"Sit down. Relax for a minute," I told her.

She knelt up, her head bowed to avoid my gaze and replied, "I'd prefer to kneel."

"Yes?"

"If it pleases you, Master, I'd prefer to kneel," she added hurriedly.

"On the bare tile, slut?"

"Yes, Master. I deserve no more. I failed you. . . ." She shuffled over on her knees to find a place beside the table. She again bowed face down to the floor.

"Relax, you did fine. I surprised you, that's all. I said you were forgiven. I'll decide if you've failed me. Got that?"

"Yes, Master."

"Now drink your coffee and let's talk for a second."

She knelt up and took the mug in both hands. Her nipples were level with the table top. She took a sip of the steaming coffee and quickly set down the mug.

"I was pretty rough on you last night," I began.

"Yes, Master," She glanced up into my eyes quickly, almost furtively. Her lips crinkled. She was trying to hide a smile. "You were hard on me. But it was punishment you had decided for my disobedience."

"And how did you disobey me?"

"I came, Master, against your direct command. Five times."

"Did I make it possible for you to obey me?"

"No, Master. I could not obey you." She picked up her cup and held it in her clasped hands, below the table top.

"Was it fair to punish you, then?"

"I accept your wish to correct my behavior, Master." She took a gulp of coffee, then another. No longer trying to conceal her smile she looked straight up at me, boldly. "I accept your right to punish me for whatever reason you desire. I accept that you may punish me for no reason but your wish to do so."

I shook my head slowly and smiled back down at her. "Then you have no reservations about your decision to become my slave."

"No, Master. None."

"Not even after last night?"

"No, Master, especially not after last night."

"I don't think I quite understand that."

"Last night, Master, you made me completely yours. You took away every thing except my trust in you, my faith in you, my dependence on you. That's what I want, Master, what I desire, to be yours totally, heart, mind and body."

"And you're absolutely sure of that?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"If you're that certain, then that is what I'll expect. Absolute submission."

"Yes, Master." She set down her coffee mug and bowed her head.

I could just see the corners of her mouth turned up through the cascade of her hair. She was still smiling.

I finished my coffee in silence. She had drunk most of hers in quick sips as we talked. Setting my empty mug on the table, I stood and looked down at her naked form. She knelt, head bowed and hands clasped behind her. She had barely moved since we finished talking.

"The bed's a mess," I said. "Change the sheets and start breakfast. I need a shower." As I passed her heading toward the bathroom, I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. I leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. Our tongues sparred briefly before I broke away and dropped her hair. She quickly bowed her head.

"What are you waiting for? Get to work," I demanded before I closed the bathroom door.

I sat at the kitchen table and watched her with amusement as I ate my scrambled eggs, toast and jam, then sipped my second cup of coffee. She knelt in the middle of the floor, leaning over her breakfast plate. A bowl full of orange juice sat on the floor beside the plate.

I could have made eating breakfast more difficult for her, by binding her hands behind or simply ordering her not to use them. As it was, she was once again in her "uniform" with ankle cuffs connected by about a foot of chain and her wrists by a single link.

I had allowed her no utensils. She had messily spread butter and jam on her toast with her fingertips. Eating the toast was no problem, she could easily raise it to her mouth, but the eggs were a different matter. After several unsuccessful tries with different techniques, she managed to hold a lump of egg between the fingertips of both hands and navigated it to her mouth before it oozed away. She was determined to eat it all, probably knowing that I would have insisted anyway. Finishing the eggs, she picked up the plate and licked it clean of crumbs and egg. She leaned over her bowl and lapped up orange juice, catlike.

"May I clean up the dishes, Master?" she asked, looking up from the empty bowl.

"Go ahead."

She stood, picked up her plate and bowl and placed them in the sink. Then she cleaned my dishes from the table and began to run dishwater. "Are you finished eating, slut?"

"Yes, Master, of course," she responded as she squirted soap into the sink, holding the bottle in both hands.

"I don't think so," I said, pointing at three yellow globs of egg in the floor.

"I'm sorry, Master. How could I have been so careless?" she said with a smile. She scooped up a sponge and leaned down to wipe up the spilled egg. "Stop." I said. She froze in mid-swipe. "Eat."

"But Master, it's on the floor."

"You clean that floor don't you?"

"Yes, Master, but I . . . "

"Eat it."

"Yes Master. If course. If it pleases you, Master." She dropped to her knees, leaned down and carefully licked up each drop of egg from the floor. She licked an area about six inches across around each egg spot, leaving the floor wet, shiny and spotless.

"Very good, slut," I said. "You may stand to finish the dishes."

She rose, facing me. She looked down at her bound hands and held them out for me to see. "Master," she asked, "would you please release my hands so I can wash the dishes. I'm afraid I'll break something; my hands are so clumsy like this."

"I'd hate to have to punish you for breaking a plate," I smiled. I took her hands in mine and released the link between her wrist cuffs.

"Thank you, Master." She grinned up at me and began to turn toward the sink.

"Just a minute," I said, tightening my grip on her wrists. "I'm not going to make it that easy."

She pursed her lips and looked down at the floor. "No, Master. Of course not." I pulled the short chain from my pants pocket and clipped each end of it to her cuffs.

"There you go. Restrained, but not disabled. That should be quite serviceable."

"Yes, Master, quite," she replied, pulling her wrists apart with a jangling of chain. Her voice dripped sarcasm. I chose to ignore her tone.

"When you finish the dishes, get our food and drinks together for our picnic. I've got some things to get ready."

She turned and plunged her bound hands into soapy water.

I spanked her once, hard, on each ass cheek with my palm before I turned away from her.

"Thank you, Master," I barely heard her say as I left the kitchen.

Everything was ready for our picnic in the mountains. We had cheese, wine, mustard, paté, pickles and fruit packed in ice in a small cooler in the rear floorboard of the car. A blanket, bread. and some special goodies I had prepared were in a knapsack in the back seat.

Of course, I had let her dress to go out. She had said, "Barely, but dressed." She sat beside me in a tiny red bikini top and a pair of yellow high cut, skin tight nylon running shorts. I figured that was about the minimum to keep her from getting arrested if we were stopped in traffic.

Starting the engine, I looked around, as if preparing to back out of our parking spot. I stopped and shook my head, pretending to be surprised that I had "forgotten" something.

"Master?" she asked.

"I almost didn't remember this," I said, taking the pair of wraparound sunglasses that I had prepared the previous day out of my shirt pocket.

"Put these on," I ordered and handed them to her. She slipped the glasses over her eyes

"I cant't see," she said, her head darting from side to side, searching for light.

"No," I replied, "I painted out the lenses."

"This is mean, Master. How will I know where we're going?"

"You won't," I said flatly. I reached across and twisted her left nipple through the thin fabric of her top.

"Ow!"

"That was for calling me mean, slut."

"Thank you, Master. I can always count on you to correct me." The corner of her mouth twisted up in a barely noticeable grin.

"Cross your hands behind your back." She leaned forward, slid her hands behind her and leaned back.

"This isn't very comfortable, Master. How far are we going?"

"You don't need to know," I replied. "Are you complaining?"

"No, Master, I wouldn't do that." Her grin grew broader. "It was just an observation."

"An observation. Of course." I reached across her, lifted the latch and dropped open the glove compartment. A golf ball rolled out on the door.

"Open wide."

"Do I have to, Master?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Now, slut." I tweaked her nipple again.

"Ow!"

I popped the golf ball in her mouth before she had a chance to close it.

"All ready?"

"Nnnnhhnnnnh." She nodded vigorously.

I put the car in gear and backed out into the drive.

Summerslave 6.

PUNISHMENT

I held her hand twisted up behind her back as I unlocked our front door and pushed it open. She stumbled into the living room ahead of me and dropped to her knees as soon as I released her hand. I swung the door shut behind me. She scrambled on her knees to turn toward me, face to the floor, her hands crossed behind her back.

"How may I serve you, Master?" she asked the carpet.

"That's a good start, slut. Go remove your dress and hose," I ordered. "Bring me my robe."

She rose shakily to her feet.

"Did I say you could stand?"

She quickly dropped back to the floor, face down.

"You may stand."

Again she struggled to her feet. "Thank you, Master."

"Go!"

"Yes, Master." She practically ran to the bedroom.

I started picking out the items I would need for her evening's punishment: the collar, cuffs and chains of her "uniform," a third set of cuffs, the Ace bandage I had blindfolded her with the previous night, the short whip. And our stereo headphones. I placed each item on the coffee table.

She crawled in from the bedroom on hands and knees, now wearing only the corset and her new spike heeled pumps. My terry cloth robe was folded neatly in the middle of her back.

"Keep your feet up when you crawl," I told her. "I don't want you scuffing the toes of your new shoes." I was not going to make the evening easy for her.

"Yes, Master," she responded, dutifully lifting her feet from the floor behind her. She winced slightly each time she placed her full weight on a bare knee. Stopping before my feet, she leaned down and began licking the toe of my left shoe.

"Your robe, Master," she said between licks.

"You may undress me, slut."

"Yes, Master." She reached behind her, slipped the robe off her back in a bundle and placed it on the coffee table.

She leaned back to the floor and slowly pulled the laces of my shoes loose with her teeth. I steadied myself with hand on top of her head as she pulled off my shoes, then my socks. She slowly kissed each foot from ankle down to toes, then rocked back at the waist to kneel upright. She took the tongue of my belt between her teeth and pulled it free of the buckle with a jerk of her head. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she pulled at my pants with her mouth, attempting to unbutton my fly. After a minute or so with no success, she looked up at me plaintively.

"I didn't tell you not to use your hands. Go ahead."

"Thank you, Master." She ran her open mouth along the length of my penis, through my pants. She quickly unbuttoned and unzipped my trousers, then pulled them and my undershorts down to my ankles. I again steadied myself with hand on her head while she pulled pants and shorts off under each of my feet.

"Put my clothes away," I said, "then return for your punishment."

She folded my clothes into a bundle on the floor, then looked up at me, a question in her eyes.

"Go ahead. You may walk to the bedroom."

She rose quickly to her feet, scooped up my clothes and scurried off to the bedroom, the chain connecting her labia clips swinging between her thighs. While she was gone, I slipped into my robe, tying the cloth belt around my waist.

She soon crawled back on hands and knees. This time her feet were lifted several inches off the floor behind her as she crawled. She winced each time her weight rolled across a bare kneecap.

"Stop there," I said as she passed the sofa. "Kneel up." She pushed her torso erect and spread her knees wide. She bowed her head and clasped her hands behind her. She knelt directly under the hook in the ceiling.

"You still don't know how I'm going to punish you," I said, flatly.

She surveyed the objects I had assembled on the coffee table. "No, Master, I don't."

"What time is it, slut?"

She turned to see the clock on our kitchen wall. "Ten o'clock, Master."

"And two and a half hours from now is when?"

"Twelve thirty, Master." She looked up into my eyes. I thought I saw a tiny twitch of fear in her gaze.

"Twelve thirty. You will be allowed to neither see nor hear from now until twelve thirty. You'll be bound, whipped and tormented at my discretion for that time. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered, looking down at the carpet.

"What was that, slut?"

"Yes, Master," she said, much louder. She stopped, took a deep breath, then continued, "I give you my sight and my hearing, Master. Punish me as you see fit. I give myself to you to be tormented at your whim."

"Very good, slut. Stand."

She struggled quickly to her feet, balancing on the spike heels, her feet placed about a foot apart. She was beautiful, tanned skin and the triangle at her sex offset perfectly by the black corset, her trim legs tensed and extended by the heels.

I had planned this punishment to push her to the edges of her submission. I had worried that it might overwhelm her, but I knew it would take her deep into herself, into areas she had never explored. It had not been planned as a true punishment, but as an exploration of her submission, her trust, her desire and my power.

My intent had changed with the commitment to slavery she had expressed over dinner. This night's punishment would also be the first test of that commitment. Her strength, bound with mine and turned back on her would prove her submission. The sensory deprivation I had feared might overwhelm her, I was now confident would bind her to me.

I picked up her collar and quickly buckled it around her neck. Next, I buckled the cuffs around her ankles and fastened them together with a single link. She teetered slightly on the spike heels, spreading her hands away from her sides to keep her balance.

I pulled her hands behind her, buckling them into cuffs and connecting them also with a single link. I steadied her on her feet, then released her to stand on her own.

I picked up the Ace bandage and headphones from the coffee table. "Do you have anything to say before we go on with this?"

"No, Master." She cocked her head to one side in thought. "Yes Master. . . I love you. I trust you."

"I love you, slut. I expect you to be silent until I release you."

"Yes, Master."

I wrapped the bandage twice around her head, across her eyes, tucked a fold into the first wrap and let the long end hang. After plugging the coiled cord of the headphones into our receiver, I switched the radio on and held the phones to my ear. I spun the tuning knob until it was set far off any station and I heard the steady static hiss of white noise. I adjusted the volume and positioned the headphones' closed cups over her ears.

She gasped with a sharp intake of breath and tensed enough to almost lose her balance. I steadied her, holding her upper arms until I felt her relax. I finished wrapping the long bandage around and around her head, over the loop of the headphones, pinning them in place and completing her blindfold.

"Can you hear me?" I asked, my mouth about a foot from her ear. She made no response. "Good," I said to myself.

I took the third set of cuffs from their place on the table and fastened one around each of her arms, just above the elbows. I slipped a single link through the metal loop on one cuff. Hooking my fingers through the link and the loop on the opposite cuff, I pulled her elbows together until I could slide the link through. I screwed the link down tight, connecting her elbows tight behind her. Her shoulder blades were pulled together, making a crease down the middle of her back. Her shoulders were forced back and down and her tits were pushed up and forward, enticingly prominent and exposed.

She groaned slightly. Holding the link between her elbows, I smacked her fanny hard with my palm, a reminder that I expected silence. She tensed, but made no sound.

I looped a rope through the ceiling hook, then through the link between her elbows. I pulled the cord just tight enough to pull her elbows a few inches away from her back, then tied it off. She was forced to lean forward to relieve the strain on her shoulders.

She swayed slightly as she stood, unable to stay completely balanced on the spike heels with her feet tight together. The rope at her elbows held her upright as she dug her heels into the carpet. If she completely lost her balance, I knew I could catch her before she hurt herself.

I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of white wine from the jug we kept in the refrigerator. Returning, I set my glass on the coffee table. I circled her slowly, taking in the beauty of my blinded, deafened slave and contemplating the course of her discipline.

I took my time, certain that her unknowing anticipation was the key to the night's punishment. Soon she would lose all sense of the passage of time.

As I ducked under it, I brushed the coiled cord connecting her tightly wrapped head to the stereo. She twitched upright and gasped at the unfulfilled suggestion of a touch. Her lips remained slightly parted as she breathed softly through her mouth. Sight and sound had been denied her for barely five minutes, but awareness of touch was already on edge. She was ready for her real punishment to begin.

I picked up the little whip and walked behind her. Her pinned hands blocked the whip's path to the upper half of her ass. I chose the sensitive creases between her buttocks and the top of her legs and swung hard. She drew in a sharp breath and jumped upright and forward, stopped from falling only by the rope that pulled at her elbows and twisted her shoulders back.

I swung again. Again she jumped away from the whip and gasped. After four more blows, she had shifted about four inches from her spot directly under the ceiling hook. Her shoulders twisted up painfully behind her and her breath had become a shallow pant.

I lowered the whip.

She rocked back against the rope and scrambled with tiny steps toward her original position, desperately trying to regain her balance. With a hard twist and a wriggle she found stability and pushed her heels hard into the carpet. Still, she swayed slowly against the rope at her elbows.

I sat on the sofa in front of her. I took a slow sip of wine, then another as I watched her sway and writhe. I would let the sting of the whip sink in and her anticipation build once more before touching her again with either pain or pleasure.

I wondered how she could trust me so. And I thought that it had to be that she trusted me as much as I loved her. She could stop this at any time, but she would not. This night was as much a test of my power as her submission. I had to dangle her over the edge and hold her there without dropping her and without her recoiling in panic. That responsibility was daunting. That prospect, becoming reality was terrible and exciting and arousing.

I turned on the television, leaned back and put my feet up on the coffee table.

She drifted, suspended in time and space. Her attention, rather than turning inward, projected itself out, desperately searching for any clue of my presence, of movement, of an approaching blow, and finding none. The ache of her pinned elbows and twisted shoulders grew out of all proportion to the real pain she suffered. An itch on her belly gradually became maddening.

Every time her consciousness drifted, she lost her balance. At irregular intervals, I saw her sway and jerk. She would twist and wriggle to regain balance, make minute steps and replant her spike heels to anchor her against the pile of the carpet.

At the second commercial break, I picked up the whip and rose to stand facing her. She gave no sign that she was aware of my presence. She stood exposed before me, her breasts and cunt highlighted by the dark expanse of the corset between them. The corset's half cups pushed her tits up and together, exaggerating their size and leaving her bare nipples sitting above a shelf of shiny black satin.

I reached out and quickly flicked each nipple with my fingernail. She jerked back and a sharp "Ah," escape from her lips.

"Master?" she asked, forgetting my earlier demand for silence.

I answered with the whip, swinging straight down and alternating strikes at each nipple. She jerked back as each swing struck, but she had learned from her earlier lost balance and her heels remained spiked into the carpet.

"Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . ." she huffed explosively with each lash.

When the blows stopped, she leaned forward, pushing with her feet as if trying to find the whip, to find some contact outside her silent shell. Her ragged breathing gradually quieted.

I stepped back and picked up the ring gag off the coffee table.

"Master?" she pleaded. "Is that you? Are you there? Master? Please?"

I plunged my index finger into her open mouth and grasping her chin with my thumb, pinned down her tongue. She shook her head wildly, fighting vainly to pull free of the invading digit. I held on and pushed the finger farther back into her throat.

She struggled against her gag reflex as her throat muscles spasmed around my fingertip. In moments she stopped struggling and rocked her head back. As her throat relaxed, she closed her lips around my finger and began sucking, pulling the fingertip even deeper.

I slowly pulled my finger out of her grasping mouth. I held her teeth apart with finger and thumb while I pushed in the gag's ring with my other hand. I twisted the ring upright, forcing her mouth wide open and seated it behind her teeth. Feeding the broad strap through its twin D-rings, I pulled tight, forcing back the corners of her mouth.

Her ability to question and plead, her last active contact with the world outside her own body had been removed. She could now only react passively to whatever I chose to inflict on her.

Glancing down, I saw a tiny glistening trail of liquid building between her bare and slightly parted pussy lips. I pushed a finger into her and slid it through her cunt from back to front. One after the other, I squeezed open the clamps that still imprisoned her swollen labia, then dropped the pair with their connecting chain to the floor.

A puff, then a faint gurgle passed the open ring of her lips. I briefly pressed my fingertip against her clit before withdrawing it and backing away from her. She strained against the elbow ropes, rocking slowly in a circle, trying to touch something, anything in the space around her.

I sat back down on the sofa to let her drift back into the dark and silent void.

Eleven thirty. There had been nothing notable in the local news broadcast. The opening credits rolled for "Saturday Night"; the show wasn't very funny that year. I had another, delightful, amusement available, so that didn't concern me.

She continued to sway slightly, partially suspended by her bonds. Still, each time her concentration on balance drifted, she would jerk and sway, twisting to regain balance, repositioning herself with tiny steps, then replanting her heels into the carpet.

I picked up the clips I had dropped on the floor almost an hour earlier. The adjustment screws had been backed all the way out to hold tight on her labia. I took one clip in each hand and squeezed them open with my fingers. Letting the chain hang down between them, I carefully positioned the clips around her swollen nipples. If she felt my breath or sensed my presence, she gave no sign.

I quickly released my grip on the clips, dropping them and their connecting chain.

Something between a shriek and a gurgle burst from the ring that held her mouth wide open. She jerked back, swinging the chain now clamped to her tits. Her heels lost their grip on the carpet and she pitched forward, stopped by the rope above her elbows, then my arms as I wrapped them around her and pulled her back upright.

Her breath exploded through the ring in ragged gasps. I held her, hugged her, rubbed her back, calming her with my touch. She trembled in my hands. Gradually, her breathing slowed and quieted. Her body stopped shaking.

I knew it was not the pain of the clips that frightened her, but the panic of suddenly and completely losing her balance. I held both her shoulders, steadying her and letting her find her center under the ceiling hook. She shuffled her feet slightly and I saw her dig her heels into the carpet once more.

I held her at arms length for a moment, making sure she had found her balance. I let her go and sat back down on the sofa.

"Saturday Night" was exceptionally stupid and unfunny that night. I turned off the television.

At midnight, I picked up the whip. I walked around behind her, careful this time not to brush the headphone cord as I leaned under it. I wondered if I should touch her, warn her with my hand before I swung the whip. I decided, No. I was determined to test her will. I wanted to be certain of her conviction to become completely my slave.

A fine tracery of red lines crossed her ass and thighs from the blows she had received almost two hours before. It was difficult to resist aiming the whip once more at those same luscious curves.

I stood ready to grab her if she lost her balance again, but I was certain that she wouldn't. She had a strong will, even in submission; especially in submission. She would have learned from her last stumble and somehow brace herself for a blow that she could not know was coming.

I swung hard across the crease of her ass and thighs. She jerked almost fully upright, arching away from the whip and twisting her shoulders back. She let out a gurgling gasp. Her feet hadn't budged, her heels still imbedded in the carpet.

I swung again, across the same spot. She arched away again, but not nearly so far. The whip slashed across the back of her thigh and with each blow, I heard the same gurgling gasp, but each fainter that the last. By the eighth or ninth strike, she no longer arched away from the whip, but had started to bend her ass back toward it. She leaned her torso forward, the rope pulling her arms ups covered in sweat and so was I. Her moaning stopped, turning into soft panting.

Wrapping one arm around her chest, I released the rope at the elbows and let her drop slowly to her knees. She seemed barely able to hold herself upright. I went around her, grabbed her under each arm from the front, lifted and dragged her to kneel in front of the sofa.

In a remarkably short time she gathered the present of mind to remember the requirements of her slavery. She held her body proudly upright, then submissively bowed her head. Crossing her ankles around the single link connecting them, she spread her knees wide apart, displaying her bare, swollen and dripping cunt to anyone or anything that might be sitting on the sofa.

I sat in front of her, placing my feet next to her hips, outside the wide V of her legs. Taking her face in both my hands, I guided her ring-stretched and open mouth down onto my erect cock. I guided the shaft deep into her mouth. When the head reached the entrance to her throat, I released her face. She was completely immobile for a moment, then I felt her tongue making broad strokes across my cock. She pulled back until her tongue just flicked my head through the ring. Leaning forward and down, she cocked her head back, then drove her ringed mouth down until her nose pressed hard against my stomach.

She had only her sense of touch and balance to guide her. The leather wrapped steel ring pinning her mouth open denied her the use of her lips and teeth. She worked her head up and down on my shaft, washing it frantically with her tongue. At the outer end of each stroke she flicked her tongue across my penis head, then plunged down until I felt her warm lips and the cold steel that held her mouth ring to its strap pressing against my stomach and groin.

Her head bobbed up and down. A low moaning growl started deep in her throat, muffled when my cock sealed her throat, then louder as he pulled off the shaft. "NnnNNNNNNnnnNNNNNNnnnNNNNNNnnnNNNNNN."

Her tongue lapped with a frenzy. Her head moved faster with each stroke, each becoming shorter and shorter, so finally my head was just barely out of her throat and into her mouth at the top.

I bucked up toward her off the sofa. My engorged cock was about to explode, and she knew it. The groaning in her throat grew louder almost becoming a roar. She pushed her imprisoned mouth all the way down onto my cock and held it there. Her tongue worked in a frenzy. Her head turned violently from side to side, pivoting around my member. She pushed hard against my belly again and again, as if trying to force my cock even deeper into her throat. I wondered how she could breathe, but knew she could not. As I came deep in her throat, the groan became a muffled shriek, a squeal. I bucked up to her over and over. Her head twisted and pushed, twisted and pushed.

I collapsed back onto the sofa. She leaned back, shakily. Her face and chin, her neck and breasts were coated with a slick film of saliva that had flowed from her open mouth.

She coughed, coughed again. A thick viscous foam of semen and spittle poured through the open ring of her lips, oozing down her chin and throat. She coughed again, then inhaled with a wracking gasp. Another cough and the last drops of sperm flew from her throat and past her ringed lips, falling onto the carpet between her splayed legs.

I reached behind her head, quickly unbuckled the strap and pulled the steel and leather ring from her mouth. The liquid gasping of her breath gradually slowed, calmed. Her face dropped to her chest. A minute passed. She slowly lifted her head and pointed her face toward me, as if looking into my face, as if she could see and hear to locate me where I sat.

"Thank you, Master," she said softly and clearly. I could barely believe my ears. She was thanking me for this? I chuckled and shook my head, then leaned forward to begin unwrapping the bandage from around her head. It was twelve thirty.

I let the bandage trail down in the floor as it unwound. As soon as the headphones were free, I pulled them off and set them beside her on the carpet.

She visibly relaxed as the hiss that had filled her ears was replaced by the dull drone of our window fan. She released a long soft sigh. Her tongue rolled out to lap my cum from her chin.

In moments the elastic cloth came off her eyes and I tossed it behind her on the floor. Her face glistened with sweat, flushed and lined from the winding; her hair was soaked and tangled. Her eyes blinked open, closed, open, closed again as she recoiled from the light. She bowed her head, then looked straight up at me, smiling radiantly.

"Thank you, Master," she said again."

"Thank me? For that?" I asked. "You liked that?"

"No, Master. . .Yes. . .Oh God, Master, I don't know." She looked down at the floor, shaking her head, the back up at me with a wry, lopsided grin. I cupped her cheek in my hand.

"Master, it was horrible. . . it was wonderful. I know I came when you came in my throat . . .I almost came every time you touched me. I don't want you to do that to me again, but . . .I want you to do it again."

"Slut, you amaze me."

"May I make a request, Master?"

"Go ahead."

"Master, please, save what you did tonight for special punishments. Please. I don't think I can handle this very often . . ." _

"I'll consider that." I grinned. "Tonight was harder than last night?" ¸

"Yes, Master. I like to be whipped.  You know that. I don't mind being blindfolded, not too much anyway, but losing my hearing too . . . that infernal hissing. Not knowing if you're even in the room. I very nearly started humming."

"But you didn't." Our safe sign when she was gagged was a pattern of rhythmic humming.

"No, Master. I didn't want to disappoint you. I didn't want to disappoint myself."

"Oh, baby," I said, caressing her face, rubbing her neck and shoulders, "you really are my slave, aren't you?"

"Yes, Master. Absolutely." She smiled up at me, then bowed forward as far as she could, the top of her head resting against the front of the sofa between my legs.

I grinned broadly back at her. I was exhilarated. How could I not be overjoyed, owning this magnificent woman who knelt at my feet?

"How are your shoulders?"

"They ache," she replied without looking up. "I'd almost forgotten about them. They ache, Master."

I reached over her back and released the link connecting her elbows, then bent down and opened the one between her wrists.

"Aaahhhhh," she sighed. "That's much better, Master. Thank you so much." Her arms dropped limp at her sides. I massaged her back and upper arms, slowly kneading the pent up tension from her body. "That feels so good master."

"Lie back," I ordered. She dutifully rolled onto her back, her knees still bent and spread, ankles crossed. I unscrewed the link between her ankle cuffs, then unbuckled her shoes. She was limp, neither helping nor resisting as I lifted her feet and pulled off the pumps. Her head rocked to the side, eyes closed, her mouth open and slack.

"Can you stand?"

"I think so, Master. I may need some help." I stood beside her as she pushed herself up to sit. I reached out to her. She grabbed my arm with both hands, then slowly pulled herself to her feet. As she came fully upright, her left knee buckled. I grabbed her under her arms, steadied her.

She struggled to take a deep breath and smiled bravely up at me. Another deep breath and I could see her gathering her strength.

"There, Master. I'll be okay now."

"Let's get you out of that corset." I went behind her, careful to always keep a hand out to steady her. One by one, I slid loose the corset's hooks from top to bottom. I pulled it away from her sweat-drenched body and dropped it on the sofa.

With my hands on her shoulders, I gently turned her to face me. I squatted down and clasped her waist with both arms, then lifted her up over my shoulder. "I think we need to get some sleep," I said.

"Yes, Master. That sounds very nice," she replied. I could hear her contented smile in her voice.

I carried my naked slave, clad only in her unlinked collar and cuffs, toward our bedroom.

Summerslave 5

DINNER CONVERSATION

Emilio's was the best Italian restaurant in the city. That didn't mean it was a great restaurant, it wasn't that big a city. In the traditional American expectation of an Italian restaurant, it had rough, bare brick walls, dim lighting and candles on every table.

We had a short wait in the lobby before our table was ready. I saw the obvious and not so obvious looks that my slave got from the other men who waited there with us. I didn't blame them. She was a spectacular vision in iridescent blue. The dress clung to every corset-exaggerated curve of her trim body. The spike heels and side slits emphasized her lean legs. There was a certain glow in her expression and a sway in her movements, probably due in part to the labia clamps, that only brought more attention to her desirability.

I could only smile and think, "She's mine, guys. If you only knew how much she's mine." It was macho pride, I know, but I enjoyed every second of it.

The maitre'd led us to a small corner table far from the entrance. I had made it clear that we wanted privacy. He held her chair and as she sat. I heard a barely perceptible clink of muffled chain on wood. She tensed slightly, almost fully seated, then dropped into the chair. The maitre'd gave no sign that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary. He handed us menus and retreated to the lobby.

"Did you hear that, Master?"

"Yes," I smiled, trying hard to keep from laughing.

"Do you think . . .?"

"No. If he heard it, he had no idea what he heard." I shook my head. "It looked like you felt something too."

"When the chain hit the chair, well . . . it startled me."

"I could see that."

"You're diabolical. Even with the corset and the heels, I could almost pretend to myself that everything was normal. But those damned clamps on my pussy and the chain make it impossible. The clamps hurt. I guess you know that."

"Yes. I know."

"And they . . . they excite me. They make me wet and it's not going to get any better.

"Perfect," I said gleefully as our waiter arrived. I ordered a bottle of Chianti Classico and two antipasto salads, asking him to return for our dinner orders.

"Perfect, huh," she continued when he had gone. "You don't know how perfect."

"What do you want to eat?" I interrupted.

"Eat? Oh. Yes." She quickly scanned the menu. "Linguine with white clam sauce."

"That sounds good," I said. "I think I'll have the veal piccata."

I set my menu on the corner of the table and looked straight into her eyes. "Just for a few minutes, let's forget this Master and slave thing. I want to talk as husband and wife. Seriously." I put my hand over hers as it rested on the table top.

"No, Master."

"No?" I was startled. "You mean with the clamps and all you can't think seriously?"

"No, Master. I mean I don't want to forget being your slave. Not for a moment."

"We have to start doing some planning," I said. "You're about to graduate. My job is going really well. They just hired me for the one project, but looks like I'll have it permanently if I want it. We need to decide what to do this fall."

"You decide, Master. I'll follow where you go."

"I don't want to decide this for you. Your career will be as important as mine."

"But I have decided," she insisted.

"You've decided what?"

"I've decided to be your slave."

"It's not that simple."

"It is that simple. Look, Master . . . "

"Will you stop calling me that for a few minutes?"

"No, I won't. And that's the only thing I'll refuse you. I refuse to not be your slave."

I could only shake my head.

Our waiter returned, but stopped at a slight distance from the table, reluctant to interrupt what appeared to be a marital argument. I guess it was a marital argument of sorts. I looked up and waived him over. He took our dinner order, placed our salads on the table, poured us each a glass of Chianti and vanished.

I still didn't completely comprehend what she was telling me. "Okay. Go ahead," I said.

"My work is pretty portable. I should be able to find a job in just about any city. You have to establish a practice. And you seem to have a decent start at it. Therefore, I'll go where you need me to go."

"I'll accept that. All right. That makes some sense. But . . . "

"No buts, Master. I'll find a job. I'll go out into the working world every day, just like everybody else."

I nodded.

"But I belong to you, Master. Mind, body and soul, I belong to you and I don't want anything else."

"Do you know what you're saying?"

"I know exactly what I'm saying." She pursed her lips and I saw the muscles in her neck tighten. She was annoyed at my reluctance.

"You love me don't you?" she asked.

That question took me by surprise. "Yes. Of course I love you. I love you more than anyone or anything."

"Then ask yourself this: Do you love me enough to own me?"

I said nothing. I just looked in her eyes with what I'm sure was a blank, stupid stare.

"What I said a few minutes ago: that I could almost pretend that everything was normal. Well, it would only be pretending. Nothing is normal. I knew it before, but yesterday and today made me certain. I want to belong to you, Master. Completely. With no reservations."

"Can I think about this for a little while?" Her insistence, her seemingly absolute commitment to become my slave, had taken me by surprise. I'll admit it. It frightened me. I was afraid of the power that she had thrust into my hands.

"No. You told me once that a submissive had only one decision to make: to submit or not. I've made that decision. And you can accept it or not. I'll ask again; do you love me enough to own me?"

I looked down at the table, stared at the candle in its center, looked at the wall beside me and up at the lights in the ceiling. I looked anywhere but at her. I took a long, slow swallow of wine and set the glass down hard, sloshing a little over the rim and onto the tablecloth. Of course I loved her. Intensely. Passionately. But to own her? She had offered me a wonderful gift, but with it would come tremendous responsibility. I hadn't considered this issue of ownership, in a real sense. Our Master and slave games had been just that, games. Now she offered herself to me completely.

"Yes," I said at last and relaxed. There. I'd said it. A large weight had lifted. "Yes I love you enough to own you, slave." I meant it.

She smiled that luminous smile and looked straight at me. Her grin twisted up mischievously at one corner, then she looked down.

"Thank you, Master. You do me a great honor."

I chuckled and shook my head slowly. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Absolutely, Master." She looked straight back into my eyes.

"You honor me, then. I'm not sure you know the power you have. I'm not sure you know all that you're giving me. You're so strong."

"I don't understand, Master."

"It takes strength and confidence and conviction to give yourself to another this way. You're probably stronger than I am."

She smiled and lowered her eyes. "I don't think so Master, but thank you. I give myself to you , then. I give my power to you."

"How could I refuse that gift?" I paused and again covered her hand with mine. "Yesterday and today have been pretty intense for you, haven't they?"

"Yes, Master. Wonderfully so."

Her smile was irresistible. It made me smile too, but I had a serious purpose in mind. "You know I have some things planned for you. For tonight and tomorrow."

"Yes, Master."

"You know enough to about them to say that some of it frightens you."

"Yes, Master."

"I had planned these things as part of a game. We've been playing at being Master and slave. That was the way I saw it anyway."

"Yes, Master. It has been less and less a game for me in the last few weeks. And today . . . today I decided that it simply wasn't a game anymore for me."

"You've made that clear." I took another long swallow of wine. "The things I have planned, your punishment tonight, our picnic tomorrow, they're no longer part of a game. They've become real, slave. I hope you understand that."

"I think I do, Master. I'm not quite sure what you mean." Now I was making her nervous. She squirmed just a little in her seat and took a slow sip from her glass. She fiddled with her fork, turning over pieces of lettuce on her plate one by one.

"Just this. We've always had a safeword. We've always given you a way out, a way to slow things down if you couldn't handle them."

"Yes, Master. A word that means "slow down" and a word that means "stop." You know I've never needed or wanted to use either."

"There will be no 'slow down' any longer." I grasped her hand tightly and pressed it against the table top. "I intend to test your resolve to be my slave. There will be no 'yellow.' And if you say 'red,' if you ask me to stop, I'll know that you're not as ready as you think. If you ask me to stop I'll know that your slavery is still just a game."

"Yes, Master."

"Do you understand? Do you agree?"

Our waiter had whisked away the salad plates and was setting the entrees on the table before I noticed his presence. I wondered how much he had heard. He refilled each of our glasses and vanished again.

"Yes, Master. I agree. I'm ready for any test. I trust you. Completely."

"I think you do." I smiled. "You'll need to."

"Yes, Master. I know you won't hurt me."

"That's where you're wrong, slave. I will hurt you. I won't injure you, but I will hurt you."

She looked straight down at her linguine. After a long silence, she said, "Okay. I accept that. I put myself completely at your mercy. You accept a responsibility to protect me . . . "

"Yes . . . "

". . . and I accept that you will make me suffer for you, Master."

"I think we understand each other."

"I think we do, Master."

We fell silent. We both savored our meal, its flavor improved by expectation and relief.

As I speared my last sliver of veal, I said, "One thing, slut. This isn't just a test. It's the rest of your life."

Her eyes darted up from her plate and caught my gaze. "Yes Master," she said, nodding slowly. "I know."