Lost

[leah06]

{To Mastrovenice}

She was chained, wide open on the empty bed-frame, the space around her dark, isolated. Hours ago the room had seemed chilly, but now she was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her lips were swollen, her eyes glassy. She moaned. As if on cue, the vibrator started again. She began to shake and scream. Please, please. Please. Please let me come; please make it stop. There was no one to hear. No one was watching; no one to feel pity, or satisfaction, or delight. Just herself, and the endless torment. She was closer, closer, but it wouldn’t work. She could never find release this way. She screamed again. She was wetter than she'd ever been, her excitement leaking down her legs, onto the bed-frame, onto the concrete floor. The vibrator stopped.

It didn’t stop because she had screamed, she knew that. It was random, unfeeling, merciless. It would start again; sooner, later, it didn’t matter. How long had she been here?


* * * * *

The two women had arrived at the door almost simultaneously. Clara was petite, with long brown hair that fell in a straight line below her waist. Her tight breasts and pert ass were accentuated by her very slender waist. She wore a simple black skirt and a white blouse. Understated. Her expensive lingerie was barely visible beneath the sheer cloth of her top. Monique had a larger build. She stood a good five inches taller and packed a few more pounds. Her hips and breasts were full and heavy, her face open and clear. She wore a pleather miniskirt a few inches too short, and a bustier mail-ordered from Frederick's of Hollywood. Her light hair was cut in a somewhat unflattering bob that came to just above her shoulders. To Monique she looked like a stripper, white trash. They eyed each other with disdain.

“Fatty,” Clara thought. Didn’t people ever just look in the mirror? And what was this girl doing here?

The door opened. Standing next to it was a man who looked like a college professor, or a high-school math teacher. Bright blue eyes, dark hair just beginning to silver at the edges, wire-rimmed glasses. His face was youthful, with a hint of humor around the mouth, and she could see that he was toned, his muscles defined through the thin fabric of his button-down. “I’m Adam. You must be Clara and Monique. Come in, please.”

The two women followed him silently to the well-appointed living room. Dark greens and dark wood. He sat down thoughtfully in an overstuffed leather armchair. Monique began to sit on the couch. “Excuse me,” he said mildly. “Were you invited to sit?” Monique crimsoned as she quickly stood up. “No, sir, I’m so sorry,” she said, nervously smoothing her miniskirt. “That’s one,” thought Clara. If she and Monique were competing for the same position, so far she felt pretty safe. She was standing demurely with her hands clasped behind her back. Her face betrayed only the hint of a dimple. Adam met her eye and also flashed the slightest dimple. Then, quite seriously, he said, “You might follow the example of Clara, here. She seems to understand simple courtesies.” Monique lowered her eyes. “Yes, sir,” said Monique. “Thank you.” She looked ready to cry. "Loser," thought Clara. "You blew it."

“You are quite right to observe the formalities,” continued Adam, “but there are some I think we can dispense with. I’m Adam, you’re Clara, and you’re Monique. That’s easy, and I think no one will be confused about our roles. I’ll be the one with the whip.” He smiled, and Clara smiled back, but there was a hint of steel even in his smile that caused her stomach to clench suddenly. He had advertised for a slave, and she was feeling more and more that she would like it to be her.

[Mastrovenice]

Alone and in the prime of his life, Adam had finally acted on realizing his dream. The business was running smoothly without his daily supervision, his comfortable retirement was assured, his houses paid for in full. It was time to start his search for the woman to balance his life. He had known since a young age that he was different from most, attracted to the darker side of sex. His was a rough and sometimes harsh attitude, where women were meant to serve, and to suffer. To his surprise, he discovered there were women who shared his views. He made it a goal to find the one that fit his tastes.

He was a sadist, to be sure. He enjoyed hurting women. There were no way two ways about it. The marking of their flesh, the reactions of his subjects, their moans and whimpers and quickened breath, their heightened sexual response, these all brought him pleasure. And it wasn’t limited to the physical act of giving pain. He reveled in the psychological control he could wield as well. He wasn’t a psychopath however: to indiscriminately injure held no allure. He wasn’t needlessly cruel or barbaric. Sadists were always misunderstood and maligned, he thought. Except by masochists. They positively adored sadists. And they were the only audience he card about.

Adam’s sadism needed an appropriate canvas, a subject that gave herself willingly unto his designs, one that balanced his dominant desire with an equal force of submission. This was now his quest. To find a woman who knew herself enough to know that to serve a harsh and demanding Master was as integral to her life as breathing. He needed to find someone who would dive to great depths of humiliation and debasement to realize her full potential. He had placed the ad, screened the applicants, returned e-mails, researched his favorites.

Many women dreamed of becoming property, but most held unrealistic views and knew little of what such service would require. Most never returned his correspondence once he spelled it out to them. Others seemed so damaged that they were a risk to themselves: so far gone down a rabbit hole of self-loathing that they were by now irretrievable. He needed someone smart enough, and bold enough, and infinitely curious. They needed to be stable and intelligent and healthy. He had narrowed it down to Clara and Monique. Now they were here, displaying their charms, desperate for the attention of a true Master: the One who would complete them.

[leah06]

Clara had been searching all her life, it seemed, for the Master who would take her to the depths of her submissive desires. She’d tried kink, she’d tried clubs, she’d had a vanilla lover or two, but when she first saw Adam’s ad, it had opened up a new world of possibilities. A slave. She said it to herself when she arose, when she retired, at every moment it was throbbing through her. She could be a slave. And now that she had met him, the phrase changed. She could be His slave.

“Undress. Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, leaning back. The two women slowly stripped, trying as unobtrusively as possible to keep their clothes neat and out of sight. Monique, Clara noticed, had some trouble removing her shoes gracefully, as she clearly wasn’t about to sit down to do it. “My God,” she thought. “Where do these people come from?” Soon both women were standing, legs slightly spread, arms behind them, as Adam slowly inspected them.

Clara watched Monique covertly. She was attractive, in a heavy sort of way. Creamy skin, full, rich breasts, large areolas and heavy, pronounced nipples. She wanted to chew on them, to bury her head between the two gentle hills, to feel their weight and softness. When Monique turned around to display her rear, Clara again glanced at her. The ass was large and meaty, waiting to be grabbed, or slapped. As Monique turned, her eyes met Clara’s for a moment in a glare of pure hostility. Perhaps she had not been so grateful for the good example after all.

Now Adam was touching them, running his fingers lightly across their bodies, feeling their wetness. He chuckled as first one, then two and three, fingers slid effortlessly into Clara’s waiting pussy. He moved his hand in and out, watching her face. She began to breathe more rapidly. He was really fucking her now, with his hand. She moaned and moved with it. He stimulated her nipple with the other hand as she got closer and closer to orgasm. “Come on,” he whispered. “Come for me now, baby.” “I can’t.” She was almost in tears herself. “I’m so sorry, Adam. I can’t come this way.”

He didn’t seem very disappointed. In fact, he gave her a quick, appraising glance. “You really can’t come, or you just can’t come right now?” he asked. His hand continued to move inside her. “I can’t come from this at all,” she confessed. “How can you come?” he wanted to know. “Only if – only if – ”. His hand became more urgent. She began to tremble. “Answer me.” She’d been asked a question. What was it? She remembered, but it was so hard to speak. The hand was raping her. “Only if I do it myself. . . sir. Adam.”

She knew what would happen next. He would declare that she could come, and furthermore that she would, and then he would try. And try. She would feel tremendous pressure, eventually apologizing and taking her leave. She could never be owned by a man who was incapable of understanding what “I can’t come” actually means. She gave a small sigh. Very small. But at that moment, almost as if he had been waiting for just that signal, he abruptly removed his fingers, absently wiping them on her breasts and abdomen. “Go stand with your back to the wall. Look but don’t touch.”

[Mastrovenice]

Adam watched as she backed up unsteadily to the dark wood-paneled wall in the study. Clara was trembling after the invasion of his hand, her thighs still quivering, and her breath coming in shallow pulls. She forced herself to settle down, and stood erect as possible, her legs parted as she imagined he would want, her hands clasped behind her neck, elbows outward. It was a position she vaguely remembered from some website. It exposed her chest, and she could see her own slick juices drying where he had wiped his hands across her. This sight alone caused her cunt to twitch from the physical memory of his hand fucking her. Out of the corner of her eye, she was sure Monique was staring at this wet track of cunt-juice that so recently coated Adam’s hand. She lowered her eyes in a moment of embarrassment as her cheeks went red.

“Eyes up, Clara. This is no time for humility. IF you make it to my dungeon, then you will avert your eyes. But for now I want to see into your soul.” Adam walked across the room and grabbed Clara by the cheeks, his hand squeezing her jaw. She could feel the power he had as he held her there and tried to meet his gaze with something other than fear. It was a feeble attempt. His free hand sought out her nipple and rolled it between his fingers. It was hard from her continued arousal, and as he pinched it she pulled in a sharp breath but remained as still as possible. She rolled her hips involuntarily and her eye-lids fluttered and the pain shot straight to her clit. “Yesss, sssir” she moaned, a natural reaction, not a conscious one. “Adam, girl” he corrected her. The pain escalated. “nnngggghhhh…. Adam” She struggled to look into his face.

Monique was finding her own arousal coursing through her groin. She felt an empathic rush as Clara moaned and tried to restrain herself. She stared at Adam’s strong back, briefly wondering how it looked under his shirt, imagining the well defined muscles flowing as his hand brought a cane or a whip or god, just about anything down on her flesh. She squirmed in place, anxious to prove herself. She wasn’t happy about Clara being here, her own self-doubt surging inside, her mind critically ticking off her faults. The skinny bitch looked good, and it made her determined to outshine her with sheer sexual talent and passionate submission. Monique knew she radiated a sexuality that transcended her somewhat normal looks. When punished or whipped publicly, she always drew a crowd around her. She had always been a ‘pleaser’, seeking jobs that put her in service positions, thriving on the approval of others as she performed whatever duties they required. Many nights she replayed the simple praises of the day and turned them into fantasies. Fantasies of servitude and slavery so primal they often surprised her. Fantasies so enduring they would carry on into the next day’s work, haunting her and coloring her every thought and action. “Adam” she mouthed in unison with Clara, as if feeling his correction as well, wanting to please him so desperately.

[leah06]

Monique was getting more and more aroused watching Adam and Clara, but she also felt left out and puzzled. What the fuck? she thought. She was getting closer and closer just by watching Adam with the other woman; it wouldn’t take much to put her over the edge. How could anyone be near Adam and not have the same response? The bitch was not only stuck-up, she was frigid. Monique could not understand why Adam would waste even a moment on Clara when she, Monique, was so ready, so willing. Anything, she whispered to herself. Anything.

When Adam finally turned his blue gaze on her, though, she almost took a step backwards. Looking into his eyes, she felt so – unprepared. Adam turned to her, twining his fingers at the roots of her hair, pulled her head back and kissed her. His other hand wandered over her body. She responded almost immediately. “See how easy it is, Clara? How can you come here offering yourself as a slave if you prefer the touch of your own hand to your Master’s?”

Monique clearly did not share that position. Clara, watching, wondered if it was even real. No one, she thought, could come as easily and as often as that. From his hands. From his mouth. From being fucked in the pussy, in the ass, it didn’t seem to matter. “Oh, please, Adam,” Monique begged. “No more, please. I’ve come so much,” she cooed. Again that brief, hostile glance at Clara. Triumphant. Clara didn’t disagree. A clear winner had been established.

Tears were forming in her eyes. She had been jealous of the other girl before, but now she was only sorry for herself. She had such a need to submit, to surrender. She longed to be transported as she saw Monique doing. She wanted to respond to all that Adam offered; she wanted to please him as the other woman clearly was. But she had disappointed. He had given her a chance and she blown it. She saw herself leaving, exiled, sentenced to a continued search for what she was leaving behind. She sighed again.

Monique was still talking. Rubbing it in. “Oh, Adam, it’s just too much for me,” she begged. “All right,” Adam agreed. “If you’re through, you’re through. You certainly can take a lot. Let’s see what else you can take. Clara, go to the front closet and fetch any whip you like.”


* * * * *

Clara was astounded, but intrigued. She slowly moved away from the wall. “But first,” continued Adam, “Let’s begin as we hope to continue. Monique, show me how hot Clara can get. If she comes, of course, I will punish you both, but unless you let her touch there’s apparently no chance of that. Right, Clara?” – “Yes, Adam.” – “Then begin.”

Monique stroked Clara’s face gently, a sly smile never leaving her own. Clara closed her eyes. The hands touched her breasts, then wandered slowly down her body. Monique lay her on the floor and began to kiss her neck, then her breasts, taking the nipples gently into her mouth, then biting them. She began to be more rough, gathering a breast into a tight package before fitting as much of it as possible into her mouth, kneading with her hands, with her nails. As Clara’s breasts became more and more sensitive, Monique stroked her belly and thighs with the tips of her fingers, coming near to Clara’s most sensitive areas, never quite touching. Now the mouth was harsh, biting, leaving bruises, but still the fingers barely danced near Clara’s pussy. She was moaning and writhing. Monique’s mouth trailed kisses and small nips down her body.

Soon her hands were grasping Clara’s breasts, the thumbs running across her swollen nipples, nails digging in. She was biting Clara’s thighs, she was nipping the labia, she had not touched the clit once. Clara arched her back and tried to angle herself toward Monique’s mouth. Monique laughed. “Beg me, bitch.” Clara resisted momentarily. Her eyes opened and she looked at Adam, who was standing near, watching with undisguised enjoyment. He cocked an eyebrow. “Please, Monique. Please touch my clit. Please use your tongue, your fingers. Please.” – “But Clara, I’m pretty sure Adam won’t let you come. I’m starting to like you, Clara, very much. It seems so unfair to bring you so close and then disappoint you. It’s better if I just don’t touch it. Right, Clara?” – “Please, Monique. I don’t care if you never let me come. Please touch me.” – “Adam?” But Adam was silent. He was no longer smiling. His eyes were narrowed, thoughtful. For a moment both women were joined by the slight chill that enveloped them.

The moment passed. Monique laced her arms through Clara’s legs and held her hips down firmly, legs very wide. She ran the very tip of her tongue over the very tip of Clara’s clit. Clara whimpered. Monique repeated the gesture, then resumed kissing Clara’s thighs. Clara strained toward her.

“Don’t move, Clara. Don’t move at all.” Clara tried to relax her body, to experience whatever sensations Monique provided. Monique spread her labia with one hand, running a single finger firmly around the base of Clara’s clit. She didn’t dare move, rock her hips or clench her muscles, she didn’t even dare to stroke the blond head. Her abdomen tightened as she fought to keep her ass and her thighs relaxed. “Please touch me like you did before. Please touch my clit.” Again the light, teasing touch just across the top. Soon, however, Monique began to stroke her more firmly, circling the swollen nub with her thumb, inserting her fingers into Clara’s open cunt. She had two, then three, fingers inside Clara, while the thumb continued to stroke her. Now her hand was inside Clara and her mouth was on her. She moved her hand rhythmically, her fingers caressing Clara’s pussy, her cervix, finding the sensitive areas inside her. Her mouth became more urgent. Clara was close, closer. She slowly strained toward Monique’s mouth. Her breath was short, ragged. Her lips were red. Sweat gleamed between her breasts. She began to pump her hips, pushing against the now-violent mouth and hand that were driving her to incoherence.

“Stop.”

Monique pulled away suddenly, leaving Clara empty, aching and gasping. She met Clara’s eyes and contemptuously wiped her hand across Clara’s face, almost a slap, the fingers trailing through Clara’s gasping mouth.

“You were told not to move,” Adam continued. “I think we’ll discuss that later. Now, Clara, go get the whip.”

[Mastrovenice]

The room was truly a cell: small, with concrete walls and floor, no windows, a locked door. A small desk and chair sat in one corner and a steel toilet in the other. While Clara was often free to roam the house, recently Adam had taken to confining her here for longer periods of time. Now, Clara was strapped on her metal bed, which hadn’t had a mattress on it for weeks. The buzzing between her legs continued again sending pulses into her swollen cunt. Clara thrashed against her bonds and whimpered, then cried aloud. She couldn’t help fucking against it and hated it for having such an effect. At the same time she worshipped it, for in this lonely cell, it was the proxy for Adam’s hand and his love for her. She knew that when it was removed, the hours would be empty, and at least for now she could serve him through her torture. It had been weeks since he had given her an orgasm and by now it was but a distant memory. Her orgasm was no longer the point. It was the suffering, the humiliation, the slavery.

************************************************** ********

Clara tasted herself on Monique’s fingers as her tormentor wiped her hand across her face and stood up and backed away. She rolled over on to her hands and knees, still shaking and trying to recover. She felt used and terribly aroused. Looking over her shoulder at Adam, she saw him point to a cabinet against one wall. Clara scurried over to it quickly, scraping her knees along the floor. She could feel her wet cunt and thighs cooling in the air as she moved to fetch a whip. When she got to the cabinet she nervously opened its door to reveal an array of implements. She realized he had not given her much instruction and anxiously looked back at him for guidance, but he was now pre-occupied with Monique, dragging her roughly by her hair to the massive bookcase that covered one wall. Clara stared at him as he whispered something in Monique’s ear and she bent forward, leaning on the bookcase, arms outstretched and ass jutting back, her legs wide.

Adam turned back to Clara and she quickly returned her attention to the cabinet. Reaching out, she grabbed the closest whip, a short single-tail, black and fierce looking. She draped it over her neck and crawled back to Adam on all fours, ending at his boots. She bent down and kissed them and waited. By now Clara was strictly moving on instinct, the crawling and the kissing, quite unsure if it was appropriate, yet sensing it was. Adam reached down and grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. He pushed her toward Monique. Taking the whip from around her neck, he held it expertly in his hands. “Watch, and learn Clara. I will show you once. After that you will begin on Monique. Understand?” Clara gulped and nodded. He wanted her to whip a girl? She had never even contemplated it. She was confused yet wanted so desperately to be obedient. As far as she knew he was still testing her.

The whip snaked slowly through the air in a back and forth action, as if Adam were painting a wall. Each flick of the wrist sent the tip moving across the cushion of a leather chair, making a soft slapping sound. Monique glanced nervously behind her. She was no newcomer to the whip, but wasn’t sure what Adam had up his sleeve. Certainly she wasn’t to be the target for Clara’s unsure hand. Adam finished his demonstration and handed it to the naked woman standing next to him. Clara looked meek and afraid. She let the whip dangle awkwardly before summoning the courage to flail it toward Monique

Predictably the first strikes were weak and ineffectual. Monique sighed
with relief and frustration. When would Adam tire of this game and take it to her with his own hands? When would she feel HIS power, raw and searing? Just then Clara struck her ass with a surprising precision. Monique jumped and almost moved her hand to cover herself. Damn, she was better at this than Monique had imagined she would be. Again a searing strike, this time across her thighs. Clara’s aim was poor, and that meant more real pain, and less of the erotic kind. She whimpered a bit, but jut out her ass, thinking she would provide the best target possible, hoping Adam would see her intentions.

Clara was doing the best she could, trying to please Adam by whipping Monique. She could see the red lines forming across her light skin, and wondered how they felt. She increased her pace. Clara was building up a sweat now as 5, then 10 minutes passed, stroke after stroke. Some of her blows were feeble, others right on the mark. Monique was moaning now with each hit, her thighs trembling as she swayed in the dim light of the room. Adam sat down and contemplated the scene, the naked girl with the whip capturing his attention, his imagination. She was the truer submissive, the one he desired, the one he was searching for. Clara was complex, her own submission a riddle, even to herself. Adam knew Monique could be useful as well, in her own way, as a foil for Clara. Across the room Monique began to weep softly.

[leah06]

Monique had undergone quite a few beatings in her time. She was not new to the world of bdsm, and her intense desire to please had frequently led her to clubs, play-parties, and the men who frequent them. She was proud of her ability to accept punishment. She knew how to express agony without alarming her tormentor, how to become pleasingly disheveled, how to indicate with her voice and body that this one was the best she’d ever taken. She did not consider whether this level of self-consciousness really served her well.

This beating, however, was in fact the worst she’d ever taken, and not in a good way. Clara had no idea what she was doing. Sometimes the whip fell with surgical precision; other times the tip would whip around to catch her searingly on some distinctly non-erogenous zone. The blows were alternately too light or too heavy. Clara would find a rhythm, lose it, find another one. Monique concentrated very hard on her own posture and responses. At least, she thought, one of them knew what she was doing.

Clara, on the other hand, was simply miserable. She wanted to please Adam in any way he asked, but it had never occurred to her that anyone would ask this of her. In fact, she’d only been beaten herself a few times and had found it very hard to take. She had hoped that if Adam were going to use the whip on her, he would restrain her. She feared that she would not be able to stand, as Monique was doing now, supporting herself on the bookshelves, crying out, writhing, but never breaking her self-created bonds. Monique was performing very well. It was she, Clara, who would prove to be the disappointment. She steadied herself, took another aim, and watched with dismay as the front of the whip struck the bookcase, deflecting most of its energy and leaving only the middle of the leather to thud unconvincingly on Monique’s hip. Now both women were crying.

Adam could hardly keep the grin off his face. Poor Clara was the picture of incompetence, and Monique’s exaggerated responses reminded him of bad porn – which was probably where she had learned them. He kept his amusement to himself, however, as he grabbed the whip from Clara, giving her a few sharp blows with the doubled strand before roughly pushing her aside. She fell heavily to the floor and remained there, her dark hair partly obscuring her face. He then administered a brief but brutal punishment on Monique, who quickly learned the difference between posturing and reality. Only when he was thoroughly convinced of the sincerity of her responses did he stop and turn to Clara.

Clara had by this time risen first to her knees and then to her feet. She was twisting her hands before her and looking unreasonably distressed. Adam looked at her. “That was, without a doubt, the worst performance I’ve ever witnessed. Didn’t you pay the slightest bit of attention to my demonstration?”

Clara felt done in. First she had failed to orgasm when it was clearly expected, then she had suffered the shame of watching her rival achieve with ease what she herself had been unable to achieve at all. Her body was still shaking from Adam's and Monique’s very different attentions. From the expertly aroused and callously unfilled desire that had been engendered. Finally she had been required to perform well beyond her abilities. She was now quite convinced that she would never satisfy Adam. Why make him say it?

“Yes?” he asked. Clara was now crying in earnest. “I’m sorry, Adam. I’m sorry I disappointed you. I’ll just get my things. . . .” Adam looked at her silently. “Maybe I could call a cab?”

Suddenly Adam understood. He was across the room in three steps. His hand grasped her throat as his body forced hers back to the wall. “You are not excused,” he said. – “But, but. . . I thought. . .” – “You offered yourself to be used, and I will use you. Don’t ask me how, and don’t ever presume to make my decisions for me. Understood?” The hand tightened on her throat as she nodded, wide-eyed. “You are mine. When I am through with you, I will say so. Until then, I will use you. If I want you to come, you will come. If I want you to beat Monique then you will do it. If I want you to crawl, swallow piss, scream in pain, you will do it and you will ask for more. But you will never again substitute your judgment for my own. Is that clear?” She nodded again. She drew small, labored breaths past his clenching hand.

The dimpled smile slowly returned to his face as he released her throat. He slapped her lightly and gripped her lower jaw, forcing it open as he traced the inside of her lips with his fingers.

“Be assured that however I use you, it will be for my pleasure. You have not displeased me. You will never for a moment displease me.” She must have looked grateful and relieved, because he added dryly, “Don’t thank me yet. I will never allow you to displease me. You might find that a heavy burden.”

[Mastrovenice]

Adam released his grip and Clara fell to her knees again, head down. He walked across to where Monique was still holding her position along the bookshelf. She was trembling, avoiding his gaze. The sweat shone on her body, and bright red stripes covered her ass and thighs. He tenderly caressed her with his hand. “You have a lot to learn Monique. I can see you have the experience and the desire to serve, but what is your true motivation? You are selfish and vain. You think I am here to give you what you want. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m not sure you’re even worth the time I’ve spent already. You’re a selfish cunt.” With that he kicked out her legs and she tumbled to the rug below, bracing herself clumsily and curling into a ball. “You know where the door is. Give me a good reason not to throw you naked into the street.”

Monique could hardly believe this was happening. She realized that Adam was different, not easily manipulated by cries and moans and erotic satisfaction. She prostrated herself and crawled, whimpering to his feet. “Please Adam, please!! I can do better! Give me a chance to prove myself. I promise I can do it, I WANT to be better.” She pulled herself into the best kneeling posture she could, her head down, arms outstretched in front of her. She waited for him to reject her, to remind her of the things she now feared were true. Could it be her submission was only a means to her own selfish pleasure? “Stay there, Monique." Adam said. "And don’t move”

Adam moved off and sat by the fireplace. He called Clara to his side. The slim, naked woman hurried to join him. He had her stand in front of him, hands behind her neck, legs spread, eyes down. He addressed her. “Monique is a victim of her own success, Clara. She has lost her way amongst the parties and the nightclubs. Her easy arousal impresses many, who believe it is they who cause such an effect. In reality she is stealing her pleasure from them. Remember this. You, however, have been gifted with your own unique sexuality, or at least you claim. It is now mine. Now caress yourself. I want to see my property in action. I need to know that you were truthful.” With that he leaned back and waited.

Clara dropped her hands to her sides and blushed. Even after all she had been through tonight she was shy, embarrassed to be told to do such a thing. But she knew now not to deny him this, or anything. She was beginning to understand what it meant to give up any vestige of self. Her hands moved across her body, teasing her nipples, her clit, comfortable now, on familiar ground. Soon her hips were rolling in rhythm to her strokes, her breath becoming heavier, her mind focused on one thing. Her arousal began to climb.

Adam sat up suddenly and slapped her hands away from her clit, breaking her concentration and interrupting her. She gasped, surprised at the intrusion. Her hands found their way back to her neck. Adam sat back quietly. “Again” he said. Clara’s hands moved to her groin, feeling the wetness there, starting over.

[leah06]

Clara had lost the ability to be astonished. She had lost the ability to feel nervousness or anticipation, to look forward or back. She had been whipsawed between so many different experiences and emotions, in such a short time, that her mind simply refused to process any more. She existed as a single pin-point of consciousness, tethered only to Adam, to his wishes and his commands. Her finger slid into the folds of her body.

“Show me.” She obediently spread the labia and slid her finger along her clit. Her legs began to tremble. “Lie down, Clara.” She did so, starting to lie horizontally in front of him but moving when he indicated that she was to position herself with her legs facing the leather club chair. “Scoot down. Wrap your legs around the chair.” She did so. “Go on.” Clara resumed her caresses. She was getting close, closer. . . . Suddenly, Adam grabbed her legs and pulled her so that her ass was up against the chair’s cool leather while he held her legs apart and viewed her openness from above. Like being at the gynecologist, she thought irrelevantly. “Clara,” he said patiently. “Continue.”

She waited for a moment to see if he had any other adjustments to make, then began again. She caressed her breasts and then her nipples, tugging on them gently, licking a finger and spiraling it around the hardening nubs. She pinched them, rolling them between her fingers, until the ache in her clit became too much for her. Slowly her hand again crept downward.

It was such a relief to be offered release, she wanted to savor it. She stroked her open thighs, her belly, circling in on the core of her desire. She slid a finger into her own wetness and rubbed it along her smooth cunt-lips. Finally, she moved her finger toward her aching clit, beginning at the base and working her way to the very tip. Adam’s clinical gaze had unnerved her; her head was turned aside and her eyes were half-closed. She was floating on her own sensations.

“Clara!” he hissed. There was menace in the whisper. “Clara, look at me. Look at me.” She faced him, startled. “Clara, you are mistaken. This isn’t for your gratification, but for my amusement. I want you to know, at every moment, where your pleasure comes from. Look at me.” He was leaning over her, his thighs holding her open, his eyes summoning hers. As she met them, there was the same shock she had felt the last time he forced her to face him. Although he had again interrupted her self-ministrations, that moment of meeting his eyes throbbed in her, moved directly to her cunt. She gasped. He held her gaze. “Go. On.” She resumed rubbing the sensitive tip of her clit.

Now she was lost, not in her own mind, but in his eyes. He owned her. Her hands were his hands, her pleasure his pleasure. She felt like a mirror, or a vessel, as if it were he, and not she herself, who was feeling this mounting excitement, as if it were he who, in minutes, moments, seconds, would shatter into orgasm. His orgasm, for which she was only the conduit. She began to feel almost dizzy.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said, sitting up but continuing to spread her wide. “Don’t you dare come. Keep yourself there.” She struggled to obey, but feared she would tip over the edge. She lightened her touch. “Ah, ah, ah. Right at the edge.” She increased the pressure as instructed. Moments passed. “Please, Adam.” – “Please, what?” – “Please, I can’t do this much longer. Please let me come.” He just shook his head slightly, almost incredulous. “Then please let me stop touching. Please. I can’t wait, I can’t keep doing this.” – “No. And don’t ask me again.” He got up from the chair and wandered over to the small bar at the end of the room. “Keep touching, exactly like that.” She felt a despair she had not felt under his eyes. Her moving finger never lost its rhythm.

Adam returned, stepping over her supine form and settling back into the chair, a double old fashioned glass in his hand. As he sat down he casually slopped a portion of the icy Scotch over her breasts and belly. The cold instantly shocked her away from her orgasm. “There.” Don’t say I never did anything for you, he thought to himself.

Clara knew better than to stop her caresses. She was still aroused, still ready, but no longer on the very brink of coming. “Monique, come here,” commanded Adam. Monique crept over. “Clean that up.”

Monique’s warm mouth descended on the frigid pool of liquid that rested in the hollow of Clara’s belly, in the cleft between her breasts. She parted her lips generously and traced upward, from the floor where the liquid had seeped, along Clara’s ribcage, across her belly, up her breasts. Clara was rapidly approaching that same pinnacle she had been wrested from moments before. Monique finished cleaning Clara with long upward strokes of her tongue on the tight breasts, ending at the aching nipples. She sat up slightly and looked at Adam. He motioned her away with his head.

This was too much for Clara. Monique’s mouth had been so arousing, she so wanted to feel it continue to pleasure her breasts, to feel the teeth as she had before on the base of her nipples, the gentle nursing and the harsh, bruising bites – to have that erotic experience reduced to the indignity of being bathed, to feel the trail of Monique’s saliva cooling stickily on her skin, to have borne the casual contempt of Adam’s drink splashing across her open body – Clara began to quiver in the realization of Adam’s complete ability treat her in any way he pleased. She could feel her orgasm building. As it rushed upon her, Adam, as if reading her thoughts, leaned over and, with quiet deliberation, spit wetly onto her clenching belly. She screamed as her vision blurred.

She was engulfed.

[Mastrovenice]

Monique watched Clara masturbating from off to one side, her own arousal a warm glow that only became more intense as Clara came with shrieking intensity. Her hands found her own clit and she stroked herself, feeding off the erotic tableau. She could still taste the liquor in her mouth, and the lingering aroma of Clara’s skin. She pressed a few fingers into her wet slit and squeezed her legs together, her own nipples hard and aching. The beating she had just received was but a memory, but the pain lingered on in her ass and thighs, feeding her, the marks brightly visible. They would be there for a while. She smiled at the thought.

Clara was writhing on the floor, her mouth open, her legs trembling, hands clutching at herself. She screamed and came hard. To everyone’s surprise she squirted her own girl-cum though her fingers and soaked the floor beneath her ass, the hot fluid jetting through her hands and splashing along her thighs. This added to her humiliation, as she was unaccustomed to making such a mess upon climax. Her cunt was now literally soaking. Clara’s face reddened and she cried a little.

She remembered wetting her pants when she was 13, and how the other kids pointed and laughed at her, sitting in her puddle in the classroom. She had held her pee, her bladder bursting, testing the limits of her endurance, and too shy to ask to leave the classroom. The hot warm liquid brought her back to that moment, and the embarrassment she suffered then. She clawed at her cunt, remembering the strange feelings of that day, feelings she now understood as her sexual awakening. She shuddered as she lay in her own puddle and came down slowly.

Adam got up from his chair and grabbed her hair and turned her around, face down in her puddle. He put his foot on her head and pushed her face into the mess on the floor. “Clean it up, Clara.” He commanded. Her tongue lapped at the floor under his heel as she used her hands to push the liquid to her face. “You squirt like a man when you cum, slut. I think maybe you need a diaper. How would you like that?” He pushed her head around with his foot, soaking her hair where it hung down around her head. “Should I make you wear a diaper and piss in it all day? What do you think Monique, should I make her sit in her own piss all day long” Adam turned to stare at Monique, who was startled at the question. “Well?” He stared at her.

Monique had no idea what to say. Her hands were still between her legs, and she was afraid to move them, afraid to look at Adam, afraid to even reply. Adam was not happy with her hesitation. “ANSWER ME when I speak to you Monique or I will take your voice away.” She cringed and and blurted out the first thing she thought, that wearing a diaper sounded horrible and demeaning, and no, she would never want to have to make Clara wear one. She finished her answer and looked down, forlorn, unsure now that her answer was correct.

Adam said nothing while Clara cleaned the floor. She was almost done now and was licking the last of her juices up. She didn’t like it, not like the taste of a man’s cum. It was watery and a little too much like piss. She heard Adam talking about diapers and imagined herself in one, an odd and unusual a thought. She finished and stretched her arms out in front of her, waiting.

Adam lifted his foot and walked over to the Monique. “Your answer was honest, and that impulse is correct. However the result is that you will be punished instead of Clara.” He unzipped his pants and pulled out his semi-erect cock. Monique bit her lower lip as she watched. She felt hungry now to service him, to show him that she could do something right, to feel it in her mouth, hot and hard, his body close, pressing into her face. He pulled her up on her knees and arranged her hands behind her neck. She naturally opened her mouth, awaiting him. He fed himself into her wet mouth and let out a small sigh as he pushed deep into her.

Monique was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude that she was allowed this act, allowed to please him. She worked at it vigorously, wanting to show him her skills, though frustrated that her hands were denied her. His cock hardened, and filled her mouth, and she worked her head up and down, bobbing on it, slurping and drooling as she struggled to find a good angle to get it down her throat. Adam nonchalantly pulled a pair of police handcuffs and tightened them around her wrists. She was too occupied to care much, as if it mattered any more what she wanted.

He pulled out suddenly, not finished yet, still hard, and very aroused by the look of it. He slapped her hard across her face without warning. She reeled back but he caught her by her cuffed wrists, holding her up. He slapped her again on the other side. She looked up at his face, tears coming to her eyes. What did she do wrong? Why wouldn’t he let her bring him off? Please, she thought, I want to hold you in my mouth so much….

Adam walked away, leaving Monique kneeling there, staring at Clara stretched out on the floor, a wet heap, still smelling of sex and arousal. Their eyes met briefly, a look of concern almost for each other, perhaps a brief moment of camaraderie. It was interrupted as he returned with a bottle of water and pushed it, cock-like into her mouth and squeezed the bottle, spurting warm water into her throat. She struggled to swallow and keep up, though her thirst surprised her and she drank most of the small bottle. Some had escaped and run down her chest and dripped to the floor. He returned to the chair and sat down, staring at them silently. Presently he arose and walked to the wall, switching off the light. The room went dark and they listened to him disappear into the house.

[leah06]

At first both women felt a slight sense of relief, a feeling of a danger averted. Each wanted to please Adam; neither knew her own place or the other’s; they were lonely and disoriented. Clara still lay huddled in her wetness, in the remnants of the Scotch, in Monique’s saliva and Adam’s spit. Monique had fallen on her side, her hands still cuffed behind her head. Soon, however, their relief turned hollow. They began to long for Adam’s return. Without him, they felt purposeless.

Hesitantly, Clara sat up and wiped her face with her hands, wrung out her dripping hair, combed it as best she could with her fingers. Monique continued to lie awkwardly on her side, one arm crushed beneath her head. She seemed to have fallen into some kind of catatonia. Still the room remained dark and Adam did not return.

After an additional interval, Clara heaved herself up and crossed the room slowly toward Monique. She was surprised at how stiff and achy she felt. When she reached Monique she slowly eased herself down by the other girl’s head. Tentatively, she began to stroke it without speaking. Monique was unresponsive. When her hand accidentally brushed against Monique’s bound ones, she was started to feel how icy cold they were.

“Monique, you have to sit up. I think you’re losing circulation. Let me help you.” Clara got her arms around the other girl and heaved her partially upright. Monique leaned heavily against her. She began to chafe the fingers and the wrists around the police cuffs. They were cruelly tight.

“Monique, thank you so much for standing up for me. It was very brave of you to tell Adam what you thought about the diaper. I really appreciated it.”

These words seemed to shock Monique out of her trance. “FUCK you!” she shrieked. “FUCK you, you STUPID cunt! Get the fuck away from me! I tried to help you, I said what I thought, and what happened? Adam fucking HATES me. I don’t fucking BELIEVE you! From the minute you walked in here, every fucking stupid move you’ve made has been golden. And me? Well, I’m not frigid, like you. I can come when a man touches me. And I’m not a fucking coward, like you. I can take whatever Adam gives me. And I’m not a fucking PRINCESS, waltzing around in some kind of ten thousand dollar lingerie EN-samble. So FUCK you! I will NEVER, NEVER, NEVER fucking stand up for you for ANYTHING! You STUPID, STUPID STUPID – – “ She seemed to run out of words here. She just leaned into Clara, sobbing hysterically. Clara, helpless, could only hold her, periodically patting her back and shoulders.

The lights, harsh and intrusive, suddenly came on, revealing Adam in the doorway, a sardonic smile on his face. He held a large bottle of water in each hand. A drop cloth was draped over one arm, and the fingers of one hand held a small bag. Both girls stared at him, frozen, their eyes wide. I always thought deer in the headlights was just an expression, he thought. He put his burden on the long wooden coffee table, opened one of the bottles, and poured its contents over Monique. “Shut up, you self-pitying idiot,” he said, retrieving a cloth gag from his pocket and shoving it into her mouth.

He opened the police cuffs and firmly rubbed the circulation back into the cold hands. Then, both women watching his every move, he opened the drop cloth on the floor and opened the bag. They stared at him, transfixed, as he spread a generous handful of uncooked rice in the middle of the cloth. He dragged Monique over by her hair and positioned her, kneeling, on the rice, her hands clasped at the small of her back. For a moment he massaged her shoulders and upper arms.

Without a word he emptied the second bottle of water into Clara’s mouth and left the room. The two girls just stared at each other.

In a moment Adam returned with – Clara blinked for a moment. Yes, it was a bottle of ketchup. He squeezed a reasonable amount of the red stuff onto the drop cloth around Monique, coming as close to her legs as he could while being careful to get none of it on her.

“Monique.” She looked at him. “Don’t move.”

“Clara. If you take one step to help her, I will know it and I promise you’ll regret it.”

Again he left; again he returned with more water. Silently he handed the bottle to Clara.

“Adam. . .” He just looked at her. “Please.”

Clara waited for a moment but received no response. Slowly she opened the bottle. Then she drained it, her eyes never leaving his.

[Mastrovenice]

Darkness. Their eyes adjusted. The room was dimly lit by the moon shining on a skylight from above. Monique was on her knees, but was barely maintaining. Tears rolled down her face, and her knees were hurting. It was unlike any other ‘torture’ she endured. She tried adjusting her position, but found no relief. The rice was subtle, at first. Now it felt like gravel. She cried out and bent over on all fours, leaving her knees and feet in the dark red circle. She had failed, but not completely. This new position was better for now. Plus she had half a chance of getting back up if she heard Adam in time. She looked over at Clara. The naked girl was curled in a ball, trying to stay warm and to ignore her full bladder.

Monique stared at her in contempt. She wanted to curse at Clara, but was no longer in a talkative mood. She just wanted to make it through the night to display her ability and resolve, and to show up the frigid bitch. She put her head down on her hands and closed her eyes.

She drifted off. Time passed, her knees agonized, almost numb now. Her own bladder was full, making it even harder to sleep. She dozed. She awoke again when bumped by Clara. She looked over her shoulder. Clara was squatting next to her on the tarp, carefully avoiding the circle with her feet. “What are you doing?.. Clara?”

Clara, startled and froze, but did not back off. She lowered herself and squat, and looked down, embarrassed and shy. Clara was peeing on the tarp! Monique could not believe it. She almost pushed her off but stopped herself before she broke the line. “GET AWAY from ME…” Monique whispered urgently.

Clara HAD to pee. The hours since Adam left had been impossible. She could never hold her bladder long anyway, and the pain was becoming very distracting. She slipped off to sleep, and dreamt of relief. She woke up just in time to stop herself from peeing all over herself and the beautiful rug she lay on. The tarp now was her only option. She looked down, tried to relax and waited, shy and hurting. Finally she released her pee, watching it run to the depression where Monique kneeled. It was hot and started mixing with the ketchup. Clara stumbled a bit, bumping into Monique, upsetting the line.
Clara was embarrassed. Her inability to maintain a full bladder was not something she wanted to disclose on the medical questionnaire Adam had her complete. She realized now that honesty would have been better.

Monique was shocked. And started crying. This was too much! She tried so hard not to move, though the puddle below her grew. She sobbed softly, so chained by Adam as to remain still even now.

When Clara finished releasing she looked over at Monique and felt pity for the woman, leaning over, now in a puddle of piss and rice. She could still see some darker marks across her ass and thighs. Clara reached out and began to massage Monique’s back and shoulders. Monique quietly accepted the gesture, happy for any relief from the strain of holding her position.

The lights came up, suddenly blinding them. Adam had returned, of course. Clara stopped and immediately bowed her head next to Monique. Monique struggled to raise herself. She did with a groan and almost toppled over. He caught her by the neck and stabilized her, restricting her breath for a terrifying moment. She was amazed at the hand around her throat: This too she would give up, the very freedom of breathing when she wanted to. Her body wriggled in a shudder of masochism. He released his grip and she gulped at the air.

Clara was dragged and pushed under Monique’s spread legs, through the piss and ketchup line, across the rice, on her back. He got her head right under Monique’s crotch. Adam stood up and grabbed Monique by the hair and slapped her hard. “You failed me.” He said quietly. “You broke position and pissed all over the tarp, and accepted solace from this one” He gestured to Clara. “No Adam. It was me…. Sir. I made the mess…” Clara sobbed her confession from below.

Adam placed his foot on Clara’s ribcage and held her down. “Then certainly Monique here has to go. Right?” Monique nodded. “Then do so.” Monique thanked him and tried to piss. She couldn’t. She started crying. Adam slapped her again. “Now, before I change my mind.” Monique shook her head and finally got a trickle to flow down her legs. Clara closed her eyes and mouth tightly, anticipating the worst.. Then it came in a burst, surprising her, soaking her head and hair and shoulders. She lay in it after Monique was done, staring up at the other woman’s pussy.

Adam left again, this time keeping the lights on. Monique relaxed a bit and lowered herself, covering Clara’s mouth with her cunt. “That’s right little slut.” She said. “Clean me up.” Clara had no choice but to oblige.

[leah06]

Monique came, of course, being cleaned by Clara. She didn’t squirt as much as Clara had earlier, but Clara’s face was still soaking by the time Monique had finished grinding herself into it. Monique fell over, exhausted finally, pushing Clara into the puddle of rice, and ketchup, and piss. The two girls were unable to move.

Adam returned after a while and surveyed them silently. Then he hauled Monique off the tarp, holding her roughly by her hair, and slapped her several times. “You were told to maintain that position,” he said. He quickly attached the police cuffs to her wrists and dragged her, sobbing, to where a thin chain was looped discretely from its anchorage in the ceiling around the side of the bookcase. Unlooping it, he shortly had her on her toes, arms suspended on the chain. Clara lay where she was.

Adam approached her next, pulling her up and propelling her to a small bathroom just off the living room. He supported her, facing the full-length mirror that faced the room. “Look at yourself.”

Clara gasped. In the space of a few short hours, she had been transformed. Gone was the cool, sleek young woman she had inspected before setting off to meet Adam. She would not recognize this girl if she saw her on the street. She was covered in the excreta of the day. Her long dark hair was clumped and matted with her own come, with Monique’s piss, with bits of rice and streaks of ketchup. Bruises were starting to form on her breasts and thighs where Monique had bitten her. She had several vicious slash marks where Adam had struck her with the whip. Her face was tear-streaked and, somehow the most embarrassing, streaked with mucus as well. Her careful makeup had become a parody of itself.

And yet, as Adam held her, his hand firmly wrapped in her hair, forcing her to face her image, she felt oddly at peace. “This is my slut, my whore, my slave,” Adam whispered. She leaned against him. It was true. “Do you want something different?” he asked. “Do you want to be clean, untouched, free?” She considered. She thought of the girl who had walked in not so long before. For some reason, she had a sudden, irrelevant image of her stockings, sheer silk that she had pulled carefully over her smooth calves that morning.

She cried out as Adam hauled her to face him and slapped her, hard, across the mouth. “Answer me.” - “No, Adam. This is where I want to be. Please let me be your slave, your whore.” - “Good girl. Good slave. I like to hear that.” She liked to hear him say it. Already she lived for it.

He pushed her roughly away from him and she fell awkwardly, jamming her wrist painfully as she landed. “On your knees, then.” Adam entered the bathroom and she could hear taps being opened. He called to her, “Clara, come in here.” She crawled after him. “Clean yourself up, Clara.” The door closed behind him.

It was a well-appointed room, large for a spare bathroom. A space designed for a man with taste and money. The shower was separate from the bath and featured steam as well as several spigots; there was a flat-screen TV easily viewable from the sink or the tub; everything necessary was within easy reach. The bath was already half full.

Clara didn’t want to get into the tub, though, to sit in the filth that would wash off her. She looked at the shower, considering whether she had permission to use it. Well, he had told her to clean up. She turned off the running spigots and stepped into the marble enclosure.

She showered swiftly, uncertain whether Adam would approve of this innovation. She did, however, wash her hair several times. When she finally felt that she was clean again – or as clean as I will ever be, she thought wryly – she stepped out of the shower and hesitantly dried herself on the thick bath sheet. Now that she was clean, her few bruises and welts were more apparent. She looked at herself with some bemusement.

The bath was full and steaming, and clearly Adam had intended her to use it. Perhaps this was meant to be a reward? She could hear Monique whimpering in the next room. It took a lot to make her cry out. She must be gagged. Whatever he was doing to her, it sounded close to unbearable. Slowly she knotted her hair above her head, blocking out the sound. There was no use in speculating why she had been taken to bathe and Monique apparently was being tortured in the next room. Besides, she strongly suspected that it would be her turn next. Whether she pitied or triumphed, anticipated or feared, the result would be the same. Adam would do what pleased him, and she and Monique would be the canvas for his designs.

Slowly she stepped into the tub and lowered herself into the hot water. She hissed as the water made contact with her sore flesh, but soon was relaxing with just her head above the water-line. She was not given long to enjoy herself, however. As the door opened the sound of Monique’s agony became momentarily louder, then almost completely ceased as Adam closed the door firmly behind him. She suddenly found herself deeply frightened.

Adam’s warm smile erased her nameless fears. “Taking it easy? Good. You’ve earned it, I think. Why is your hair tied above your head? Haven’t you washed it yet?” - “Yes, Adam. I showered first. I’m just keeping it out of your tub.” - “Oh, that’s all right. Let’s see if you’ve gotten – everything – out of it.” He was untwisting the large knot at the top of her head as he spoke. He ran the heavy length of her hair through his hands. “You seem to have done an excellent job. Let’s just rinse it again, though.”

His voice altered. “Slide down in the tub and put your hands behind your back.” Clara obeyed, her wide eyes never leaving his. He dipped her head back and swirled the strands through the water. He hands caressed her neck, her face. He ran a finger over her lips, stroked inside her open mouth.

“Clara, take a breath.” She did, and slowly the hands pushed her head down until she was completely submerged. She closed her eyes and fought the emerging panic. He’s done nothing terrible yet, she thought, but it was almost impossible to lie still, to keep her body relaxed.

He released her shortly and waited as she caught her breath, her heart racing. Her hands were still clasped behind her. That wasn’t so bad, she thought. He let me up in plenty of time to breathe. She tried to tell herself that her panic had been silly. “Again, Clara.” I can do this, she thought. Again he held her just until the panic began; again he released her just as her lungs began to ache. As she caught her breath she began to feel stronger. I can do this.

“Again.” She took another deep breath. This isn’t unbearable.

This time he held her longer. She waited until the ache began in her lungs, the moment when he had released her before. He held her submerged. She squirmed slightly, hoping to indicate her distress. There was no response. Now she panicked in earnest. Her heart was pounding; she could hear a rushing in her ears; behind her closed lids deeper blotches of blackness swarmed and coalesced. She feared that she could not do this. In a moment she would begin to struggle, she would grab his hands away from her face, she would emerge, gasping and shaking. She would fail. Five more seconds, she thought. I can wait to the count of five. She counted slowly. I can wait for another five, she thought again.

He released her. She came up gasping, but this time she was not given time to catch her breath. After two deep, painful inhalations she was again submerged. No. No, I’ve not had time to breathe. I can’t do this. The agony was worse this time. The blood roared in her ears; the blackness came pressing behind her eyes almost immediately. He held her under. She wriggled in the water; her body strained upward; finally even her hands no longer remained behind her but clawed at the sides of the tub. They did not touch Adam’s, however, did not grab at them to pull them away from her face. Somehow she knew that he would not forcibly hold her; if she pulled at his hands they would not fight her.

Now she was thrashing, and still he kept her from the air she needed. But she refused to grab at his hands, to pull them away from her. She would not struggle against him but only against herself, willing herself to remain where he wanted her. Still he held her down. She inhaled slightly.

At that moment he released her, pulled her upright, held her shoulders as she sputtered and choked and tears leaked from her eyes. She breathed deeply of the precious air, leaning against him, sobbing softly. When she had recovered he kissed her firmly on top of her head and left without a word. Slowly she leaned back into the water.

[Mastrovenice]

Adam left, closing the door, sealing Clara inside the white marble-clad bathroom. He was pleased with how well she had managed, and that she had not resisted him but the water surrounding her. He sensed that Clara was truly ambitious in her submission, willing to trust him perhaps beyond what she should. He knew he wanted to hurt her, and to humiliate and control her, and now his mind opened to the breadth of her potential and the paths it revealed for them. He savored the air of her coming debasement, and his mind raced as to the variety of ways to accomplish it. He thought of isolating her, breaking her down into a creature that craved to be degraded by him and for him.

He remembered a technique: a slave confined to a small space, a closet really, clothed in a burka, bound and plugged. Total sensory deprivation. He shook his head. He was unsure how Clara would respond to such treatment. It would have to be managed correctly. His mind wondered as he circled around Monique lying on the floor, a hood covering her head, her arms now cuffed in leather and bound behind her. There were red and black wires trailing up her torso, ending at her nipples. Adam crouched down and listened to her breathe.

Reaching out, he put his hand on her head and stretched her body back, exposing her beautiful throat. She quivered and cried a bit, the sound muffled by the hood, laced tightly in back, but with a zipper across the jaw-line. Adam traced his hand to her chest, gently tweaking the twin needles in each nipple, making sure the electrical connections were true. Monique’s body jerked and spasmed with each random pulse, a fresh sweat covering her now.

Adam reached down and slapped her pussy, sending a sharp and different pain through Monique. She wailed around the cloth gag stuffed into her mouth. Adam slapped her differently now, with more intensity, focusing on her clit. Monique knew that this was her opportunity to come: Adam was giving her this gift now. She also knew that just busting out an orgasm might be considered willful. She ground her hips, pushing them into the slapping hand. Adam increased his power and addressed her loudly.

“You are headstrong and proud. Not like Clara, who is a babe in the woods. You think you know already what I am, what I do? You think maybe I will prefer you over her?” Monique fucked at his slapping hand, now turned gentle and soft. He occasionally stopped to pinch her clit and penetrate her with his fingers. Each new sensation further aroused her. “nnmmmnnnnggg” She proclaimed through the gag, unsure even to herself what the answer was.

“You will learn I am not here for your pleasure or amusement, Monique. Quite the opposite, in fact.” With that he stopped spanking her cunt and rolled her over onto her freshly pierced chest. She screamed thru the gag as yet another pulse of electricity jolted her. She felt Adam lift her hips until she was on her knees, presented to him. Adam stood up and went to the bar.

Monique was trying hard to hold on to her arousal. She was exhausted and nearing the edge of her stamina. She had failed him, and suffered for him, for his pleasure, to prove her worth. She had given every thing she could, and wanted to give more, but was failing. Her flesh had been violated by sharp steel, and now by the pulsing of a thousand bees. She was weeping, uncontrollably. She wanted to sleep, to move into the comfortable darkness. Adam had probably abandoned her again. Monique cried, and the leather around her eyes dampened.

Adam drank a glass of water and started at Monique. She was a different prize, not nearly a blank slate like Clara but an instrument, a tool for him to use, to further Clara’s enslavement. And to sate himself, of course. He stepped out of his clothes and moved behind his other new slave. Pulling on Monique’s arms, he moved her body closer to his. She screamed louder as he penetrated her with one long thrust, from behind. “Dance for me Monique” Adam said as she ground onto him, the orgasm building in her, blinding her to the pain. She started screaming into the gag now, all the pleasure erasing the horrid rice, the sleepless night, the wicked cuffs, the piercing needles. She gave a deep gasp and came hard. She danced on him and collapsed onto the floor.

Adam moved her off his cock and pumped himself slowly, savoring the memory of her clenching muscles, rippling to the electrical pulses and Monique’s own desperate orgasm. He took a sharp breath and squeezed, cum squirting and dripping across her thighs and ass. When he recovered he unzipped her hood and pulled out the cloth gag. He wiped his cum up with it and pushed it back into her mouth. He zipped up the hood and returned to his clothes, dressing slowly as he gazed at her sleeping body.

[leah06]

After the first night they settled into a sort of routine. The two girls slept on pallets in the basement unless Adam required them at night. Meals were haphazard during the day – often Adam had meetings or appointments that took him from the house; when he was away he would sometimes leave them a series of tasks – at night Adam tended to cook his own food and allow the girls to eat his leftovers off the floor. Sometimes he entertained visitors and then the women’s roles would shift from live-in help to full-out slaves, depending on the circumstances. There were no more baths for Clara; the basement had a cement shower enclosure whose plumbing provided only a trickle of cold water.

Adam’s use of them was settling into a routine also. Monique was punished far more brutally and more often than Clara. She was a mass of marks and bruises. Clara, on the other hand, was punished fairly seldom. She had not, however, been allowed to come since that first night. Adam seemed fascinated that she could be teased and kept on edge apparently endlessly, as long as she was not allowed to touch herself. Sometimes he experimented with various ways to stimulate her, moving her from aroused to almost orgasmic and back, at his whim. Clara became used to feeling constantly wet, and ready, and hungry. When Adam ceased to be amused by teasing her to the very edge, he would often order her to “give” her orgasm – the one she wasn’t allowed to have – to Monique. “It’s a shame to let it go to waste,” he would comment, as if he had a box of orgasms in the pantry, nearing their expiration date. Clara would sigh inwardly, Monique would look sleek, and Clara, her cunt throbbing, her clit twitching, would present her mouth, or her hands, or a toy to Monique’s insouciant pussy, providing her with an experience that was to her mundane. To Clara, even the idea of that experience was becoming inconceivably precious.

Recently, however, the rules had changed. Now Adam did not simply stimulate Clara himself in long sessions of torment. Now she was to be kept on edge as much as possible throughout the day. There was a small egg that she wore inside her. It turned on randomly, at very long intervals, maybe every few hours and just for a moment at a time. It was the knowledge, the anticipation that kept her on edge more than anything, in a constant state of excitement. And then Monique and Adam delighted in tormenting her. At any moment she might be required to open herself – to lie on the table, to back against the wall, to sit on the desk – and display herself for their enjoyment. She would be ordered to hold herself open as they touched lightly or firmly, as they licked or stroked, as they penetrated with fingers or objects. They would make her strain for the lightest touch, or they would handle her roughly until her orgasm was ready to burst from her. Monique had been willingly recruited to the task of keeping Clara on edge, and showed an eagerness in her performance that was admirable in a slave fulfilling her master’s commands.

Clara’s sleep was disturbed. Adam wanted them well and healthy, so he didn’t keep them short on sleep for very long. The egg wasn’t inside her at night; she wasn’t chained or uncomfortable. She hadn’t even been warned not to touch herself after Monique fell heavily to sleep on the pallet next to hers. It never occurred to her to do so. Even during her most erotic dreams her hands never strayed to her pussy; she never awoke, as she had in the past, to find herself half-way to orgasm with her finger on her clit. Adam wanted her to feel this way, hot, heavy, moving in a daze of sexual excitement, and so this was what she wanted herself. When the little egg would give the tell-tale click before starting, when Adam or Monique would call her over, she would feel a rush of adrenaline that was only partly anticipation of the sexual torment. She would feel, at those moments, that she was being put to her highest and best use – made to experience what Adam had chosen for her.

Monique, on the other hand, was simply brutalized. It had been a mistake, perhaps, to take the initial beatings so well. Adam sensed that Monique was a creature of her body and of bodily sensations. Her tits could take any number of weights on the rings he had inserted through her now-healed piercings; her heavy buttocks and thighs could take tremendous flogging; she endured the whip, the cane with a passive excitement that he found exciting himself. He felt pushed to see what she could and could not endure, stopping himself at times from doing her a true injury. Unlike Clara, Monique was often kept in bondage overnight. She had learned to endure, even to revel in it. There was a rubber hood, a ring gag, sometimes chains or cuffs. On occasion, she had even been kept in bondage for a day and a night, and she could sense that more was coming. In addition, Clara now occasionally administered a punishment under Adam’s tutelage. She had overcome her initial squeamishness and had come to wield an implement with an eagerness, if not a skill, that Adam found endearing.

One evening Adam had summoned the two of them to the living room. Clara was irritable. She was short on sleep due to the continual arousal that would waken her during the night; Monique had been especially zealous in her torments the past few days; and Adam, for some reason, had been practically ignoring Clara and spending most of his free time romping with Monique. She hadn’t even been punished for days. Clara felt that she’d been trembling on the verge of tears all day.

Adam had engaged in his usual game of having Monique tease Clara. He had ordered her, yet again, to bring Clara to the edge of orgasm and keep her there for as long as possible. This time, however, Clara had begun to cry and hadn’t stopped through the entire ordeal. By the time Adam finally called a halt, she lay silent and almost impassive, slow tears sliding down her cheeks. At that point, Adam had introduced the two women to something new.

Now Clara presented an intriguing sight. She stood on Adam’s beautiful Persian rug, arms bound behind her back, Monique lying before her with a vibrator in her pussy. Clara was crouched, knees bent, back as straight as possible, over the supine girl. Her face expressed a mixture of anguish and determination. A thin chain led from tight clips on Clara’s nipples, to a rope strung through a series of pulleys, and then to the power supply for Monique’s vibrator. If Clara chose to stand upright, the chain on her nipples slack, the vibrator would run, sending Monique well on her way to yet another orgasm. When Clara would crouch, however, as painful as that quickly became for her calves and her nipples, the vibrator would stop. In this manner, Adam provided Clara with her first chance to cause Monique the same discomfort that Monique so often caused her.

Adam watched with interest. Clara was clearly uncomfortable with being allowed to wreak vengeance on Monique. She would watch, apparently unconcerned, as the other girl neared her release. As Monique got closer, though, Clara’s face would begin to harden. She would bite her lips and eye Monique from under partially-lowered lids. Finally, at the last moment she would seem to gather her courage and suddenly bend her knees, gasping as her clamped nipples were pulled painfully upward. She would maintain her pose for a few moments, but shortly her calves would contract and she would begin to tremble. It was this moment that most interested Adam, for Clara clearly refused to allow herself any relief until it was certain that Monique’s orgasm had evaded her; until it was certain that if she allowed the vibrator to start again, the other girl would be in no danger of coming.

After some time Clara’s legs were fatigued and her nipples sore. It took more and more effort for her to hold the crouching position for shorter and shorter periods of time. She experimented with giving Monique less time with the vibrator, and herself less time to recover, in exchange for shorter periods of crouching to keep the vibrator off. But Monique was so easily aroused, so quickly satisfied, that these short breaks did nothing to postpone her orgasm. Clara was forced to return to longer periods of discomfort if she wanted to prolong her vengeance.

She became flushed; beads of perspiration collected on her brow and above her lip. Her hair fell limply to the small of her back. A drop of blood appeared on her lip where she had bitten it too hard. Still she refused to end the game. Her lips would move silently as her muscles cramped and her raw nipples burned. Adam moved behind her to hear. “Come on, you can do it,” she was cheering herself on. “Bitch. Little cunt, see how you like it. Oh!” – this exclamation was aloud – “Oh! It hurts. Just a little longer, just a moment…” Adam slipped his hand into her exposed pussy and began to palpate it. He began to caress her whenever she was crouched down, stopping when she arose. She smiled slightly and leaned back into him. As this continued she became more and more aroused, his hands giving her another incentive to prolong Monique’s torment and her own.

Adam began to cheer her on also. “Wait, don’t stand up yet. You can go a little longer.” When she felt unable to continue – “Are you moving away from my hand?” he would tease. “And here I thought you liked me.” Inevitably, she began to move closer and closer to orgasm herself. Adam, Clara leaning into him, his hands on her pussy when she was in position, his arms around her waist when she was not, observed the tableau – Monique, squirming, aroused, as Clara would stand at ease; panting and passive when Clara was in position; the vibrator arousing Monique and Adam’s hands arousing Clara – and Clara, her pain and stubbornness the fulcrum of the event, as the women’s sexual energy passed through the ropes and the pulleys and flowed from one to the other.