The Slave World (27)

(27): Pillow talk

I began my first day of bondage to Adam when I awoke to find his hands on my hips as he turned me onto my left side to face him in the bed. He was ramrod hard with the typical 'morning glory' that men have throughout the night and he intended to make good use of me to satisfy himself.

I was barely awake to begin with as he stroked between my thighs, making me deliciously wet in a matter of minutes.

“What time is it?” I murmured as I gazed at him with eyelids still half sealed with sleep.

“Late. We slept well after Mark left,” he said as he then slid inside me without warning. I gasped, feeling that headlong rush of emotions again as I felt myself deeply penetrated. He rode me with fierce urgent thrusts that left me reeling as he came without attempting any tenderness. It was an example of how rough his lovemaking was first thing in the morning. And then because I hadn’t had time to come myself, he continued to stroke, kiss and touch my body. When he was satisfied that I seemed slave like in my responses he slid the sheets away and moved my head towards his semi-erect penis. My lips were pressed to his shaft and, as I began to take it into my mouth, as I began to lick and suck it, I felt Adam's penis grow rigid again. I sucked and licked eagerly, wanting it back inside me to finish the job. Adam moved my head away, pressed me onto my back and mounted me again. Now he dedicated his thrusts to giving me pleasure and soon enough I was writhing and screaming on the sheets, begging him to continue.

“Slave,” he said with a smile.

“Slave!” I cried as I tipped over the edge into the perfect late morning orgasm. This would soon become the regular routine, Adam reinforcing in my mind the connection between my orgasms and my so called slavery. He would remind me that I was chained, in bondage, that I was his property, that I wanted to submit to him, that I wanted to serve him as a slave. I began to relish those words during sex itself, finding them exiting when I was so close to the throes of coming, But these were still early days and afterwards, after I lay there sated in his arms I would often feel uneasy, ashamed of myself. I enjoyed the sex but I didn’t want to be a slave. I only wanted the rough fantasy of it while we fucked.

But for Adam it was all or nothing.

“How long did Mark stay?” I asked.

“An hour or two. We drank some wine and talked. He asked me about you. He thinks we should protect you.”

“You were very protective last night, and this morning in fact...”

“Well, I've certainly secured what is precious to me,” He touched the chain locked around my ankle as he smiled. “Bracelet check, kajira,” he said with a sudden serious and dominant tone to his voice. I felt a flush of excitement as I rolled onto my back and extended my chained ankle towards him. I felt him take the restraint and examine it for any sign that I might have tried to free myself quietly during the night. There were of course no such marks in evidence. “Good. You remain well secured.”

“You seem pleased,” I said.

“Of course. I can think of few things better in the morning than waking up beside a chained girl. You were beautiful to begin with, but bondage makes you a thousand times more beautiful in my eyes.”

“I admit... it was fun...”

“Good, now make breakfast,” said Adam as he went into the living room. He had unlocked my ankle chain and hurried me from the bed with a sharp slap on my ass that stung. I fumed as I rubbed my ass cheeks. Should I have rebuked him for that? Perhaps. But I didn't.

I cooked bacon and scrambled eggs, made toast, poured coffee, rich, dark, aromatic coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice; warmed some rolls in the oven and placed knobs of creamy butter on a silver tray. I carried these things to the low standing coffee table where Adam sat cross legged in a black dressing gown.

He made me kneel close beside him, naked, and as we talked and kissed he would hold out bits of of breakfast roll with bacon and scrambled eggs sandwiched between the layers. I would take these pieces of food in my mouth and eat them while he stroked my hair and sometimes my breasts and my thighs. I should have been angry but I found the experience strangely exciting. It seemed like an extension of the master/slave sex and despite the harsh gender politics I found myself looking forward to each hand delivered piece of food more than if I had been sitting opposite him and feeding myself, wearing a dressing gown of my own.

We talked about a lot of things, but mostly Adam asked me questions ranging from my fantasies as a young woman to my sexual experiences with other men. He asked me what foods I liked, what books I had read, music I loved, plays I had seen, whether I believed in a God, questions about philosophical matters and my opinions in respect of gender and sexual orientation. Mostly he listened and was at pains not to chide or contradict me for anything I said. He simply wanted to know more about me. He was truly interested in my thoughts and beliefs.

“Why do you think so many women have submissive fantasies?” he asked.

“I don’t know. We just do. It's a... thing I guess. We're hard wired that way.”

And it was true. I did have submissive fantasies, but they were always selective ones, always centred around a man I found attractive. I didn’t relish the broader fantasies of being brutalised and beaten. I could play this game with Adam. I would not want to play it with Andromedus.

“Can you remember your first sexual feelings when you were young?”

“Yes. It was a sunday evening, I think. I remember it was raining outside. I remember being in the living room, lying on the carpet doing my homework for school the next day. Dad had the TV on and was watching a historical action film: the Last of the Mohicans with Daniel Day Lewis. I should have been concentrating on my maths homework but instead I ended up watching the film and hoping Dad didn't notice I'd given up on the maths. I remember really liking the older Munro sister, Cora, and I think I started to identify with her. I wished my hair was long and straight like hers. I had a thing about my mess of unruly curls when I was a teenager.”

“I love your hair the way it is, kajira,” said Adam as he ran his fingers through it. “It's beautiful.”

I kissed him for saying that. “Well, anyway, I remember having some strange feelings I didn't understand when Daniel Day Lewis kissed Cora. And then when she was captured, and her hands were tied together and she was led away by the Indians at the end of a rope, in bondage, and Daniel Day Lewis did that impassioned speech – stay alive, whatever you do, stay alive and I WILL find you; I felt such a warmth between my legs and I started pressing down on the carpet with my pelvis, feeling strange sensations that seemed wrong somehow. I slipped out of the living room quietly and went to my room where I, well... I learned my body had changed.” I laughed softly. “Oh boy, I learnt some surprising things about my body that night. I don't think Dad knew. I obviously never told him.”

“Do you think it was the fact that Cora was captured and tied up that made you respond like that?”

“Possibly. Who knows. I had fantasies for years after that, that I was some sort of frontiers woman out in the American forests of the late eighteenth century. Sometimes I would be captured by the woodland Indians but I'd always be saved before anything too terrible happened to me.”

“Interesting.”

After a while there was a marked change to the conversation. Breakfast was over then and Adam continued asking me personal questions, but now as I answered he would tell me the Gorean words and phrases for my answers and he would get me to repeat what I had first said in English but now in Gorean. He was teaching me more of the language that it seemed he was completely fluent in.

“Eventually when you have learned enough of the language, when we are together in private we will only converse in Gorean,” he said. “When you want something from me you will make the request in Gorean.”

I learned a lot of words that morning and by lunch time he began to test me. He seemed pleased with my progress.

We made love again shortly after lunch. He lay me on the bed, on the rich cotton sheets and again clasped my wrists in slave bracelets against the headboard. He wanted me to become accustomed to associating good sex with bondage and slave steel. And again as I approached orgasm he would recite to me the litany of phrases: you are a slave girl, you have a master, you are chained helplessly, you love being chained, you love bondage, you want to be pleasing, you want to wear a collar, you want to serve your master. He would then make me repeat these things back to him, gradually in Gorean rather than English, and whenever I did, which was always, he would reward me with further intimate caresses on my erogenous zones. I became quite helpless to my needs, driven to recite the words that would reward me with further sexual fulfilment.

“I am a slave girl, a slave girl begs a collar,” I said over and over again as I hovered helplessly close to another orgasm.

“My wrists are chained. I love being helpless,” he would then prompt me to say. And it was true. I did love the feel of tight bondage when I was being aroused by his hands.

We spoke some more as we lay together in the early afternoon. The day had been unreal, as if we no longer lived in the real world but now occupied a timeless place where sexual desire was all. We had fucked and talked and then fucked some more.

“You understand, Caitlin that the ankle ring is not coming off your ankle? Not ever?”

I held on to him fiercely as he said that, my breath hissing between my teeth.

“It is locked on you and to be honest even if I could remove it I no longer would.” Why were these words exciting me like this? I knew that once I was away from this bed, once I was away from Adam I would feel differently.

“And if I did not claim you as my slave girl, other men would. You are on record now with the House of Three Moons. If I didn’t do this, you would be free to any Gorean who chose to take you. Your only freedom is the freedom to wear a different collar than mine.”

I buried my face against his chest again. He smelled of that clean fresh sweat that men have after they have made love. “Do you want another man’s collar?”

“No!”

“This will not be a harsh slavery, Caitlin. I am not as Gorean as Mark. I do not require a servant or a drudge. You will be a pleasure slave to me. There will be some changes to your life from now on, but they will not be onerous. You will dress differently. Skirts, not jeans. Short ones mostly. I want to see your legs. And high heels. Always high heels. No more flats. Silk underwear when you are permitted underwear. And you will learn the art of makeup.”

“I’m scared…”

“Or I can release you and the House of Three Moons will quickly claim you instead?”

“No. Please, no.”

“You would prefer to be my kajira?”

“Yes. Only yours.”

“This won’t be a harsh slavery, but you will learn to obey me. Do you understand that?”

I kissed him softly again and squirmed as I felt the delicious touch of his fingers as he spoke. “I’m so aroused now…”

“Such a slave,” said Adam with a smile. “How ever did you cope these last nine months?”

“Badly,” I whispered.

“Be honest now, Caitlin, did you feel excited to be chained to the bed by the ankle chain during the night?”

“Yes.” I nibbled my lower lip as I said that. “I don’t know why, but I did. I could feel it on me as I lay here last night, after you’d gone to sleep. I felt it each time I moved my foot. I shouldn’t have felt that way but I did.”

“It’s a slave feeling. A slave response. You will always wear slave steel of some sort when you lie in bed with me. That will be a constant. You will always wear slave steel when you orgasm. The chains and bracelets will soon be part of your arousal. Chains will help you build on your natural slave responses.”

“No…” I blushed.

“I’m afraid so. And when I braceleted your wrists to the headboard before I fucked you?”

“That was thrilling too. I kept pulling at the wrist chains and the more I did that…”

“The more aroused you felt?”

“Yes…”

“Slave responses again. But you know this, deep down. You know this is how you feel.”

“It doesn’t mean I want to be a slave, Adam!”

“But in this case you don’t get to make the decision. Others do it for you. This is for your own good. It will keep you safe. The House of Three Moons was beginning to suspect our master slave relationship was contrived and far from genuine. The fact I never took you back to the House or removed the restrictions on you didn’t help. This is how it has to be. To keep you safe. And anyway, I’ve wanted you in my bed for quite some time now. I’ve dreamed of owning you.”

“Really?”

“Of course. It’s been my fantasy, to own Caitlin Ambrose. To be able to have her whenever I want, however I want.”

“You can have me now…”

“Slave.”

“You keep saying that!”

“And it’s true.” He paused for a moment before he said the next thing. “Caitlin… there may come a time when I’ll be expected to mark you, on your left thigh.. with a kef.”

“What?! I sat up suddenly, shocked.

“Either a brand or a tattoo. On Gor it would have to be a brand of course, but on Earth there is a little more discretion at times. All the girls taken to the House of Three Moons eventually receive such a mark.”

“No! No way!”

“It may not come to that, but I wanted you to understand some of the expectations that will be made of me. If necessary we could go for a tattoo on your thigh, small and discrete. You would find it preferable to a brand I think.”

“No! No fucking way! I’m not having a kef!”

“We may not have a choice. If it was left to Andromedus to decided, it would be a brand on your thigh this afternoon. I’ll delay as long as I can.”

“No, Adam! No!” I sat up and pulled away from him. “That’s a red line. I won’t agree to it. I won't!”

But even as I spoke those words I understood how powerless I actually was now in the face of these determined men.