Slave Girl Emily Ch. 06

As Master hauled me to my feet, Pipit hissed, "She's a shit-eating toilet-slave!"

I shouted, "She's a disease-ridden whore!" and rushed at her, aiming blows at her face and ears, kicking her shins, and almost knocking her down.

Master pulled me back by the waist, held me while I struggled, and said, "That's enough."

I turned on him and spat, "I hope you used a fucking condom . . ."

"I said that's enough," he said.

Suddenly I was overwhelmed by how in the wrong I was. I'd been jealous - plain and simple. And what right did I have to a feeling like that? Even if our relationship had been a vanilla one with conventional expectations of fidelity, I'd hardly be in a position to complain, given what I'd been doing with Amanda the whole time I was here.

I said, "I'm sorry, Master," collapsed against his chest, and cried.

He didn't put his arms around me. I was very frightened. No one spoke for a long time. Then Master said, "The frame's free right now."

Christopher said, "So's the cross."

"Which do you want?" Master asked.

"I'll take the frame," said Christopher.

"Come, Famula," Master said, and led me to the cross.

He cuffed me facing the room, adjusting the cords so I could barely touch the floor and my wrists had to take a lot of my weight.

"Are you going to whip me, Master?" I asked.

"No, Famula."

"What are you going to do, Master?" I asked.

"I'm going to come back for you when it's time to go home." He walked away and joined Christopher, directly across the room from me. He was finishing up with Pipit, who also faced the room. He spoke to her briefly, then walked with Master towards one of the bars. Christopher said something, and Master laughed.

"In the shit, eh?" said one of the men who'd played with our remotes - the heavyset man in latex. He'd come up to me as I was gazing at Master's back. He was standing closer than I liked.

I thought the answer to his question was obvious, so I didn't say anything.

"Bit uppity for a slave, seems to me," he said. "Master got the right to sell you?"

I shook my head.

"Pity," he said. "I'd buy you up in a heartbeat. Big cunt. Great nips. Puffy - I like that. I'd have you straightened out quick enough, I bet. My subs always get straight quick."

I wondered if there would be consequences if I told him to fuck off.

"Too bad we're not allowed to touch," he said. "Like to stick a paw in that cunt of yours. Bet that dildo left it looking like the Holland Tunnel."

I'd just about decided to risk the consequences when a man in leather pants came up behind him, slapped him on the back, and said "Freddy! Where've you been, old boy?"

As he steered Freddy away, my savior looked back and winked at me.

I looked across the room at Pipit, who was disgustingly gorgeous in her frame. She stuck out her tongue at me, and I wrinkled my nose at her. I wondered if Christopher had the right to sell her.

The blond girl came up to me, without her Dom. She said, "I was so turned on watching you with that slave - what was her name?"

"Mouche," I said.

"Funny name," she said. "I've never made love to a woman. I wonder if I'd like it."

"I don't know," I said. "I never did it till a few weeks ago myself."

"Did you want to - before?"

"Not a lot. If I'd thought about it, I'd probably have said it was icky." I decided not to tell her I'd once fantasized about her.

"Are you really a toilet-slave?"

"No. But one of my best friends is."

"Now that's icky," she said.

"We're all icky here," I said. "Have you told your mother what your love life is really like?"

"No," she said. "I guess you're right." She hesitated. "If I ever get a chance to make love to a woman," she said, "I want it to be you."

"Thanks," I said.

I think she wanted to say something else, but her Dom came and hauled her away. I passed some time summoning up memories of what she'd looked like getting fucked.

My arms and shoulders were sore, and my feet were starting to hurt from stretching my toes out to touch the floor. It occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't try to support myself, but just relax and let my body sag. I tried that, but it made my arms hurt more. It seemed there was no way to get comfortable.

There was a draft - not much of one, but it made me shiver even though the heat in the apartment was set pretty high for all the naked people. My bladder was filling up. I tried to distract myself by looking at Pipit again. She was miserable, too, naked in the frame. I wondered if she was cold and had to pee.

She looked up at me, but I didn't see anger in her face now, just tiredness and strain. She spoke to a woman who was passing by. The woman said a few words to her and walked on. If Pipit was asking the woman for something, it didn't work, because no one came.

I thought about Master. Of course he was right to punish me, leaving me alone and exposed to everybody's gaze. Humiliating me this way was a fitting punishment for embarrassing him. I thought about his firmness, how gentle he could be when he wanted, how considerate. I tried listing all his little kindnesses in my head - there were many. Then I thought about his punishments, and, tired as I was, reviewing them turned me on. I had no idea how much time was passing; I was in a reverie.

I heard a shout, and laughter. I lifted my head and saw Pipit, looking completely miserable, peeing - urine trickled out of her as if she were trying to suppress it; it puddled on the floor. A little group of people had gathered around, commenting and laughing.

I couldn't hold out much longer myself. Now that my reverie was broken, I realized that my bladder was about to burst. I closed my eyes and concentrated on staving off disaster.

"Do you need to piss?"

It was Amanda's whisper. I opened my eyes, and there she was, looking beautiful and holding a quart Mason jar.

I said, "I've never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life."

She held the jar under me. A few people gathered to watch, but I wasn't nearly the show Pipit had been. I peed, it seemed like forever.

Amanda held up the jar so I could see. It was more than half full. "It's really yellow," she said happily.

"Thank you, Amanda," I said.

She gave me a radiant smile and scurried away with the jar. I knew exactly what she was going to do with it, and I didn't mind even a little.

Pipit was sagging in the frame, not trying to support herself at all, head hanging. I wondered if she was passed out, sleeping, or just tired. A man in a white jacket was mopping the floor under her. I sagged too. I didn't have much choice - my arms would just have to hurt.

The redhead in the red dress paused by my cross. "You look fucking awful," she said.

"Thank you," I said.

"You can safeword, you know."

"I know."

"Why don't you?" she asked. "I'd've safeworded ages ago."

"I don't know," I said. "I guess I'm just not there yet." I didn't want to insult her by implying I was tougher than she was.

The woman moved off. I wondered where my limit was and what would trigger my safeword in the end: my sore arms, the cold, needing to pee again, another man talking about putting his paw in my cunt?

Pipit moved in her frame. She hadn't safeworded either. She was tough. She raised her head and looked at me. She looked fucking awful too - ghostly white, rings under her eyes, makeup mussed. I smiled at her. She let her head fall again.

I wondered what time it was. The room was only about half as full as it had been when Master had cuffed me to the cross. People were keeping Karen and Daniel busy with goodbyes.

Master came to me and uncuffed me - first my feet, then my hands. My legs wouldn't hold me: I fell into a heap on the floor. Across the room, Christopher was uncuffing Pipit, but she managed to stay upright.

Master said, "Daniel and Karen have offered us a bedroom. Come - you'd better have a snack."

He picked up my leash and I got up on my hands and knees. People stared as I crawled beside him, slowly, out of the party room and down a hallway to the kitchen. Master left me curled up by a little breakfast table and went foraging in the cabinets.

He returned in a couple of minutes with a bag of trail mix. He pulled a chair close to me, sat, shook a little trail mix into his palm, and bent down, holding his hand out to me. I ate from his palm, happiness blazing inside me. He fed me three handfuls this way, and then I shook my head when he offered more.

"Come to bed, then," he said.

I crawled beside him to the bedroom we'd used earlier.

We stopped by the bathroom door. "Do you think you can clean your makeup off?" he asked.

"I think so, Master," I said.

"Don't worry about the rest."

I crawled into the bathroom and struggled to my feet, holding onto the vanity.

Washing revived me a little - I walked from the bathroom into the bedroom. Master had turned down the bed. He took off my harness and collar. "Get in," he said, and I crawled into bed. He undressed and climbed into bed on the other side.

"Master," I said, "you promised to give me an orgasm tonight."

"I did," he said, "and a promise is a promise. This is your orgasm. What would you like? Some nice vanilla sex, since you're tired?"

"Never," I said.

He sat up beside me. "You're assertive for a slave," he said.

"There's just one thing I'm assertive about, Master," I said. "Being a slave."

He smiled, reached for my pussy with his left hand, and slapped my face - not hard, but he'd never done that before, and I was startled.

"I don't know you, slave," he said. "Tell me what you are." He slapped me again, and I squeaked. It wasn't like when Bobby Cross had given me a black eye: there was meaning in it, it was communication, and I liked it.

"I'm your fuck-toy," I said.

He slapped me a little harder and rubbed my pussy. It was sensitive from the vibrators, Amanda's licking, and being stared at all night. "What else?" he said.

"Your cum-slut," I groaned. My cheek stung and my pussy hurt.

"Okay," he said, and slapped my face. "Tell me more."

"Cunt. I'm Master's cunt."

He slapped me again.

"Your piss-slut."

He slapped a breast.

"Butt-fuck vixen."

He slapped my pussy. Every inch of me was aroused.

"Dyke!"

Other breast.

"Rimjob skank!"

He climbed on top of me and shoved into me roughly.

"Say!" he hissed. "I still don't know what you are."

"Master's - slave!" I cried.

He pounded me mercilessly and pulled my hair, jerking my head back. "Are you a good slave?"

"I'm a bad slave!"

"Tell me!" He yanked my hair, slapped my face, and thrust viciously.

"I'm jealous!"

He let go of my hair and took my chin in one hand. He held my face firmly, mouth an inch from his. "What else?"

"I want - "

"What do you want, slave?" His eyes bored into me; his cock felt so huge inside me.

"Hit me again!" I moaned.

He slapped my face again, rougher, and the blow was a match to gasoline. All at once my body was on fire, and I came with a scream. Maybe he came while I was screaming: I couldn't tell.

He took me in his arms and kissed my cheek. He pulled up the covers and lay back, and I snuggled under his arm. I managed a few tired thoughts about my night: being bound, exposed, powerless even with a paddle in my hand, a toy for the crowd. But I had wanted a thing, and Master had given it to me. I felt warm, safe, and small beside him.

"Shall I sleep on the floor, Master?"

"No, vixen. Tonight I want you here with me."

That was the last thing I heard him say before sleep overtook me.