Slave Girl Emily Ch. 09

Author's note: Here's Chapter Nine of "Slave Girl Emily." Most of this chapter (all but the first part) is a rewrite of the story in which Emily first appeared, "Uprising on Grove Street" (now withdrawn from Literotica to avoid duplication). If you've already read that and you're in it mostly for the action, you may as well skip this and come back for Ch. 10. But the rewrite is significant: the heroine here is younger and less jaded than the Emily of "Uprising," she feels differently about what's happening to her, and the meaning she takes away from the action is very different. In short, the episode has been rewritten to fit the plot and themes of the present series.

For those tuning in late, Emily (scene name Famula) is an enthusiastic slave girl who's now on her third Master, a forty-eight-year-old NYU professor named Christopher who loves beauty and gentle role play, though he knows how to deliver a good caning when he thinks discipline is called for. Emily, who prefers impact play, has begun to deliberately misbehave as a way of provoking punishments. Meanwhile, she misses her friend Amanda (Mouche), the slave of an immensely wealthy couple. Tags: Voyeurism, Bondage, Flogging, Pussy whipping, Wax play, Straight sex, Lesbian sex, Anal sex, Oral sex.

*****

Chapter 9. Mr. Watanabe and Ai

He hitches up his trousers, and his hand falls to his side.

"Please, Master!" I say. "Let me suck your cock!"

"You can have anything you want," he says. "I'll untie you; you can take a piss; you can suck my cock; I'll fuck you. Anything at all."

"No," I sob.

I can't. I need his power to be absolute and mine to be nothing. I need to feel I've given him everything - all my power and agency, all of me. But why can't he be kind to me? Why can't he be gentle without my forcing him? What have I left undone?

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a bullet vibrator, tiny and dangerous. He turns it on and it starts to buzz. He walks around behind me.

"No, Master - "

* * *

Even a toilet slave gets to have a cell phone, so I was able to stay in touch with Amanda, exchanging emails, texts, and selfies of our faces, piercings, whipped bottoms, and spanked pussies. Sometimes we were able to get our owners' permission to have phone sex, and it was nice to get off that way now and then. Before long I thought of her as my best friend.

But Amanda rarely left the apartment on Park Avenue, and I never saw her in the flesh. By March I missed her terribly and begged Master to allow her to visit me. He got in touch with Daniel and Karen and arranged a twenty-four-hour visit, from a Saturday to a Sunday morning. During the day on Saturday she and I would serve Master as his slaves. In the evening the two of us would play with Master, and she and I could sleep together afterwards. I warned her that we wouldn't be able to supply one hundred percent of her dietary requirements, and she replied that she'd get by for a day.

At ten on the morning of May 12, a taxi delivered Amanda to the house on Grove Street. I let her in, and we hugged and kissed in the foyer. She started to take her clothes off, but I stopped her, explained the house's clothing rule, and took her up to Master's study, where I announced, "Master, your slaves are here and eager to serve." He acknowledged us gruffly and told us to run along and find something useful to do. I kept Amanda with me all day while I worked. She wasn't very useful, but that wasn't the point of the visit. It was wonderful to be able to talk to her, see her, and touch her. We ate our dinner from dog food bowls while Master ate at the table, and then he announced that it was time to go to the dungeon.

Our play session was a strange one. It wasn't that we did anything strange - it was just the usual spanking, paddling, and kinky sex. Rather, it was the way Master managed and watched the action - and did almost nothing else. He directed every move we made, posed us, chose our toys, and even organized our aftercare, telling me how to sit and Amanda how to lie in my lap. He had us perform sex acts with each other, leaning in close to watch as Amanda licked my pussy and pulling my ass cheeks apart to get a better view when she rimmed me. He had me sit on her face and bent down low so he could see her tongue in my slit. He brought a strap-on from his cabinet and made me fuck her with it. He did all this with an air of great excitement, and yet the only time he participated was at the very end of our session, when he face-fucked me and came in my mouth. I found it a bit unsettling.

When he'd come, he said, "Run along to bed, girls," and left the room.

We went upstairs, got into bed together, made love sweetly, got just a little sleep, fed Master in the morning, and had our breakfast in our dog bowls (but he let us use coffee cups). Then, all too soon, it was time for Amanda to go home.

That night, Master wanted to play policeman. He arrested me for prostitution and berated me for my immorality before sentencing me to a beating with the cane, which he delivered to my back while I was bound to the cross. It was the first time a play session with this Master had ever been as humiliating and painful as a punishment.

Afterwards I asked, "Master, were you angry with me for making love to Amanda?"

He said, "No, I wanted you to do it. I liked watching."

So now I'd found out something new about Master.

The next night we returned to puppy play, and it was fun and sweet, as usual. But I continued to fuck up, provoking punishments. I laid his clothes out wrong, left dust on the mantelpiece, and cooked his vegetables till they were soggy. When he started to ignore minor infractions, I escalated my attacks, leaving heaps of dirty clothes on his bed, ruining favorite shirts in the laundry, or peeing on the bathroom floor and leaving the puddles for him to find.

* * *

I graduated the weekend after Amanda's visit. My parents came for the ceremony, and they were bewildered by Master, the way I looked, and the way I seemed to be living. It was all very awkward, hiding what our relationship was really like, and it was a relief when they went back home. The night they left, Master surprised me with a new sleeping cage with a lovely cushioned bottom.

Three weeks later, on a Thursday, Master said, "Tomorrow night a friend of mine will be coming to dinner - he'll have his slave with him. I've engaged a personal chef, so you won't need to do anything but set the table for four and make sure the house is neat and clean."

"Set the table for four, Master?"

"Yes. The two slaves will sit at the table with their Masters."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"We'll all play together after dinner," he continued. "I'd like to be able to lend you. Just for the evening. I'll be there - you'll have nothing to worry about."

"Lend for sex, Master, or just play?"

"Certainly play - sex if that's what people want."

During Amanda's visit I'd gotten a glimpse of what this meant to him. He'd told me that Pipit liked to be lent out, but it was obvious that he also loved watching his slaves have sex. It wasn't as if I'd managed to be completely monogamous, but I wasn't Pipit. I didn't like the idea of sex with people I didn't know and hadn't chosen for myself. Still, Master's wanting me to do it weighed heavily with me.

"Protected, Master?"

"Of course."

"You're not going to ask me to do this too often?"

"No. I promise."

"Okay, Master. I'll try."

But somehow it was sitting at the table that preyed on my mind. I hardly slept that night, thinking about it. I hadn't sat at a dinner table, except at restaurants, since I'd been with Frederick, and the idea appalled me. I couldn't quite put my finger on why that was, but I lay awake half the night in my cage, worrying about it, and by morning was half mad with anxiety.

I made his breakfast - two eggs over easy, two links of sausage, and two slices of buttered toast. I brought him his plate and knelt beside him, but when he offered me a bite, I shook my head.

"What's the matter, Emily?" he said.

"I don't know, Master," I said, unwilling to admit my anxiety.

"I think I know," he said. "Something about tonight's upsetting you. Is it my lending you to my guest?"

"No, Master."

"Then it's my plan for you to sit at the table and dine with us."

I collapsed into a heap at his feet. "Please don't make me, Master. I'm so afraid."

"Your sitting at the table is a gesture of respect," he said, "for both you and my guest."

Weeping, I seized his foot and kissed his shoe. "Please, Master."

He breathed out through his nose. "All right. I won't make you sit at the table - but I won't let you kneel on the floor either. Not tonight. You may serve our dinner tonight. That way the chef can concentrate on her cooking and won't have to worry about serving."

"Yes, Master." I felt better already.

"You must eat beforehand. You won't have a chance to eat again till the end of the evening."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

"I'll be back around five-thirty."

I said, "Master . . ."

"What is it?"

"May I masturbate today?"

"No, you may not. Now get on with your work." He left the room. A minute later I heard the front door close.

There was a great deal to do. Each of the three place settings had to be laid with geometrical precision. I used a ruler to make sure everything was correct. Upstairs, I laid out his dinner jacket and other things for him. Downstairs in the dungeon I laid out mats and checked to make sure all the toys were in their proper places. I made sure the ropes were neatly coiled, not tangled or knotted. I wondered what kind of kinks our guest and his slave would favor. I checked for dust in all the corners and nooks of the dining room and dungeon. I went through every room of the house, checking things and straightening. When all this was done I went back to the dining room and studied the dining table again. I carefully rearranged Master's place setting at the head so that everything was precisely reversed - the mirror image of a place setting.

When all this was done, I went to the kitchen, made myself a salad, and ate. I cleaned my dishes, showered, and dressed in red shorts and a black T. Master didn't ask me always to wear a collar, but I put one on anyway. Then I had some time to myself. I went to the third-floor bedroom and sat cross-legged on the bed. The room was warm, and the silence was sensuous. This was when I would have masturbated, if it had been allowed. I was mildly frustrated but contented. I napped briefly and spent some time thinking about the coming evening. I was both frightened and excited. I had no idea what our guests would be like, but I trusted Master not to allow any harm to come to me.

At about five the doorbell rang, and I ran down the stairs to let in the chef, a tall, lovely woman named Astrid, in her mid-forties, with fine, sturdy features and blond hair pulled back into a little pony tail. She was carrying two grocery bags. She glanced at my collar, then looked away.

I led her to the kitchen and showed her where everything was. As we moved around the kitchen, she took a few things she knew she'd need from their hooks and cabinets and shelves. I showed her the dining room. She frowned at the table and said, "I was told I'd be making dinner for four."

I said, "I was going to be the fourth, but I'll be serving instead."

"I'll be glad to have the help," she said.

I said, "Master was told you were discreet and wouldn't take offense at anything that might happen."

"Master?" she said.

"I'm a slave," I said. "A consensual slave. There's nothing illegal about it, but some of the things you see tonight may seem strange to you."

"If I'm offended I won't show it," she said. "And I don't talk about my clients."

I thought we'd get along fine. "Let me know if I can help," I said.

"You're not my slave?" she said, smiling.

"No, I serve only one Master. I'm just happy to help out."

"Relax," she said, "and I'll let you know if I need anything."

It was a little after five. I sat on the living room floor and waited.

At about five thirty I heard the front door open. I scrambled to my feet and ran to present myself to Master.

"Come to me," he said. I went to him, and he took me in his arms and kissed me. He felt strong and warm.

"Is the chef here?" he asked.

"She is, Master. I showed her around the kitchen, like you told me."

"Good," he said. "Bring me a drink. I'll be in the living room."

I went to the kitchen where Astrid was bustling about, mixed him a scotch and water, and took it to him in the living room.

"You may lie on the sofa," he said, "with your head in my lap."

Buzzing with happiness, I followed his instructions. He combed my hair with his fingers and asked me how I'd spent my day.

"I did as you told me, Master. I set the dining room table and made sure everything was right in the dungeon. Then I made sure everything in the house was clean and in place."

"That's good," he said. "Did you have some free time afterwards?"

"I did, Master," I said. "I showered and then stayed in my room until the chef arrived."

"But you didn't masturbate?"

"No, Master."

"That's a good girl," he said. "Are you prepared for tonight?"

"I know what to do, Master, but I don't know what to wear."

"You will wear your collar," he said. "I want them to be able to admire your tattoos and piercings."

"Yes, Master." This made me happy. It felt right to be naked for guests in the lifestyle, and I loved my tattoos and rings, just as Master did.

He asked, "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then go get ready," he said. "Meet me back here in a half hour exactly."

I ran upstairs to my room and took my clothes off. I went to the bathroom, peed, checked my eyeliner and lip gloss, and brushed my hair, making sure the purple streak was right. I checked my mound: I'd had it waxed just the week before, and it was still smooth. I sat on my bed and watched the clock until it was time, then ran downstairs. Master was already sitting on the sofa, looking marvelous in his dinner jacket, and I was thrilled when he gestured me to lie with my head in his lap again.

He petted my head the way he'd done before, but his hand soon moved from there to my shoulder, breasts, stomach, and thighs. He stroked me in all these places, the feel of his hand on my body so delicious, and finally he caressed my mound.

"May I open my legs, Master?" I asked.

He said, "You may," and I was filled with joy as I spread my legs and his gentle fingers found my clitoris. I closed my eyes and immersed myself in sensation, this great gift he was giving me. I grew warmer and more aroused - it was like rivers rushing all through my body - until finally I said, "May I have an orgasm, Master?"

He said, "No, not yet," but went on stroking my pussy. I twisted and turned under his hand until I was sure I'd come whether I wanted to or not. I gasped, "Master! I'm going to come!"

He took his hand away - such frustration! - and the doorbell rang. He said, "Run get the door now."

I was breathless as I ran to the door and opened it wide.

The man standing in the doorway was Asian, about fifty, lean and distinguished looking, with short salt-and-pepper hair. He looked in fact like an Asian version of Master. He inclined his head briefly, smiled, and said, "Konbanwa." So he was Japanese, and I had to bow much lower and stay bowed longer. I was sure I wasn't doing it right, but surely the effort counted for something.

A woman was standing behind him, and she bowed deeply. I bowed just as deeply, and then I couldn't help staring at her. She was Japanese too, and looked a few years older than me. Her skin was radiant, almost perfectly white, and flawless, her features delicate, eyes warm. I'd have given anything to look like her. She was wearing a white dress with a floral pattern: I didn't know what to call it, but it looked Japanese, and it was exquisite on her. It had a high neck, but that didn't conceal the silver collar with the silver lock hanging from it. She smiled at me, and her smile was like a ray of sunshine breaking through dark clouds.

I said, "Please come in" and stepped back just as Master appeared in the hallway behind me, saying "Kaito! It's so good to see you!" I backed out of the way, they exchanged bows, and the Japanese man said, his English careful but fluent and his smile warm and genuine, "It's fine to see you as well, Christopher." They both stepped in, and I closed the door behind them.

Master said, "Emily, you may address my guest as Mr. Watanabe."

Mr. Watanabe gestured towards his slave and said, "This is Ai."

I was entranced by the simple and beautiful name. I gazed at her lovingly.

"Unfortunately," Mr. Watanabe said, "Ai knows no English. Still, she may be useful to us tonight."

We went to the living room. Master gestured Mr. Watanabe into a chair, and Ai knelt at his feet, head bowed. Master sent me to the kitchen to get a scotch and water for Mr. Watanabe.

I found Astrid working hard in the kitchen. She paused to stare at me and said, "This day is getting more interesting by the minute."

I laughed, said, "Welcome to the wonderful world of BDSM," and went to the drinks cabinet.

Astrid said, "The guests have arrived?"

I said, "There's only one guest, but he brought a slave. She'll be eating at the table."

"Curiouser and curiouser," she said.

Back in the living room, I gave Mr. Watanabe his drink and went to kneel at Master's feet. I didn't really listen to the conversation, but stayed inside myself, sometimes stealing glances at Ai, until Astrid appeared in the doorway and said, "Emily, I'm ready for you." I looked at Master, and he nodded. I got up, went with her, and, under her instruction, began to prepare the table.

Though this wasn't the world's most elaborate dinner, there was plenty to do, once everyone was seated at the table - pouring wine, bringing dishes, clearing things away. Ai watched as I poured the white wine, and again as I cleared away the hors d'oeuvres plates.

As I began to bring in the soup she leaned forward and spoke to Mr. Watanabe, so quietly I couldn't hear. Not that I'd have understood anyway.

Mr. Watanabe frowned and answered her, and she spoke again, louder now so I could hear, her tone earnest and pleading. Mr. Watanabe said to Master, "Ai begs the favor of being permitted to assist with the service. Is this agreeable to you, Christopher?"

Master smiled and said, "Certainly."

Ai stood and stepped back from the table. She reached behind her neck and undid a fastener. She pulled her dress over her head and stepped out of her panties. Her breasts were small, her nipples tiny, her body slender and graceful, her white skin without blemish from head to toe. Mr. Watanabe gave a command, and she turned in place slowly. I stared, awestruck, at the colorful dragon that wound its way up her back and over her shoulder. I'd never seen anything so beautiful. I smiled at her, and she took that as a cue to follow me to the kitchen.

Astrid turned towards us as we came into the kitchen. She said, "This night is getting better and better. Are the men . . ."

I said, "I expect they'll keep their clothes on, at least till after dinner. Ai would like to help serve. She doesn't speak English, but that doesn't matter, does it?"

"Of course not," Astrid said.

Ai took up a plate with a soup bowl on it and carried it to the dining room. I watched as she set it in front of Master, leaning close enough to him that her breasts almost brushed his shoulder. He didn't look around at her.

Serving a dinner involves a lot of standing around doing nothing. Ai and I stood together on the kitchen side of the door to the dining room, just out of the men's sight, and waited until we were needed. It was awkward not being able to speak. After a minute I felt bold enough to touch the dragon tattoo where it wound sinuously over her shoulder. I smiled at her to let her know I was complimenting it.