Slaves/slave
                                      Loredich
                                        Slave
                     This is the first part of a story under construction.  Any
                                  opinions would be most welcome.
                                                            I
                           Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a
                          woman?  I doubt you have.  You enjoy a position
                        of power and control that few women ever experience.
                          You revel in stature and status that is given to
                        you as a birthright.  Do men understand this innate
                        superiority?  Do men recognize the power they have?
                        I know most of them use it, but do they question it,
                         analyze it, turn it over and over in their minds?
                                                  
                          And it comes as no surprise that few women even
                          dream of seizing this power for themselves.  Few
                           women realize that their femininity can be as
                       persuasive a weapon as the natural power of maleness.
                       If men are the hereditary oppressors, as contemporary
                       feminism would have you believe, then women have been
                       their willing toadies.  There is power in femaleness.
                         There is a secret influence that women can wield.
                                                  
                                   Most women never suspect this.
                                                  
                        Have you ever wanted to experience the other side of
                        the coin, then?  I have.  As a woman I have hungered
                       to feel as though I am the unquestioned master.  Have
                       you ever wanted to submit, to feel as though you exist
                         and behave as the consequence of another's wishes?
                                                  
                         Yes.  I simplify.  I oversimplify, perhaps, but in
                         questions of sexual politics it is sometimes more
                         effective to use a blunt tool than it is to use a
                              sharp one.  I want you to understand me.
                                                  
                          I am not one of these unsuspecting lackeys that
                         make you comfortable.  I reject that position.  I
                         do not style myself as your equal--this time I am
                         your superior.  I want to know how that feels, to
                        control and manipulate as you, quintesentially male,
                                     have done without thought.
                                                  
                            And you look at me with raised eyebrows--one
                        beautiful dark brow shoots up as I tell you quietly
                         that you are to take off your clothes.  You laugh,
                        then realize that I'm not smiling.  You realize that
                        this isn't one of our playful moments.  You realize
                                  that this is somehow different.
                                                  
                        You do as you are told.  You take off your clothes,
                        item by item.  I watch as your body emerges from its
                        protective cocoon, and, as always, I am moved.  This
                       time, however, I maintain a position of bored hauteur.
                           How many times have you remained unmoved by my
                        nakedness?  I want you to know how it feels.  I want
                                           you to be me.
                                                  
                         And your skin is smooth, white and fragile-looking
                           in the dimness of the room.  You look somehow
                          vulnerable, penis not yet erect, puzzled look on
                          your face.  I like this.  I like knowing that I
                         have thrown you off-balance.  I like knowing that
                      the exercise has begun.  And will you do as you're told?
                                                  
                       "Lie on the bed," I tell you, my tone neither playful
                       nor soft, but impersonal and cool.  There is a lesson
                        to be learned, you see, and I choose not to cloud it
                         with tenderness.  Your lips curve as you begin to
                        protest, and I curtail the flow of words before they
                         begin.  "You will do as you are told.  Otherwise,
                                       you will be punished."
                                                  
                          You start to speak, chuckling slightly, perhaps
                           a bit nervous. "Hey, you're in charge, then."
                                                  
                       "Correct," I answer, neither sharing nor acknowledging
                        your amusement.  "Here are the rules.  You will not
                         speak unless you are spoken to.  You will not move
                         unless requested to.  You will address me as your
                          mistress, and you will function as my slave.  Is
                                            that clear?"
                                                  
                         You look puzzled, but I can see the beginnings of
                          arousal as your upper chest begins to flush pink
                                 in the dimness.  "Yes, mistress."
                                                  
                           And you still think this is a game, don't you?
                         You are playing along, humoring me, but that isn't
                         enough.  I desire your submission and compliance,
                                        and I will have it.
                                                  
                         "Lie on the bed," I tell you.  "On your back, arms
                          and legs spread."  You move to obey me.  This is
                          good.  As you participate, the playful mood will
                       leave you.  I plan to make sure of that.  You arrange
                        yourself on the bed, with your legs slightly parted
                         and your arms reaching above your head towards the
                         bars of the headboard.  Turning my back on you, I
                         open the top drawer of the bureau and withdraw two
                         sets of handcuffs, modified by the substitution of
                         long chains for the shorter ones.  As I turn, you
                          see me holding them and your whole body stiffens
                                          in apprehension.
                                                  
                        You and I have toyed with restraints before, scarves
                        and stockings, loosely tied.  But this is something
                          different, and the symbolism of the handcuffs in
                        comparison to the fabric ties is as powerful as the
                           actuality.  These are stronger, more definite,
                          certainly more menacing.  Certainly more erotic.
                                                  
                         With no hesitation I affix the first set of cuffs
                         to your ankles, passing the chain between the bars
                         of the footboard.  Any movement on your part will
                         cause the cuffs to pinch your skin uncomfortably,
                          but you have been instructed not to move.  It is
                           really in your best interests to remain still.
                           As I turn to attend to your wrists, your hands
                           come down to stroke my breasts in the teasing
                                manner that you know I always crave.
                                                  
                           Oh, not this time.  My tone is deliberate and
                         low: "You have been commanded not to move without
                         my permission.  This is a warning.  The next time
                           you misbehave, you will be punished."  Smiling
                          uncertainly, you withdraw your hands and return
                           them to the headboard as I resume the task of
                                            binding you.
                                                  
                                     Really, it is a pleasure.
                                                  
                         You are now secured and I stand to survey my work.
                        You are incomparably beautiful, impossibly helpless.
                        Your skin is now covered with the flush of arousal,
                        though I can still see uncertainty and apprehension
                         on your face.  I think it is time to reassure you.
                        I bend to kiss your lips, brushing them only gently
                          with my own, the first gesture of affection yet.
                         Your tongue hurries to meet mine, and I move away
                        from you with a warning glance.  Careful.  Careful.
                                                  
                          "It's time to begin," I tell you calmly, and you
                         smile once again, certain that the lesson you will
                         be taught will be a pleasant one.  It will be, for
                         me.  And I hope that you will be a willing, eager
                        pupil.  That, however, remains to be seen.  Careful
                         discipline will ensure your cooperation, that much
                                            is certain.
                                                  
                        I kneel on the bed next to your prone form, looking
                        you up and down with a calculating glance.  Already
                         my dominance is beginning to excite me; seeing the
                         peachy tint of your skin and your partially erect
                          penis curving against the flatness of your belly
                       has always moved me, but never in such a proprietary,
                          gloating manner.  As I imagine mounting you and
                        possessing you thoroughly, feeling you withhold your
                          climax until I instruct you to fill me with your
                                     heat, I become impatient.
                                                  
                        It seems that I have a few lessons to learn as well.
                                                  
                       I look at you at length, waiting until I have mastered
                         the wave of arousal that threatens momentarily to
                               undermine my authority.  Then I begin.
                                                  
                       "You'll be a good slave, won't you?" I ask you softly,
                     testing the efficacy of my training.  You nod vigorously,
                      becoming intrigued with what you think is a game.  "You
                        will speak when I ask you a question," I inform you.
                       "Now, you will be a good slave, won't you?" I repeat,
                          directing the warmth of my breath into your ear.
                                                  
                        "Yes, mistress," you answer, and I can tell that you
                      feel a bit silly, a bit self-conscious.  This, too, will
                       change once you become fully entrenched.  I'm sure of
                       it.  Because my fingers suddenly move to your nipples,
                          pinching them hard between thumb and forefinger.
                                                  
                      "Good," I whisper, squeezing the pink buttons, not quite
                     enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of your position.
                       And your nipples are uncommonly sensitive, rather like
                      my own--usually you become erect with only a few passes
                       of my fingertips.  And as I watch you, I can see that
                      such an abrupt approach has the same effect: your penis
                        quickly becomes stiff as I roll your nipples between
                      my fingers, pulling them gently, watching your reaction
                                           at my leisure.
                                                  
                      Your eyes are closed now, and your mouth opens in a sigh
                       of pleasure.  "Mistress?" you ask, and I am so pleased
                        that you remembered my new title that I permit you a
                                 question.  "Must I remain silent?"
                                                  
                        "No," I assure you, stroking your now-tender nipples
                       idly.  "Sounds of pleasure are entirely appropriate."
                                                  
                       As I play with your nipples more, you become restless
                        and start to shift on the bed, unconsciously moving
                         your hips in a steady rhythm.  This displeases me;
                           you do have explicit instructions not to move.
                                                  
                        "You've been instructed not to move," I remind you.
                         "I warned you before.  Do you understand that you
                                     have disobeyed my orders?"
                                                  
                      Your eyes widen in surprise.  I can tell that you hadn't
                      even noticed the motions; they were purely instinctual.
                        That, however, is no excuse.  For me to control you,
                                you must learn to control yourself.
                                                  
                       "Yes--mistress," you answer hesitantly, and I can see
                        that you want to offer some explanation.  I can also
                       see that you know that it will not be allowed.  Good.
                                         You are learning.
                                                  
                         "You have disobeyed me, and I will have to punish
                                     you.  Do you understand?"
                                                  
                      "Yes, mistress."  You answer this question more readily,
                         and you seem almost eager, and curious, to see how
                                        I will chastise you.
                                                  
                         My fingers caress your nipples slowly and gently,
                       returning you to the peak of arousal once more.  Your
                         eyes close in pleasure, and you seem to think the
                          punishment has been forgotten.

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  But I remove one
                        hand from your nipples and strike you on the cheek,
                                               hard.
                                                  
                       You gasp in shock and your eyes fly open.  You didn't
                         expect this from me, did you?  I have always been
                      so gentle--did I hurt you?  I did.  But I see that your
                      penis is now fully erect, and it looks almost painfully
                       hard.  "You won't disobey me again, will you, slave?"
                               I purr, stroking your chest once more.
                                                  
                     "No, mistress," you answer, panting.  "Whatever you ask."
                                                  
                        Whatever I ask.  Good.  I want you inside me, but it
                     will be at my convenience.  I think of the times you have
                      satisfied yourself with my body, leaving me unfulfilled.
                      I think of your helplessness and your utter submission,
                       chained before me.  I think of your fast heartbeat and
                       the red mark my hand has made on your cheek.  I think
                        of the hunger in your eyes as you look at me, and I
                                             am ready.
                                                  
                       I am damp and warm from this short lesson, and I stand
                       to remove my clothing.  You watch me as I undress, and
                        I make my movements purposefully lascivious to tempt
                      you more.  In other situations you would run your hands
                          up and down my body as I disrobed, squeezing and
                         probing in your impatience to have me beneath you.
                       I mimic your motions with my own hands.  "You want to
                    touch me, don't you?" I taunt you, recognizing the covetous
                       look you direct towards me as I slide my hands over my
                       small, firm breasts, pinching my own nipples as I had
                        yours.  With one hand I reach between my thighs and
                      stroke myself, feeling the slick warmth of my surfaces,
                     imagining the eager pink hue that I take on when aroused.
                      I masturbate as you lie there, unable to move or to take
                      part.  I am tempted to continue to orgasm, but I can do
                       that whenever I please.  Having you chained to my bed
                          is not an opportunity I choose to take lightly.
                                                  
                     I straddle you then, and lean over so that my breasts are
                     just above your face.  "Lick my nipples, slave," I command
                      you.  "Just use your tongue."  Eagerly you comply, and I
                       place my hands on my shoulders to steady myself as the
                       delicious warmth of your tongue strokes me in just the
                        right way.  I lower my hips so that I can feel your
                         hardness against me--I am not yet ready for you to
                        enter me.  I want you to feel the frustration that I
                      sometimes feel.  I want you to whimper in anticipation.
                                                  
                     Your tongue flutters over one nipple, then the other.  The
                      soft wetness is pleasing to me, and I hum my approval as
                      I guide to your mouth first one breast, then the other.
                     At the same time, I slide myself along the length of your
                       shaft, feeling you grow slick with my moisture.  I am
                       growing more impatient, and increase the pressure and
                      speed of my movements so that the head of your extended
                      penis slips over my clitoris.  I imagine myself opening
                      like a flower as I become more excited, and I visualize
                        the way you must look now, engorged and tight, with
                         the velvety head shiny and wet.  I think about the
                         moisture your own body produces as you become more
                         intensely aroused, that pearly drop of liquid that
                                quivers as your pulse throbs there.
                                                  
                          And your lips have now closed around my nipple,
                         beginning a delicious sucking that makes me gasp--
                        a nip of the teeth now and then, how well you know.
                                                  
                         "Slave," I say, and you understand my warning: you
                         have not been permitted that intimacy.  I briefly
                        consider a punishment for your unwelcome initiative,
                       but decide that it is not warranted.  Really, you are
                               doing quite well for such a new pupil.
                                                  
                          I am ready now to take you inside me.  As I have
                           moved myself against your erection I have come
                          closer and closer to orgasm, and I know that the
                           moment I bring my body down upon yours I will
                          no longer need to hold back.  Angling my body, I
                          guide the head of your penis to my opening, and
                           with one smooth motion I slide down onto you,
                               taking you inside me deeply and fully.
                                                  
                         And my wetness holds you close, like the friendly
                          embrace I been withholding from you.  I feel the
                         heat and hardness as you throb impatiently within
                       me, and I know it is taking a great deal of restraint
                       for you to remain still and silent.  How long can you
                                maintain such an obedient attitude?
                                                  
                       I wait.  I wait for you to move, and you do not.  You
                         look up at me with a proud gleam in your eye: your
                          compliance has been noted and met with approval.
                          For that I am willing to reward you.  Raising my
                         hips, I let my full weight carry me down onto your
                         erection again.  I know you've always liked this,
                         you see.  "I will use you for my own pleasure," I
                          tell you, and you smile  as I come down upon you
                               once more.  You've always liked this.
                                                  
                           I become more and more excited as I watch you
                          behave so submissively; to have such control is
                            immensely arousing to me.  I ride you slowly
                           and deeply, adjusting my position so that the
                           tip of your penis strokes me in precisely the
                         right places.  My speed increases as I become lost
                          in my own pleasure, lost in using you as a tool
                                        to obtain my orgasm.
                                                  
                          And it comes, lurking with a menacing intensity,
                         then bursting forth like a gorgeous surprise.  My
                          body shudders around you as I continue my hard,
                         deep strokes.  I come again and again, riding you
                        with a determination that is perfect in its single-
                          mindedness.  Your lower body is covered with my
                          wetness, and I notice the scent of my arousal as
                           I slow my motions, panting from my exertions.
                                                  
                         The contractions of my climax subside slowly, and
                          I open my eyes to see you smiling at me, a lewd,
                         joyous smile that is deliciously wicked.  I'm not
                       sure I like that smile, though, and, since my pleasure
                        is complete, I quickly disengage our bodies so that
                       your penis, still hard and long, slides wetly from me
                         to rest against your belly.  I admire its rosy red
                                against the whiteness of your skin.
                                                  
                         Your eyes have widened in deprivation.  "Mistress,
                                              please!"
                                                  
                         "Please?  Please what, slave?" I ask, assuming an
                            indifference now that I have obtained my own
                                           satisfaction.
                                                  
                            "Please, mistress--fuck me some more!"  Your
                          tone speaks of urgency, of your eagerness to be
                             enveloped in my warm confines once again.
                                                  
                          "Do you want to come?" I ask you softly, and as
                           I speak to you your hips sway in deprivation.
                                                  
                          "Yes!  Oh, yes!"  You are moving in earnest now,
                           and I am no longer interested in depriving you
                       of  some sort of satisfaction since I have had my own.
                      But I will not furnish the means to attain it.  You are
                                now responsible for your own orgasm.
                                                  
                         I fetch the key to the cuffs from the bureau, and
                        I loosen the cuffs at your wrists.  Taking your hand
                       in my own, I guide it to your erection, wrapping your
                        fingers around the shaft to make my intention clear.
                        "You may pleasure yourself now, slave.  But you may
                           not come until you have gained my permission."
                                                  
                         You briefly manage a disappointed look before the
                          pressure of your own hand begins to provide some
                       stimulation.  My slickness is still enough to furnish
                        lubrication, so your tightened fingers slide easily
                         over your hardness.  I watch you caress yourself,
                            becoming excited once more.  Your sounds are
                         intoxicating--I love the soft grunts and sighs you
                         produce as you stroke your erection.  My own hand
                           steals downward as I watch you, and I slide my
                          fingers inside myself, mesmerized by the motions
                                  of your body as you masturbate.
                                                  
                          Your whole body begins to quiver as your release
                        approaches.  "May I come now, mistress?" you plead,
                         thrusting strongly into the warm tunnel formed by
                                           your fingers.
                                                  
                      "Not yet, slave," I answer, and a look of utter despair
                     crosses your beautiful tense features.  "First I want you
                                           to taste me."
                                                  
                        And my words have the desired effect: I know that it
                         takes a monstrous effort for you not to erupt just
                      then.  But the motion of your hand slows, and I position
                         myself appropriately, with my hips straddling your
                         shoulders.  "You may begin," I tell you, lowering
                                     myself against your lips.
                                                  
                        Your tongue steals out and licks me with urgency.  I
                          imagine being in your position, under a woman as
                         you are, and I wonder what it must be like to kiss
                           her so intimately.  As your tongue stabs at my
                        clitoris with increasing fervor, I feel the pressure
                          building within me once more, and I direct you,
                        "Put your tongue inside me."  Instantly your tongue
                       is driven deep inside me, and the delicious thrusting
                         propels me closer and closer as my fingers tug at
                                        my hardened nipples.
                                                  
                         And I can tell by the muffled sounds that you make
                        that you are nearing your climax once more.  Just as
                      I feel the explosive pleasure begin to radiate from the
                       insistent probing of your tongue, I whisper, "You may
                                         come now, slave."
                                                  
                       With a loud groan, your body tightens, though you try
                         valiantly to continue the movements of your mouth.
                       You quiver and gasp in release, and the pumping motion
                         of your hand stops abruptly.  I move away from you
                      just in time to see your penis as it produces that hot,
                           whitish fluid that signals your satisfaction.
                                                  
                        And you breathe hard, and your chest rises and falls
                          for several moments as the force of your release
                          subsides.  "You have been a good slave," I purr
                          approvingly, and I just catch your smile before
                         I bend to lick the semen from your skin.  I relish
                                 your taste, love the heat of you.
                                                  
                         Once I have finished, I unlock the cuffs from your
                         ankles, and you stretch luxuriously, bending your
                        joints to remove the stiffness.  "Thank you, slave,"
                        I whisper, returning to your lips for a final kiss.
                                                  
                        "Yes, mistress," you sigh, closing your eyes with a
                                     gentle smile of pleasure.
                                                  
            
                                                  
               
                                                  

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