The Slave (51 page)

“
You probably want to see
it,” Arcadia said with a laugh. “Oh shit, I left my mirror
hom
e.
Monica, do you have a hand-held mirror I can borrow?”

Robin pushed herself up on her elbows.
There was a mirror upstairs―but it would be improper to send her
owner to fetch it! But even as she moved, Monica was already on her
way out of the kitchen, and
Robin bit her lip again in frustration.

This just didn’t feel right, she thought, as
Arcadia threw her tools into a plastic container and snapped it
closed. As if to support that thought, the new piercing seemed to
suddenly throb.

* * * *

A week later, it was still tender and red
around the edges, as she saw every day when she examined it in the
mirror she placed on the floor between her legs. She dutifully
washed the site and avoided doing anything that might irritate the
area. It continued to throb from time to time, especially at night
for some reason, when she was trying to sleep.

After the second week, she found a hard
little spot right next to one of the holes, and although it didn’t
hurt, it bothered her. Arcadia was not very helpful when she called
her at work―she suggested putting ice on it. When Robin insisted
that it wasn’t swelling, but something hard and finite that she
could feel under her fingertips, Arcadia made some vague comments
about seeing a doctor and said she had to go, because a customer
was there.

Robin decided to wait before calling a
doctor, and by the end of a month, it seemed all right. The little
lump didn’t go away, and it still felt uncomfortable. But it didn’t
hurt. Not much, at any rate. And the piercing itself wasn’t
infected; she was keeping an eye out for that, too.

But neither did it heal the way that Monica
had seen and heard about on other women. It remained tender to the
touch. The very motion of walking was often enough to make the area
sore, and when her clit was sore, Robin was not very amenable to
intense play, although she tried very hard to mask it.

Robin felt crushed. Here was her owner’s big
fantasy, and her body wasn’t living up to it. Before her new
hardware was installed, the worst case scenario had been that the
ring’s placement would make her horny all the time. Instead, it
made her either ache, or become too sensitive to touch. It didn’t
seem fair.

At six weeks, Monica gave the ring an
experimental tug, and Robin winced in a bad way.

At two months, it seemed to be much the
same.

“
Funny,” Monica said one night,
running a gentle finger along the side of the ring. “I wouldn’t
have guessed you’d be this sensitive. Your clit can take a hell of
a lot of stuff. I guess we should give it a little more
time.”

Maybe we should take it
out
, Robin
thought, grinding her teeth at the echo of the twinge of pain. It
frustrated her, this contradictory desire to both have and get rid
of the damn thing. Every morning as she examined it, she was
starting to wish it would become infected. Then, she could honestly
say that something was wrong and it was damaging her, and safely
remove it.

But it wasn’t that bad! Yes, it was
uncomfortable, and sometimes painful, but no more than a bruised
toe or a loose tooth. And it did indeed look beautiful. Even before
she had gotten over the strange feeling of nausea that would strike
her every time she realized that a needle had passed a metal ring
this close to the nerves that made having sex so much fun, she had
to admit that it was a decoration beyond compare.

But when she tried to jerk off for Monica’s
voyeuristic entertainment, her fingers had to be really gentle, and
stay away from putting any pressure downward on her clit. If she
pressed down and in at all, the underside of the ring seemed to
stab into her, and it just disrupted her search for pleasure as
well as a splash of cold water would. Plus, when she did get close
to orgasm, it felt like a very slender little noose, sometimes
almost pleasurable in its discomfort, but usually just a
distraction.

A little hand-held vibrator made her explode
in orgasm in seconds, but left her feeling sore as the pleasure
faded and her swollen clit pressed against the edge of the
ring.

Hanging weights from it was out of the
question. Tweaking it, even flipping it up and down was just an
annoyance, and not a shortcut to arousal.

But it wasn’t bad enough to call for its
removal!

Monica was as disappointed as her slave, but
never suggested that they take the damned thing out. She insisted
that in another month or so, it would get better, and that in the
meantime, Robin would simply have to deal with the
inconvenience.

Of course, Monica’s love life wasn’t going
to be impaired by a little discomfort that her treasured slave was
experiencing, and Robin was grateful for every opportunity to
please her owner. It became rather one-sided very fast, and if she
had to admit it, Robin was less displeased with that situation than
she ever would have thought herself to be.

After all, it just seemed natural! In fact,
without Monica’s insistence upon getting Robin off as many times as
possible before exhaustion set in, Robin was free to explore how
many times her owner could take pleasure. And there had been many
times when Robin had collapsed into sleep feeling a little odd at
having been the center of erotic attention on a night when Monica
hadn’t seemed very interested in the same herself. It smacked of
being catered to, in a way that reminded her sadly of some of her
older relationships.

But with her clit off limits (or brought
into use specifically for genitorture), Monica seemed perfectly
comfortable taking her own pleasure and then sending Robin off to
her own room or keeping her for the night. And that was wonderful.
It was one thing to be useful in terms of housekeeping and
business. It was another thing entirely to be a living sex toy.

* * * *

One evening, Monica handed Robin a sheaf
of papers about a conference on the West Coast. “I’m going to go to
this,” she said. “Register me, and book me a nice room, a suite,
I’m going to throw a party or two. I’ll be staying in town
afterwards, though, for about a week, so book me a return flight
the following Friday―no, make it Monday. Might as well have an
extra weekend for fun and games.”

“
Yes, Monica,” Robin replied automatically.
“Staying at the same hotel?”

“
At their rack rate? No way! I’ll be moving
out on Sunday and staying with, um, a friend. I’ll get you the
address so you can get me the rides I need.” Monica turned away
abruptly and Robin cursed herself for asking―even though she needed
to know.

Monica had a lot of “um,
friends” in her past, present, and likely, her future as well. This
was not a problem for Robin.
After all
, Robin thought
, if she tricked with me when I belonged
to Eric and Jimmy, why the hell wouldn’t she have other girls,
too?
A slave
was never in the position of dictating how their owner should
arrange their sex life, period, and Robin had known that way before
she even entered the Marketplace.

But there were times when
Monica acted as though her various tricks and girlfriends and
lovers were something to be avoided in discussion with her slave.
Which was awkward, especially when Monica wanted to arrange
threesomes and little sex parties with her various partners and
friends, some of whom knew Robin was a slave, and some of whom
thought she was a girlfriend and some of whom
thought
―well, who knew what they thought?

The important thing was what Monica
wanted; didn’t she see that? Monica had owned at least one other
slave, and she had a lot of business associates among Marketplace
owners. She should know that there was no need to hide
or feel ashamed about her
relationships for the sake of her property.

Repeatedly, Robin searched herself, her mind
and soul, for jealousy. She found none. Her throat bore a collar. A
contract guaranteed her place. She knew that no matter how many
other women Monica enjoyed, whether for a night or as part of a
long-term fuck buddy circle, Robin was the one who cooked for her,
who kept her life together, who could be counted on to be calm,
cheerful, and quietly accepting. Robin belonged to her in a way no
one else really could.

If I were the type of person
who couldn’t stand non-monogamy,
Robin thought,
then I wouldn’t be a slave. I’d be
someone’s lover. But I can do this. Better yet, I can do this and
be happy about it. How do I make sure that Monica understands
that?

The only really annoying part
of Monica’s almost two-week-long trip was that it would be two
weeks of being alone. Robin kept the house well. There were no
long-standing projects that awaited which would be best done in the
absence of her owner.
Well―she could paint the kitchen
ceiling.

Her personal spending money, her
“allowance,” as Monica jokingly called it, was plentiful for
someone who had very few expenses. She thought of taking in some
movies, going to some local restaurants, maybe
investi
gating some
museums. But a mere week before she was ready to go, Monica came
home one night and took Robin by the hair and pulled her up against
her body, making Robin shiver in delight.

“
Sensitive little kitten,” Monica
laughed, pulling Robin’s head back. “I’ve got a surprise for
you!”

Robin giggled and writhed comfortably
against her owner. “What is it, Monica?” she asked softly.

“
Found you some babysitters,” Monica
purred. Her mouth was right next to Robin’s ear. “I didn’t want my
baby to be lonely and bored while I’m away. So, when you pack my
bags, better make one up for yourself, too. After you drop me off
at the airport, you’re going to go somewhere else!”

Robin’s eyes, which had closed in
delicious pleasure, opened sharply, and she was grateful she was
not facing Monica at that moment. “Somewhere else?
But―where?”

Monica let her go and walked into her
little living room and flopped down on the couch. “Oh, it’s not
far,” she said, taking the question literally. “I’ll have
directions for you.” Then, she relented and grinned. “Don’t
worry―these ladies will know what to do with you! It’s Judy and
Khim. They said they’d love to keep an eye on you while I’m away.
And I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Robin’s eyes widened even as she went into
the kitchen to get Monica a drink. Judy and Khim!

No, no, she didn’t mind at all, although
at first she didn’t know why. Neither Judy nor Khim were exactly
her type, except in the fact that they were older than she was, and
she always appreciated older lovers. They were a couple, naturally,
and Monica had known them before Robin had come to live with her.
They were both into SM―in fact, the only times Robin had seen them
had been at the non-Marketplace play parties Monica had taken her
to.

Khim was definitely a top. She was taller
than Robin, and substantially curvy, with bright, jade eyes and a
deep, wicked laugh. The last time Robin had seen her, she had been
wearing a magnificent British-made corset with gold Chinese dragons
scampering around her body, her breasts compressed and held up for
attention. She had been busy attending to her partner, Judy, whose
petite body had been twisted almost double and secured in full
suspension, a feat made even more astonishing by the occasional
giggle that escaped from the totally immobile form. Robin
remembered wondering how the smaller woman could even draw a
breath, let alone snicker and giggle with delight as ropes
tightened and moved and she went spinning or gently rising and
falling to Khim’s expert manipulation.

Later on, there had been jokes made about
Khim’s style, and the fact that only the extremely flexible Judy
could be so twisted into pretzel shapes and hoisted up like so much
laundry. But the two women laughed, both at themselves and the
picture they presented, full of confidence and erotic energy.

That wasn’t all Robin remembered. The more
she thought about it, she began to realize why she was interested
in finding out more about them, and felt safe about being loaned to
them. It was Judy and Khim, out of all of Monica’s non-Marketplace
friends, who never asked uncomfortable questions or got flustered
in front of her formal manners and made a fuss. In these play party
settings, Monica often introduced Robin as her slave, and Robin’s
collar, of course, never came off. Robin did not go into all of the
behaviors of a Marketplace client, but she did remain silent until
spoken to, and she stayed at Monica’s side except when sent away,
and she was generally quieter and more well behaved than any of the
other slaves there. (If indeed there were any slaves present. She
certainly never noticed any.)

This sometimes upset people, and sometimes
confused them. More than once, Monica got elaborate praise for
“training” Robin, something that drew the attention of every other
person in the room, exactly the kind of thing no Marketplace owner
would do.

But Judy and Khim just nodded to Robin when
she was introduced to them and continued their conversation with
Monica. And unlike a few other people who did at least that much,
they never asked Robin for any sort of service themselves, or
referred to her in any demeaning ways.

In other words, they had good manners.

Well! Good manners, experienced
players―they were already far ahead of many of Monica’s SM pals, no
matter how sad that was to admit. What could possibly go wrong?
Either she would move in like a temporary kinky roommate, or maybe
they might go as far as have her do some cleaning and cooking and
think of it all as a little vacation for themselves. Either way, it
wasn’t something her relationship with Monica depended on, and it
just might give Monica great face among these soft world people she
cared for so much.