The Love Slave
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by Jay Lawrence
Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: The love slave lives with her stern Master in the blissful seclusion of his luxurious country estate where each day begins with a sound, bare bottom spanking. Then comes the fateful afternoon when a seemingly innocent pleasure trip swiftly becomes a helpless descent into the erotic torments of Miss Silver's house of correction, where nothing is ever as it seems.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler,
eBookwise Release Date: July 2004
21 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [271 KB]
Reading time: 149-209 min.
THE MASK OF ANUBIS
Of course, the Egyptian mask had occupied a special place in her Master's library, appropriately crowning a heavy mahogany case of occult and esoteric volumes. The magician's assistant was strictly forbidden to look at these books, which naturally imbued the musty collection with a rare mystique, and she averted her eyes from them with the studiously feigned disinterest of a courted virgin. Each afternoon, Master withdrew to his private study, frequently plucking a title from the mysterious shelves, and his slave took her daily walk, knowing better than to disturb her owner. The study was not an unfamiliar inner sanctum, but was regarded with the utmost respect, not least because it had witnessed her many faltering confessions. Dry-mouthed and eyes downcast as if to memorize the pattern on the rug, she admitted her slothful moments and the occasional angry spark of disobedient insolence which marred the beauty of her submission. To her credit, she did not, as a rule, attempt to extricate herself from the inevitability of physical punishment, understanding her Master's insistence on self-improvement. Eventually, the time for correction would come and she would lie across the desk, having raised and gathered her skirt about her waist and removed any undergarments that might interfere with the caning she was about to receive.
The besieged slave had much time to reflect on her chosen role during those hours of punishment, and not once did she long to be released from the steady onslaught of her guardian's judicious discipline. At the very beginning of her training, she had made the serious error of attempting to form a mental wall against the pain, clenching her jaw in angry determination and tensing her body beneath the stinging strokes. Rapidly, however, she realized that such ineffectual and misguided displays of brittle egotism only carried her farther from the place she longed to be. In a short time, she willingly raised the smooth and creamy expanses of her exquisitely sensitive flanks to meet and welcome her Master's sharp ministrations, which pleased him greatly and caused him to remark at the depth of her submissive nature.
Latterly, she had begun to wear a corset, a divinely arousing undergarment into which she was laced daily, each morning a little more tightly, until she stood like a tall, voluptuous flower, pinned and trained to bloom in bondage. The corset was hand-sewn from a dark and glossy fabric, cut so as to reveal the breasts, while reducing the waistline to a feminine hourglass and leaving the nether regions suitably exposed. The magician's assistant felt very beautiful when tightly laced. The steady constriction promoted a marked improvement in posture and the sense of being contained by iron hands clad in velvet gloves was both comforting and intoxicating.
During the long winter evenings, they would sit by the library fire, preferring the warmth of this faintly leather scented apartment to the vast and draughty excesses of the drawing room. Master would occupy a somewhat menacing high-backed armchair that he had purchased from the estate of a notoriously draconian hanging judge and which appeared to settle about his shoulders with the somber elegance of a society undertaker's overcoat. Sometimes the slave would sit on the rug at her owner's feet, her head resting on his lap, blissfully embalmed in the profound tranquility of their companionship. Frequently she lay across his knees, whether naked or partly dressed, simply because, as her guardian put it, "This is your station in life." Occasionally, more for amusement than training, he would attach a broad leash to her collar and slowly wrap the leather about his wrist as he read a favorite, engrossing book, studiously pretending not to notice his strange, exotic pet crouching on all fours before her devoted tormentor.
"Come here, Sarah."
It was the evening of the steel-cold day on which Master had worn the Anubis mask to frighten her in the conservatory. Although she knew, after the initial shock, that it was he and not the Egyptian god come to weigh her soul for past regrets, the experience had chastened her and she had been unusually subdued during dinner. Now, smiling slightly at the haste with which his slave laid down her book and rose to obey his softly spoken command, he took her in his arms and kissed her until it seemed that his flesh became her flesh and her yielding body contained the alchemy of their union.
She was wearing her black velvet evening jacket with the sable shawl collar and cuffs, the dark lustrous fur a dramatic foil to the pale, translucent skin of her wrists and throat. Her soft fine hair smelled vaguely of ylang and vanilla, pungent sweet. Suddenly, her Master had a powerful intimation of his dominion, a visceral sense that he held, not a young woman, but a trapped and vulnerable animal, which both shrank from him in fear and sought his aid. She was his prey. Almost tasting the fluttering blood as it pulsed just beneath the surface of her warm, musky neck, he lowered his mouth to caress her and she moaned faintly, arching her spine and turning her head to offer him more of her delicate throat. Taking a single garnet-petalled rose from an adjacent vase, he pierced her flesh with a sharp thorn, just beneath the left ear, and watched the bright jewel of blood form like a viscous ruby. Sarah shifted almost imperceptibly beneath her Master, then lay acquiescent in his arms as he bent again to taste the creamy metallic sweetness of her crimson sap, dipping the tip of his tongue into the very essence of her fear. Control was everything, for the tiger within him would take the ivory throat of this cornered creature and reduce it to scarlet ribbons, biting, coating his hungry mouth with her rawness, oblivious to her screams and supplications. As if sensing his thoughts, the slave raised her hands in a vaguely self-protective gesture, only to have her wrists caught in a vice-like grasp.
"No you don't, young lady."
The intonation was familiar and unmistakable. A mere handful of words, quietly spoken, and yet it was as if an invisible cage closed about her, its iron bars pressing deathly cold against her spine. Questioningly, she opened her eyes to see nothing more than shadows dancing on the library wall in time to the flames playing within the tall marble fireplace. Suddenly, she felt little ease; unable to sit nor to stand or lie down, seemingly incarcerated in the manner of a long forgotten torture. Master began to speak again, in a steady, near hypnotic tone, as if repeating a mantra.
"You know I would not harm you. I cherish you. In fact, I dote upon you."
The library curtains had not been drawn and Sarah looked up at the fecund face of the full moon. She always imagined that this ripened Luna wore a mask--a submissive feminine mask, eyes closed to see no evil, smiling faintly, enigmatically. The midnight wind chased cobalt clouds across her silent, sinister disc and she waited, powerful only in her receptivity to the sun, containing and reflecting the power of her omnipotent lord; drinking his lux and dribbling the dazzling excesses from the corners of her upturned mouth. For a moment, Sarah pictured a beautiful milky skinned odalisque, lips parted to receive her owner's gift of seed, existing purely for his pleasure.
"You know what to do, my lady."
Slowly, with the fatalism of the condemned, she rose to stand before her own Master, then began to undress, keenly aware of his eyes upon her although she would not meet his gaze. First the fur trimmed jacket, hesitantly unbuttoned by nerve-clumsy fingers, then the long dark skirt, self-consciously stepped out of, until she wore but her precious collar, corset and the silky black stockings her owner insisted upon. Her breasts were very full, almost aching, and she offered them to him one at a time as if giving nourishment, passively regarding his silver bearded mouth as he took her firm little nipples and tongued them to swollen dilation. The sensual overture was deceptive, for she knew she was to be disciplined, yet the infraction was not great and her guardian took great pleasure in playing with his slave at such times, prolonging her anticipation to sweetly agonizing proportions. Eventually he gestured to his lap and she quietly lay face down across his knees, her head and arms resting on one arm of the chair, soft white bottom accentuated by the web-like lacing of the corset, which seemed to present her for spanking.
"If you imagine I would ever do you permanent harm, you are very much mistaken. I don't need to cut you or brand you to prove I am your Master; and if you have further cause to disbelieve this, I intend to give you a very sore bottom indeed. In fact, you will be a much sadder and wiser young lady by the time I've finished with you."
Sarah wriggled slightly, feeling her face redden with a curious blend of genuine shame and intense arousal. Master rubbed the smooth cheeks of her bottom rhythmically as he spoke, as if to underscore the message.
"I am here to protect you, to take care of you."
He raised his hand and brought it down very suddenly and sharply against the lower portion of her buttocks, causing her to flinch and cry out in surprise.
"I can do this with your co-operation or without it. If you choose not to co-operate, you will be rewarded with a stinging, smarting, red-hot bottom. Understand?"
His tone was very level and more than a little wry, but each sentence was punctuated by a forceful smack.
Her response was barely audible, but heartfelt. Spanking was an especially insidious form of discipline, as a prolonged and intense bottom warming session generally left nothing more than a faint rosy glow, quite unlike the dramatic welts produced by the cane. Sarah was genuinely eager to please and generally more than willing to obey and serve her Master, whose expectations and desires could be exacting but were not unreasonable. She had therefore received comparatively little in the way of true punishment, but those few episodes were clearly etched in her memory as times of truly remorseful tears and endless remonstrations. The errant slave had begged her owner to stop paddling her backside, wriggling and kicking her legs until Master had very sternly informed her that, if there was any more of that type of behavior, he would simply feel obliged to double the length of the punishment session. After that, she lay as still as she could, sobbing quietly until, at last, her correction was accomplished and Master took her in his arms to dry her swollen eyes and kiss her trembling mouth. There was always tender and immediate forgiveness, and Sarah felt a strange and deep gratitude towards this man who was strong enough to demand that she conform to his needs and quite prepared to mete out discipline when she failed to do her best. In her heart of hearts, she thanked him for valuing her in this manner, for seeing what she could be and simply not allowing her to slide into a morass of sloth and mediocrity. An all-encompassing sense of peace enveloped the slave after a judicious punishment, and she would lie, quite spent, while Master spoke softly and kindly to her, feeling growing love and respect for her strict but nurturing guardian.