Re: Reading Allowed, Pt. 6


By lamignonne and Zenmackie

Marie awoke with a start. This was a shock in itself, as usually for her the transition from sleep to waking was a slow, drifting affair filled with vague half-dreams which vanished as soon as she opened her eyes. This time she went from sweet non-existence to wide-eyed alertness with a gasp and inadvertently tried to sit up…
…Only to have every joint and muscle in her body shriek with pain and stiffness, and she groaned out loud as she fell back and attempted to remain completely still in order to calm her raging nerve-ends. She closed her eyes, and in an instant everything that had happened the night before came rushing back into her mind. Oh god, the things she had done, and said; the things she had allowed him to…begged him to do to her!
Eyes still shut, she carefully lifted her hand to touch the collar around her neck, and was ashamed to feel a rush of heat between her legs. Tears began to leak from under her eyelids. What had happened to her? How had she gone from being Marie, a nice, ordinary college student with a few kinky fantasies—all right, a lot of kinky fantasies—to this? In the space of two days she had completely surrendered herself—her individuality, her will, and every shred of dignity—to become little more than an animal.
His animal.
Her eyes snapped open and she found herself looking into the blue depths of his eyes. He was leaning on his elbow looking down at her. They looked at each other in silence for a long moment. He brought his hand to her face and gently wiped away the tears with his thumb. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then he got out of bed.
Marie followed him with her eyes, still not daring to move. He walked, still wearing only his shorts, into what was apparently the bathroom and a moment later Marie heard water running into a bath. She heard the toilet flush.
He came out again and stood by her side of the bed. He crouched down, then knelt and lifted her in his arms as gently as if she were a newborn baby. He stood and effortlessly carried her into the bathroom and carefully placed her on the toilet. He remained standing in front of her, folded his arms and looked at her expectantly.
Marie fidgeted uncomfortably. It felt very strange to be sitting on the toilet totally naked, and she was suddenly self-conscious. He'd seen her naked for hours last night, of course, but now, in the bright light of morning, in the brightly-lit bathroom, with him staring at her, it was awful. She could feel herself blushing as she kept her eyes on the floor, her thighs clamped tightly together. She knew she'd peed in front of him the night before, in the parking lot, for God's sake, but at least it had been dark…she didn't think she could do it again. Maybe she could pretend she didn't need to go. But her bladder was aching…
"Look at me." His tone brooked no refusal, and Marie reluctantly met his eyes, not wanting to ruin the pleasure she'd felt last night at being back in his good graces. His eyes were implacable, his face stern and serious. "Put your hands behind your back and spread your legs—and don't make me tell you again," he added.
Miserably, Marie did as she was told, blushing even more as she saw his gaze dart down to her pussy and back to her face. When she was exposed to his liking, he smiled, a bit smugly, she thought, and said, "Now, go."
Marie's body obeyed, to her surprise, and released an embarrassingly loud stream of urine into the toilet. She managed to keep her eyes on his, barely, although she couldn't hold back a little moan of distress as she let him witness this most private of acts. Only a sheer effort of will prevented her from snapping her legs closed the second she was done—instead, she painfully held her position until he indicated the toilet paper with a nod of his head and turned his back.
Thank God, Marie thought as she finished up. He was testing the bath water, adjusting the faucets, and she stood up to flush, wincing as her sore muscles protested. She was incredibly stiff, and she looked at the huge bathtub with trepidation, wondering how she was going to force her body to climb in. The steaming water looked so deliciously inviting…
Her Master turned back to her, scooped her up, and set her down in the tub all in one smooth motion.
Holy shit, it was hot! Marie struggled frantically to get out of the scalding water, but with her legs weak and sore as they were, it was only too easy for him to hold her down. He watched sweat break out on her forehead as her skin turned pink from the heat. He knew the water wasn't hot enough to burn her, but it had to be uncomfortable. He smiled as he watched her fight to keep quiet, biting her lip to keep from begging him to let her up, whimpering helplessly instead. God, he loved making her suffer like this—loved watching her take it without complaint, knowing she was doing it just for him, to please him.
But the water gradually cooled and soon Marie was relaxing in the soothing warmth, the heat easing the aches in her body. She thought she might die of pleasure when he knelt next to the tub and gently eased her head down into the water to wet her hair, then began to massage shampoo into her scalp.
He washed her all over, running a soapy sponge over every inch of her skin. He made her rise to her hands and knees, then spent long minutes washing her ass and between her legs. He slid soap-slick fingers into her asshole and pussy, loving her moans as his hands reawakened both her soreness and her arousal. He tickled her armpits, pulled her nipples, and gently washed her face, and she stayed still and obedient.
Marie should have felt pampered and relaxed, but the proprietary way he touched her body made her restless and horny instead. She tried to sneak a glance at his crotch, to see if his cock was as hard as she hoped it was, but couldn't see it over the rim of the tub. She realized she was fantasizing about it, couldn't wait to have it inside her again. But if last night had taught her nothing else, at least she knew it was entirely up to him when she got to experience sexual pleasure, and when she'd only get frustration. Her mind churned busily as she tried to come up with a way to make him fuck her, without pissing him off. She pictured him slamming her up against the bathroom wall, driving into her from behind, holding her with his arm across her throat, making her back arch…
"How are you feeling now, princess?"
His voice, interrupting her fantasy, startled her so much that she blurted out, "Oh, God, Sir, I'm so fucking horny!"
He laughed out loud and Marie blushed furiously, then smiled ruefully back at him. He said, "That's not surprising, princess, but I wanted to know how your leg muscles felt."
"Much better, Sir," she said shyly.
"And what did you think about last night?"
He thought she'd respond with her customary hesitation, and was surprised when she leaned back in the tub, stretched luxuriously, and said, "Oh, it was horrible." Her sly grin and the way she peeked at him from beneath her eyelashes gave the lie to her words. Her nipples, hard and pink, rose out of the water as she stretched. She was trying to provoke him! "Little brat," he growled, and abruptly pulled the plug, managing not to smile, though his mouth twitched suspiciously.
"Please, Sir, can I wash you now?" Her voice was back to normal, now, appropriately apprehensive, and, in this case, disappointed that the bath was over.
"No," he said curtly, lifting her out of the tub, trying to ignore the feel of her sleek, slippery body as she fell against him, her wet hands clutching his shoulders as her feet searched for the floor. He grabbed a towel and dried her roughly, secretly amused by the nervous glances she kept shooting at him.
He hung up the towel and steered her toward the bathroom door. “Make us some breakfast, princess,” he said, not ungently, and sent her on her way with a hefty swat to her behind. Then he went to turn on the shower.
Marie hesitated at the top of the stairs. So she was just supposed to walk around his place naked, in broad daylight, in front of all those windows? She didn’t even know where her clothes were.
But that was the least of her worries. Her Master was about to find out that she couldn’t cook worth a damn.
Biting her lip with concern, she looked around until she spied the entrance to the kitchen and hurried in. It was as well appointed as every other part of the house she’d seen: spacious and sunny, with up-to-the-minute appliances, pans and cooking implements hanging neatly in rows, a butcher-block cabinet in the center and a breakfast table and chairs placed next to a set of windows that reached almost from floor to ceiling. Looking out, Marie saw that they were in what was once an industrial district, though there were signs of gentrification everywhere.
She could see the street, but the penthouse was high enough that she needn’t be concerned about being seen. She was a little disappointed. On a whim she stood before the windows, legs apart and hands locked behind her head. The sun felt wonderful on her naked body. Look at Master’s new slave, she told the world. The thought troubled her for a moment. Had there been other slaves before her? Or—horror struck her—were there others now?
The truth was, Marie still wasn’t sure how this relationship was going to work. She knew he was calling the shots, and that was how she liked it, but there had to be parameters—right? She wasn’t sure what the boundaries were, but one thing she was sure of: she wanted him all to herself. It may not be very submissive of her, she thought stubbornly, but she was not prepared to share her Master.
The sound of the shower shutting off upstairs jolted Marie out of her thoughts. He was already done showering and she hadn’t so much as opened the refrigerator! She raced to the fridge and started frantically looking for something she knew how to cook. He had eggs—but she was pretty bad with eggs. They always came out too runny, or the yolks would break when they weren’t supposed to. She found pancake mix in a cabinet, but recalled grimly how dismal her last attempt at pancakes had been. Toast, she thought desperately, at last. Surely she couldn’t ruin toast.
But the only bread he had was some fancy kind, not sliced sandwich bread like she always bought for herself. She tried cutting it into thin, toast-able slices and stuck two of them into the toaster. She was afraid she’d burn it if she didn’t watch it carefully, since she wasn’t sure what setting to use for this special bread. She leaned her elbows on the counter and peered into the toaster. While she watched, Marie started to wonder what her Master might be doing upstairs. Maybe he’d bring some more interesting toys with him, she thought hopefully. She wanted badly for him to tie her up again, but she was afraid he’d think she was still too sore from last night. Maybe she could do something to show him how spry she felt…
Click! The toaster popped, and Marie snapped to attention, eagerly reaching for the bread to see how it had turned out. But to her dismay, the bread was stuck down in the toaster. It hadn’t popped up! Had she cut it too thickly? How was she supposed to get it out? Marie grabbed a butter knife and went to fish the bread out with it, but suddenly wondered if she could get electrocuted if she did that. She unplugged the toaster, but was still afraid to stick the knife inside. Was there residual electricity, or something? Taking a deep breath, she finally went for it, but when she’d managed to get one piece of toast out, it was in several pieces, and had made a huge mess of crumbs all over the counter and down inside the toaster. What’s more, the edges were definitely burned. She looked dubiously at the other slice, still stuck inside. She couldn’t just leave it in there. She started to feel a little panicky. And what the hell was she going to cook now?
He hadn’t made any particular effort to be quiet on the way downstairs, but she didn’t seem to hear him, apparently completely absorbed in whatever she was doing in the kitchen. Her back was to him. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, and she jumped a foot, gasping in fright. He continued to hold her by the shoulders until she settled down.
Marie watched him looking past her at the toaster. Timidly, not daring to breathe, she looked back over her shoulder and raised her eyes to his, trying to look contrite instead of merely terrified. He looked back at her with one eyebrow lifted and a humorous twinkle in his eye, and Marie, relieved, began to smile back at him. At which point he slammed her, face down, onto the counter, grabbed her wrists with one hand and began walloping her behind with the other.
He gave her ten full-strength swats, which were so vigorous that the top of her head bumped into the wall with each blow. Then he released her just long enough to seize her by the hair and jerked her upright, gasping, before picking her up bodily, carrying her across the kitchen and dropping her onto the table.
It was small enough so that her legs dangled over the edge, and he reached between them with both hands to jerk her thighs apart as far as they would go, giving a slap to the inside of each thigh to remind her to stay put. He came around to the other end, grabbed each of her hands and wrapped them around the legs of the table there, as far down as she could reach. Marie didn’t have to be told to grasp them—by now his power over her was stronger than any rope. She would lie there like that until she was given permission to move, no matter what.
When he was satisfied with her positioning he turned away without a word and began making breakfast. Marie watched in awe as he cracked eggs, grated cheese, diced vegetables and whipped up a perfect omelet in no time at all. The smell made her mouth water; she could barely remember the last time she’d eaten—it felt like days ago. She hoped desperately that he wasn’t planning to eat the entire omelet himself and leave her starving.
He deftly transferred the omelet to a plate then busied himself gathering silverware—Marie noted with dismay that he only pulled out one set from the drawer—and pouring juice. One glass.
He brought everything over and laid his place setting on the table, between her spread thighs. He left the kitchen for a moment, returning with a newspaper in his hands before pulling out his chair and sitting at the table. He picked up his plate with one hand and, using his fork, slid the omelet onto Marie’s lower abdomen. It was still quite warm but not enough to burn. He returned his plate to the table then used his fork to cut off a piece of the omelet and lift it to his mouth, watching her steadily as he did so.
Then he unfolded his newspaper and began to read.
Marie struggled not to fidget. It was a strain to keep her legs open this wide and she was impatient. How long was he going to make her stay like this? Why was he eating so goddamned slowly? And how could he eat with her pussy staring him in the face?
But then, he wasn’t really looking at her, Marie realized, staring morosely at the newspaper that hid his face. She was nothing but a plate to him. The sense of objectification this thought produced made her pussy tighten in arousal, and she closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the table, unable to keep from sighing audibly. She felt his fork scraping gently on her stomach and an answering spasm between her legs. Her ass throbbed slightly as the heat gradually faded from her punished skin, and she pictured him spanking her over the counter as he just had, taking her by surprise so that by the time she’d overcome her shock it was over—she hadn’t even cried out. Now, lying spread for him, ignored by him, her imagination started to run wild again. She wanted him to spank her pussy, too—she could picture his hand crashing down again and again, bringing her just to the edge, forcing her to hold her legs open for him while he did it. Her hands tightened on the table legs, and her hips rose slightly without her even being aware of it.
Just then her stomach growled, loudly. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked quickly at the newspaper. His eyes were twinkling over the top of it, but Marie knew better than to feel relieved this time. Just because he was amused didn’t mean he wouldn’t punish her.
He was thinking that he’d never had a sub who made him laugh this much. She didn’t have an ounce of guile in her, and her totally transparent reactions were priceless. And if her face didn’t give her away, her body did. He hadn’t missed her squirming as his objectification of her turned her on.
“Good,” he said suddenly, referring to her growling stomach. “I was starting to think you were enjoying this too much.” He watched her blush and drop her head back down to the table, avoiding his gaze. He sighed, looked at the barely-touched omelet and then, to Marie’s surprise, slid it gently off her stomach and back to the plate it had been on. She went rigid as she felt his beard tickling her, then his lips and tongue were moving over her skin, licking up the slight sheen of oil where the omelet had rested. Her breath caught.
But all too soon he stopped and said curtly, “Get up.”
Marie scrambled off the table, worried. Was he mad that her growling stomach had interrupted her efforts to grin and bear it? Or was he annoyed at her for getting horny when she was supposed to be a plate?
He pointed at the spotless tile floor next to his chair, ordering her to kneel. She did so as gracefully as she could, remembering to spread her legs and put her hands behind her back, but as usual she got no acknowledgement from him. Again she noticed the sense of security, of rightness, that kneeling at his feet brought her, but she didn’t get to enjoy it. His eyes were fierce as they bored into hers, making her nervous.
“Princess,” he began, and his voice was menacingly smooth, “what were my orders to you upstairs?”
“To—to make breakfast,” she stammered, visibly ill at ease.
“Yes. And why did you fail—” He paused for emphasis. “So utterly?”
Marie blanched. “I—I can’t cook, Sir,” she hurried to explain. “I never could. I’m terrible.”
He fought back a smile. He’d seen the evidence of that. She couldn’t even make toast. “That’s not what I meant, princess.”
She frowned in confusion, unsure what he was getting at.
“Let me put it this way,” he went on. “When you came downstairs, did you immediately obey me, or did you take your sweet time about it?”
Marie cringed. She had been daydreaming a lot. He was out of the shower before she’d even started. When he left her body burning and unsatisfied, it was so hard to concentrate… “I was just so horny, Sir…” she whispered, hanging her head.
“That’s not going to work this time!” he snapped, his voice rising. “I expect to be obeyed immediately, as I’ve told you repeatedly, not when you get around to it. And I don’t want to hear any excuses. What you should be doing, slave, is apologizing.”
Marie’s pulse had jumped at the sound of that word, which he’d never used with her until now, but she barely had time to think about it. Tears pricked her eyes as she realized that, again, she was doing everything wrong. Instead of begging his forgiveness, she’d been trying to come up with an excuse. “I’m so sorry, Sir,” she whispered, miserable. “I—” She’d been about to promise to never do it again, but he interrupted her.
“It’s too late,” he snapped. Two tears escaped to roll down her cheeks, but he ignored them, continuing, in a calm voice again, “We have a problem, don’t we, princess? I’m planning to keep you in a constant state of arousal. I want you to be desperately horny all the time. But if you can’t follow simple orders because you can’t think of anything but cock…” He let his voice trail off, laden with meaning. He didn’t guess how disastrously she’d interpret his words.
Marie’s face crumpled. A sob caught in her throat as she threw herself forward, frantically kissing the tops of his feet, as he’d made her do last night. “Please don’t make me leave you, Master!” she cried. “I’ll do better, I promise!”
He grabbed her hair and pulled her upright. “Calm down, princess,” he said, his tone showing some of his exasperation. “I wasn’t planning to kick you out. I just meant that we have some training to do.”
Her tears dried as if by magic. “Oh,” she whispered, embarrassed. He released her hair and she settled back into her kneeling position. He shook his head, bemused. She was certainly a handful, for a girl so naturally inclined to submission.
“As I was saying, we need to work on this. Do you agree, princess?” It was a subtle hint but she caught on right away.
“Yes, Master,” she breathed, “please teach me to obey you better.”
“Very good,” he approved, and she felt her heart swell with the praise. “Now,” he went on, “spread your pussy for me, princess.”
She’d thought she was ready for this, but Marie swallowed hard. Jesus, how could he say things like that to her and expect her to respond with equanimity? Tentatively she moved one trembling hand around to her pussy and used her thumb and fingers to pull her lips out and up, just as he had last night when he was torturing her with the vibrator. Her heart pounded and her breath came in little gasps.
“Good. Now, use your other hand to rub your clit.” He saw her eyes go wide and waited.
Marie brought her other hand forward, but then she froze. She’d never touched herself in front of someone before. She’d thought peeing in front of him was bad, but this was much worse, much more private. But she couldn’t fail him again—she just had to make herself do it. Good God, she’d probably already waited too long. Biting her lip nervously, she brought her middle finger to her clit and started to strum it lightly. Within seconds her hips were straining to roll, beginning a familiar rhythm, and Marie fought panic as she wondered how long he’d make her do this.
“Good,” he said again. “Now keep that up. I don’t care how fast or slow you do it, but I want to see your hand moving. And keep yourself well spread so I can see.”
Marie moaned, moving her fingers as slowly as she dared, feeling her clit growing impossibly hard already. Her nipples, too, were hard as diamonds, and her face flamed as she imagined what she must look like to him.
He had turned back to the table for a moment, and now he held a deliciously fragrant bit of omelet to her lips. She took it carefully, concentrating on continuing to masturbate while she chewed and swallowed. Her empty stomach contracted, wanting more. He took a bite himself, then fed her another one. He repeated this a few more times, watching her carefully. When her hand started to speed up without her seeming to realize it, he ordered, “Stop.” With a cry of distress, she did as she was told, her slippery fingers poised above her aching clit. “Now finger yourself,” he said.
It was supremely challenging for Marie not to touch her clit now, when she was dying to rub the heel of her hand against it, at the very least. But the new sensations as she finger fucked herself started to take over, even as she mechanically ate the bites of breakfast he fed her, and even drank some orange juice as he held the glass for her. “What a hungry little slut,” he commented, and when she just groaned in humiliation he reached out to pinch one of her nipples. “Aren’t you?” he added, hinting.
“Yes, Sir, I’m a hungry slut,” she choked out, breathing hard.
When the plate was empty, he looked significantly down at her thighs and said, “Open.”
Marie looked down and gasped, hurriedly spreading her thighs again. She hadn’t even realized they had been inching closer together, making it easier for her to buck her hips as she humped her own hand. Her face felt hot, but she knew the shame was contributing to the incredible desire she felt.
“Now your clit again, princess.”
Panting and whimpering, Marie did as he said, her eyes closing, her face a mask of lust. She had risen up on her knees, her pelvis thrusting obscenely.
Marie’s eyes flew open, her hand frozen in mid-stroke.
His gaze bore into her. “Did I tell you to close your eyes?”
She wanted to hang her head in shame but didn’t dare move. “No, Sir,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”
He drew up a chair and sat directly in front of her. He reached down and batted her hand away from her pussy, then roughly shoved three of his fingers inside her. With his free hand he seized her hair and jerked her head back. He leaned into her face. “You…will…learn,” he said, softly.
Marie’s heart pounded. She never felt more like his property than when he had her like this, painfully impaled, held motionless and mesmerized by his fierce eyes. A helpless little sound came from her throat.
Hearing her whimper, and seeing the way her body arched instinctively to try to escape the intrusion in her pussy, he had an idea. One more little game, he thought, then he’d get the day started. Still staring into her eyes, he ordered, “Now fuck me.”
He watched her eyes widen and her face heat as she took his meaning. “That’s right,” he went on. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, princess… just like a little slut who can’t help herself.” He felt her pussy clench in reaction to the humiliation and he smiled inwardly. It was a predictable response, but with her these reactions were so new, so primitive. She still had no idea what she was, what she needed. Yes, he thought to himself as she began to grind herself up and down on his hand, grunting as she accommodated the width of his fingers, I’ve got a treasure here.

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