Welcome to Djian

The Traveling Part

Collected by Djian
updated nov 29 - 2009

***Preface: This is another of my weekly assignments for Rage. Some of this story is real, some of it is fiction. I’ll leave it to the reader to decide which is which. I think it starts out a little bit slow but picks up after the scenario has been established. Names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. Special thanks to nyssa :) All comments welcome, as I think they help me to become a better writer.

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Traveling Part I
by Laurel
© Copyright 1995. All rights reserved. No permission to reproduce.
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When I get off the plane, I’m expecting Rage to meet me, as always. But I don’t see him. I have that sinking feeling for a brief moment. . . wondering if he’s forgotten, or if, perhaps, he’s been in an accident. I feel my blood pressure skyrocket when I see a man standing against the wall holding a sign with my name on it. I walk up to him cautiously.
“I’m Laurel. Where’s Rage? What’s happened? Is he all right?” I can feel the panic rising.
The man smiles at me and shakes his head. “Rage’s fine. He just asked me to escort you back to the car where he’s waiting for you.”
I am silent for a moment, wondering what it was that he is up to. “Well, . . . umm. . .you are?”
Gently taking me by the arm we start walking through the terminal. The man explains, “You don’t recognize my voice Cherie? I’m helping Rage out with a little surprise he has planned for you.”
I stop in my tracks. Cherie? Ted’s nickname for me. Ted from the phone! I know this person! I do recognize his voice. I don’t know whether to throw my arms around him in a big hug, or back up against the wall in panic because I know what kind of surprise this is likely to be. I find my face getting very red. I stammer, “Well, it’s. . . it’s nice finally meeting you. Rage didn’t tell me you were in town. . .”
Ted smiles at me widely, and gives me a big hug before I can back up too much. I relax a bit and hug back. “This is. . . well. . .this is a strange way of meeting you.”
“It’s about to get more strange Cherie—here’s your first instruction.” Ted hands me a small piece of paper, stiff like a business card. On it Rage has written: “Go into the bathroom and put your collar on. I’m sure you have it with you, since you have been instructed to keep it always on your person or on it’s hook.”
I don’t know if Ted has read the instruction or not, and look up at him quickly. The mischievous smile on his face, and the casual way he leans against the wall by the ladies room confirms to me that he knows exactly what Rage’s written. I do have my collar. It’s neatly folded in my pocket. Which is lucky for me, given the tone of Rage’s note. Wordlessly, I stomp past Ted into the bathroom. There are a few other women standing in front of the mirror washing their hands or applying make-up. My throat goes dry as I stand there staring at my own face in the mirror, wondering what to do.
I could, I suppose, wait for the women to leave, or go into one of the stalls. I think about what Rage would have me do, and I know exactly what that is. I take the collar out of my pocket and unfold it. From the corner of my eye, I realize that no one has noticed anything unusual yet. I take a deep breath, throw back my hair, and deliberately lift the collar to my neck and strap it on. I’m too nervous to look around now. I don’t know who has seen me or who hasn’t. My eyes are locked directly on my own eyes in the mirror. And I see many things. Panic and pride. Happiness and humiliation. My fingers shake at the clasp, and finally it is done.
Without looking at anyone, I come back out of the bathroom to face Ted. He looks carefully at my collar and grins. All the while, I try to keep my chin up, but my eyes are on the floor. I never know, when I have my collar on, if people stare at me, or if they think it’s just a fashion statement. I always wonder if there’s someone looking who knows exactly what that collar means. And every time I think of it, I can feel the clench in my belly.
Ted helps guide me to the baggage area. I need the help, because with my eyes glued to the floor, I’m prone to bumping into people and pillars. “You have a rather lovely blush right now dear,” he says to me. My hand flutters up to my throat and finds the ring—the ring that my master leashes me by. I find myself unable to converse.
Ever the gentleman, Ted takes the larger bag and I grab the smaller one. We head towards the parking lot. I follow him blindly. Suddenly he stops in front of a large black limousine. “This isn’t Rage’s car,” I say matter of factly.
“It is today,” Ted says with a mischievous grin and opens the trunk. He takes both my bags and then hands me another card. I read it, and my jaw falls open.
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Traveling Part II
by Laurel
© Copyright 1995. All rights reserved. No permission to reproduce.
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Rage has written: “You will not get into the car until you’re naked. Hand your clothing to the driver a piece at a time, and when you have nothing left to hand over, you may step into the car.”
“I’m the driver, if you hadn’t guessed,” Ted says brattily. It makes me want to throw something at him, but I’m too embarrassed to do more than back away from the car.
“How—how. . . I mean. . .how do I know this is for real and you’re not just some crazy person sent to kidnap me. How do I know Rage is in that car?”
Ted guffaws and with a slam of the trunk, comes over to give me a big hug. ”How many people would know how to do this to you Cherie?”
I know I’m being ridiculous and paranoid, but I feel the fear creep up on me. I know better than to get into a car with strangers. “I don’t feel safe.” I murmur. “Can’t I see him first?”
Suddenly, the back tinted window rolls down two inches with an electric hum. I can’t see Rage’s face, but I hear his unmistakable voice. “Do as your told Laurel, you’re safe,” he says simply. I am overjoyed to hear his voice, but then comes crushing reality.
Oh my god. He wants me to undress! Right here in the parking lot. In front of Ted! In front of someone I just met! I try to think fast. I’m wearing a long winter coat, and I realize that I can get off most of my clothes without being exposed. I glance around the parking lot and realize that there are only a few stray people, and none of them are paying any attention to me.
Ted leans against the car and holds out his hand. I feel a squeak rise in my throat. “Just a moment. . . just . . .—“ But there’s no use resisting. I don’t want to disappoint my master, and as much as I hate this, I’m loving it too. I can feel the excitement ripple through me. I pull my arms into my coat and begin to unbutton my blouse. I manage to get it off, and pull it through the front of my coat. I hand it to Ted. This is the easy part.
While Ted folds the blouse wordlessly, I manage to slide off the skirt. I realize that if people were close enough to me, they might realize what I am doing, but the coat is shielding me from far away. I hand Ted the skirt, and he folds that also, putting it on top of the car. Now I am left in underwear, and the thought of handing my underwear to Ted is disarming in itself. I realize that I’m getting wet and sweaty. I begin to fear he’ll smell my muskiness from where he is. I grip the handle of the car and am still for some moments.
I don’t dare get into the car with any clothes on. And yet, this is so hard. I can feel the heat of my face. I can feel the clench in my stomach. I think of Rage. I think of all the trouble he went to. I know what he wants of me, and I’m loathe to disappoint him. I reach under my coat and manage to do enough of a Houdini act to get out of my bra and hand it to Ted through the front of my coat. As if relishing my embarrassment, Ted holds the bra up and admires it. “Pretty floral pattern, Cherie!”
I glare at him, and look down. I feel dizzy and grip the car for support while looking around the parking lot wildly. My God,it isn’t as if a black limousine is exactly conspicuous! Slowly, I step out of my shoe, and roll the stockings down my leg with my panties and step out of it. I’m careful to put my foot back into the shoe to avoid stepping in the grime of the cold, wet, pavement. I repeat the maneuver on the other leg, and hand Ted my tights and panties.
Ted does exactly what I was afraid he would do, and feels the crotch. I look away instantly. I realize now, that I’m completely naked under my coat, and that now comes the hardest part of all. How am I going to get into the car? Ted watches me as my mind rambles forward, trying to think of the easiest way of doing this.
I realize that there’s only one way. I can do this in a fluid motion. I can cast off the coat with one hand and open the door with the other hand, flinging myself in before anyone can see me. Even so, this is an awkward moment, and I feel my pulse racing in my body. “Oh god, I don’t know if I can do this.”
I hear Rage from the car. “I’m getting impatient Laurel. Do as you’re told.”
There is the slightest hint of aggravation in his voice, and it makes me want to cry. I do want to be good. I do! I unbutton the front of the coat, pull one arm out, and put my hand on the door handle. Ted’s eyes focus in on me intently. I realize that he’s going to see me naked, but only for a moment.
I take a deep breath and move like lightening, flinging the coat off at once and swinging the door open at the same time. I don’t know if the coat has been retrieved by Ted or is sitting out in a puddle, and I don’t have time to care because I have launched myself into the car and shut the door behind me tightly.
And then. . . my mouth falls open.
I am utterly unprepared for what I find inside the car, and I almost jump right back out again! Instead, my hands instinctively cover my breasts and pussy, and I let out a small cry of surprise, fright, and embarrassment.
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Traveling Part III
by Laurel
© Copyright 1995. All rights reserved. No permission to reproduce.
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Inside the car, I find myself face to face with a very well dressed woman. I have never seen her before, and her eyes scan me up and down. She looks at me like a predator, and my master smiles.
Rage is sitting in the corner of the luxurious back seat wearing an impeccably tailored double breasted suit. He very casually straightens the crease of his pants as he gracefully crosses his legs. I am so mortified, I turn my head to the window. I sit there shaking. . . unable to speak.
“Put your arms at your sides Laurel.”
I can’t. I sit there as if frozen in a block of ice. I feel my naked skin pressed against the velvety seat. My mind is a blank. I expect to get slapped for this disobedience, but my master seems to sense my shock and apprehension. He reaches a hand to me and laces his fingers under my collar.
“I think she’s a bit frightened,” the woman says in a voice I know I don’t recognize. She giggles. I feel bitter.
“I know she is,” my master says, and pulls me towards him a bit by my collar. I have my eyes squeezed shut, as if to block out everything that’s happening, but I feel my master’s kiss on my forehead.
“You’ve pleased me very much my slavelette. I love you. I know this has been very hard for you, and that you’re frightened. It’s not something you expected. But I have a long night planned for you love. . .and I know you’ll be good for me won’t you?”
I say nothing, but feel my body relax to his words. I am still acutely aware that a total stranger is staring at me, but I am powerless to struggle against my master’s caresses and voice. I put my arms at my sides. My master continues, “I love you . . . be good for me. I know you’re humiliated. . .but you have to let yourself feel it. . .why is that my Laurelie?”
I almost choke on the words, “because. . .it’s. . .yours. . .to give.” They come out in a whisper.
“Say that louder,” Rage tells me. His hand strokes me softly under my collar.
“Because, my humiliation is yours to give.”
The woman claps with glee. “Oh she’s well trained Rage!”
“Yes she is. I’m very proud of her. Open your eyes Laurel.”
I open my eyes, and Rage pulls me into a kiss. My eyes meet his. They are strong, compelling. I feel the resistance evaporate, and my eyes fall gently to the floor where I stare at the classic cream colored high heels of the stranger.
“Laurel, I’d like you to display yourself for this fine lady. I do so enjoy displaying my property. Open your legs and hold your cunt open,” Rage says as if those words are so natural to say.
I can feel that the car has begun to move by now, and I am embarrassed to know that people will be passing the limousine and not even realizing that there is a slave girl inside, being humiliated and displayed—naked. My legs fall open, and I spread my nether-lips with my fingers. I look up only once to realize that they are both staring.
“She’s glistening wet. She must love how you treat her Rage,” the woman says. She knows just how to make a cutting remark. And the fact that she is talking about me as if I’m not there only increases my feeling of objectification. Rage’s fingers travel over my nipples and squeeze them both until they stand up high. They are larger than pencil erasers, and I know my master loves to play with them and use them as handles.
“That’s enough now Laurel. Turn around and show Sophie your asshole.”
I feel two things at once. Sophie! Ted’s lover. She’s not as much as a stranger as I thought. No matter now, however, because the humiliation has already been complete. Now he is asking me to display my asshole. . . something I have never done. Something I don’t even know how to do.
“I don’t know how, master,” I say.
“Laurel, turn around, spread your ass cheeks, and push your bottom in the air so we can see. And do it quickly. You don’t want to make another mistake do you?” Rage asks.
“Another -- ??”
Rage and Sophie’s eyes focus on my feet. And I realize my error. “Oh. . .god. . . Oh master I’m so sorry! I forgot to take off my shoes!”
“We’ll take care of that later, my Laurelie. Just do as I’ve asked.”
In guilt over my prior transgression, I nearly hop off the seat and turn around. I kneel forward and reach behind me. I feel the searing heat of embarrassment flush my skin as I reach back to spread my ass cheeks. I groan as I feel the cold air hit the little hole. And I am frozen in the realization of what I’m doing.
Here I am, naked, in a car full of completely dressed—no . . .*elegantly* dressed people . . . displaying myself. . . Oh god. I feel my thighs quiver.
Rage’s mind seems to be melded to my own, “Feel like a high class whore Laurel?”
I whimper and bury my face in the seat, but cannot help arch my back up in excitement. I feel a hand caress my ass and flow down my leg. I hope it’s Rage’s. Then I hear him continue, “It’s probably a unique feeling for you Laurel. I usually like to make you feel like a cheap whore. The kind who spends all day on a little bed in a sleazy hotel room with men waiting in line outside the door. Do you like this better?”
I hear an electronic whir, and the window separating Ted from the back of the limousine is lowered. I know he’s listening, and watching in the rear view mirror. I don’t answer Rage. I know it’s not a question he expects me to answer. But it has it’s expected affect. I can feel my body throb . . .
“Laurel, I’d like to show Sophie a little demonstration of how much you like getting it up the ass,” Rage says, and I feel the dripping of some cold lubrication down my ass crack. I bite the seat. Oh god. . .what’s he going to do? Is he going to fuck me right in front of these people? My eyes shut tightly.
I feel something press against my asshole. I know it’s not his cock. It’s too cold. It feels like plastic. Oh God. I can hardly stand it. Rage’s voice comes from the side of the car. “Relax. . . relax. . . take this for me.” he says. And I try. Holding my ass cheeks open I concentrate on admitting the invading dildo. When it hits me. If Rage is fucking me with a dildo, why is his voice so far away? I open my eyes and turn around to see my master sitting calmly, legs still crossed, at the side of the car. It is Sophie who is pressing this thing into me unyeildingly.
I growl low and feel it pass my sphincter. “Fuck it!” Rage snaps. I am quick to obey, humping my bottom backwards on what fills me. And this is when Rage finally uncrosses his legs and comes towards me. As the dildo slides all the way into my ass, I hear tinkling. There are two small chains attached to the base of the dildo, and Rage wraps them around my waist and locks the two ends together with a padlock. Now, it won’t come out until he unlocks the chains!
“Good girl. Now sit down and play with your cunt while Sophie and I talk.” he says. Just like that, Sophie and Rage turn their attention from me! I don’t know whether or not to be relieved or cry. Obediently, I turn around, spread my legs, and quietly play with my clit while they converse about things unrelated. The only person I know is watching me is Ted. I can see his eyes focus in the rear view mirror at every stop light. I can feel the dildo filling my ass, and I am so excited from touching, and from the embarrassment. But I’m not going to cum. I can tell. The stress is too much.
Eventually, the car slows, and Rage and Sophie turn their attentions to me once more. “How do you plan to get into the house now Laurel?” Rage asks me.
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Traveling Part IV
by Laurel
© Copyright 1995. All rights reserved. No permission to reproduce.
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I realize my predicament. I have no clothes, and if that were not bad enough, I have a dildo strapped into my ass. I look at him with big trusting eyes. Rage smiles at my faith, and kisses each of my fingers. “I have a sheet here in the car. You can wrap up in it, and Sophie will help you into the house quickly.” He hands me the sheet. A sheet. Wonderful. Sure, no one will see me naked, but who would not realize that it was unusual to be walking around outside in a sheet! I might as well be in a towel in the dead of winter!
But I wrap myself up in it best as I can, having some difficulty moving with my ass full. Sophie wraps her arm around me and helps me out of the car. Together we rush up the stairs and into the apartment, where Sophie pulls the sheet off of me immediately and tells me to go stand on the living room table. I do so, and instantly feel like a model, or mannequin. I feel awkward, and I don’t know how to position myself. I try hard to think of how my master would like to see me when he comes in the door. So I kneel on the table and put my arms behind my head captive-style.
When Rage and Ted come in the disparity is apparent. Rage, Ted, and Sophie look like people dressed up for an elegant dinner party. This enforces the inappropriateness of my nudity. I feel myself shrinking. I am less. Yes. Like a pet. Like a slave. Yes I am a slave. Ted hands Rage my clothing and my coat. After he puts them away, Rage serves Sophie and Ted some wine, and then comes over to me. I can tell he appreciates the position I have assumed for him, and I feel happy to have pleased him. He casually dips
my nipple into his wine glass and then licks the wine off as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world. He tells me not to worry about my knees, that I won’t be kneeling for long.
Then Rage goes to serve dinner. There are three place settings with candles and our linen. There is another plate by Rage’s seat on the floor. I know that one is meant for me. When Rage calls for us, we come to the table, and I sit on the floor by my plate. The embarrassment is compounded when Sophie and Ted begin to talk to us as if I were not sitting on the floor naked, eating scraps that Rage feeds me. They ask me about school, we talk about politics. All the while, I am shrinking, dying inside, trying to escape the dildo in my
ass, but unable to. The less they take notice of my enslavement, the more acutely aware of it I am.
Sometimes Rage takes some forkfuls of food and puts them on my plate. Sometimes he feeds me from his fingers. Other times, he brings his spoon to my lips. When dessert is served, he tells me I can have a spoon if I earn it by cumming. I lean back against the counter, and begin to rub myself, but I am too nervous. Over excited. My ice cream has melted by the time I realize that I will not be earning a spoon.
“Laurel, are you having trouble cumming today?” Rage asks suddenly. It’s an awkward segue from the topic at the dinner table, and all eyes turn to me.
“Yes master.”
“Take your hands away Laurel,” Rage commands. “Close your eyes, and listen to my voice.” I obey.
And then, I hear him start to count. My eyes want to flutter open in mortification, but instead, I feel the heat start spreading from my clit outward. Rage gets to one and stops, my body still writhing. “What’s that
all about Rage?” Ted asks.
“Laurel, would you like to tell them?” Rage asks me.
I shake my head no. Rage explains, “I’ve been taking Laurel’s orgasms away from her. . . piece by piece. . .for a long time now. She didn’t want to give them to me at first. it was a very frightening, difficult thing for her. But she didn’t have much choice. I wanted them, and I’m taking them. Counting is part of her training. I choose a number, and I count backwards. Laurel is to cum by the time I reach zero, or I spank her and start again.”
“Because she misbehaved?” Sophie asks.
“No. It’s just training. I have to get her body to understand that it will be unpleasant if she doesn’t cum when she’s supposed to. Sometimes, when I reach zero, I start counting forward again, and Laurel gets spanked once for each second longer it takes her to cum than it was supposed to.” Rage explains.
I hear Ted start to laugh. It’s a good natured laugh, but it still embarrasses me. I’m glad my eyes are shut tight. Rage continues, “Now, most times Laurel is allowed to touch while I’m counting, but right now, I wanted to see what kind of affect it had on her without touching.”
“It excited me master. It started me throbbing.” I say.
“That’s good Laurel. Because every day, in every way, you become more mine. I’m going to take your orgasms from you and make them mine in ways that you never imagined. Right now. . .you’re listening to my voice, and you’re throbbing. You feel the heat expand through your tummy and your legs. . .your breath comes in pants. I see you squirming. And it’s all from my voice Laurel. All hanging by a thread now isn’t it? Are you realizing what is happening to you? Do you know that you’ll be cumming to my voice soon? Just a thread a way Laurel. Just one little thread left until they’re all mine.”
I cry out to this onslaught of words. I forget anyone else is in the room at all until you speak again. “You see, my Laurelie is not very orgasmic. Every orgasm precious. Each one hard to get. But we’re going to change that too. When I take them as my own, I won’t be as stingy with them as Laurel is. It’s been a long, hard, path even getting to where we are now. Isn’t that so Laurel?”
Every time Rage says my name, I feel a jolt in me. I’m not touching, and yet the throbbing is overwhelming me. No. . .no. . .I won’t cum just from his talking to me. That can’t happen. And yet, my body is continuing without me, playing like an instrument to his words. . .mere words. . .aren’t they? Or is it something more tangible. “Yes master,” I gasp out between writhings.
“You might have noticed Laurel playing with her cunt before. Did you notice, Sophie, how she touches?”
“She flicks her clit back and forth,” Sophie said, clearly entranced by the show before her.
“Right. But that’s not natural for her. Laurel grew up rubbing her clit in circles. I took that away from her too. Now she can only rub herself the way that I would touch her. Back and forth, up and down, around the rim. So many little things add up don’t they Laurel?” I whimper. The words continue. Words. More words. Words like weapons.
Rage stands next to me and I kiss his pant leg as he continues. “She cums every day, no matter how tired, how cranky, how much she doesn’t want to. And she cums the way I’ve trained her to. Touching the way I want to. My little slavelette can’t even use her cunt the way she wants to. And then, when she’s recovered, she gets out her calendar and she marks it down. She marks down exactly when she came so I can analyze her. I can experiment with her. She collects data for me even on her own body. Such a pretty little specimen.”
I hear Sophie gasp softly and I roll onto my stomach as if I can get away from the words. Rage’s voice lowers an octave, a sign that he’s getting turned on, and that he is about to become even more sadistic than he is already being. ”And now, I think, it is time for you to pay for a little mistake you made Laurel—for leaving your shoes on when you get in the car.”
I make no noise, I make no movement. But my whole insides tremor when I hear the jingling that can only mean he’s removing his belt. “I know why my Laurelie forgot her shoes. I know exactly all the little things that go on in her mind. Because I study her. She couldn’t stand the thought of putting her foot onto the cold gritty ground. So instead, she forgot to take her shoes off altogether—“ Rage’s words were cut off by my scream.
The belt slammed down precisely on my thighs, just below my ass, where the flesh is most tender. It was not a warm up, but one clearly meant to leave a welt. I curled up into a little ball of misery. Oh god he must hate me to hit me there. I must have been so bad. My face crumples as I try not to cry. And in the tension of the pain, my ass clamps down on the dildo in my ass.
Rage is on one knee in an instant, cradling my head in his hands as I gasp for breath. I am not one of those fortunate souls who ever feels a happy rush of endorphins. I let out another scream just from the residual sting, and Rage’s hands are strong on my face. “No more pain my Laurelie . . .my little Laurelie. . . shhh. . .no more. . . it’s all over now. . . we just needed to get that out of the way. . .didn’t we love?”
I find myself agreeing, and kissing his fingers, internally begging myself not to embarrass my master in front of his guests by being a baby. But his fingers are so gentle, his control so loving, that the pain becomes bearable as it fades. And here I am, naked on the floor, a welt across my thighs, still throbbing in my master’s hands. Marked; manipulated.
“On the table on your back Laurel,” Rage says, and I crawl. The table is about a foot and a half off the ground. A wide, low table that is perfect for slavish activities that supports all my weight evenly. I lay on my back with my feet on the floor, and watch with embarrassment as my breasts jiggle in unexpected directions. In what has to have been a planned scenario, Ted stands over me and takes his cock out of his pants. I look at my master in panic and he motions for me to be still. There is a man I’ve just met masturbating over my face. My heart is pounding so fast in my throat now that I wonder if I can even stay conscious.
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Traveling Part IV
by Laurel
© Copyright 1995. All rights reserved. No permission to reproduce.
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My master starts to talk some more. “You see Laurel, when I have your orgasms, completely, I’ll do all manner of interesting things with them. I’ll manipulate them. I’ll make keys to them. Words that I can twist around like a key in your pussy. Keys that I can give away. I’ll make it so that you hear certain words, my love, and it’ll make you cum. No matter who says those words. But that’s not all I’ll do. I’ll make it so that you won’t be able to cum unless you hear those words. That means, rubbing your cunt like a the whore that you are, in your own bed, you’ll still have to say those words in order to orgasm.”
I groan and writhe on the table, feeling the padlock against my belly button. You see into my mind again. “Yes Laurel. Exactly. Exactly like the padlock on your stomach. With a key. Mine Laurel. Mine.”
“Today, I’m going to make you cum more than anyone has ever made you cum. Over, and over, even when you don’t want to. And the whole time, you’ll know it’s just one more step towards the inevitable. Journeying towards the inevitability that your sexuality will be mine. All mine.”
I feel the table start to vibrate when Ted’s legs push into it as he strokes faster. I can’t stop whimpering and writhing. “One response I’ll leave the same is this one. The way you can’t help from cumming when someone spurts semen onto your face. . .you helpless little cunt. You can’t help it can you? You know someone is using you as a depository. Humiliating you. And you love it.”
“Oh god please!” I cry out. I’m so close. So close to exploding. I feel so close, but I just won’t go over that edge.
“Hanging by a thread Laurel. Almost at the end of our journey aren’t we?” And suddenly I feel it. Ted lets out a grunt, and I feel the hot splashes on my face. I close my eyes and let out a scream that any stranger would mistake for pure agony. But Rage knows better. He knows the fever hot excitement that’s ripping through me “Touch yourself Laurel! Cum! Cum!”
My fingers flick at my clit while the splashes of cum keep landing on my cheeks and breasts and I am exploding, cumming so hard that I leave my mouth wide open for the last few jets of Ted’s orgasm. And then there is quiet. . .
I am vaguely aware of the smoldering looks passing between Sophie and Ted over my body. But I am laying still, panting and moaning in such a way as to constitute a purr. I am gooey, dripping, reeking of sex and sweat. Rage is tinkering with the padlock at my stomach even before I have become aware of the tightening discomfort as my anus contracts after orgasm. While Rage pulls the plug out of me, Sophie holds one of my hands and Ted pets my hair softly. ”Very nice Cherie,” he says in the face of my wide open hypnotized eyes.
As I lay there, I hear Ted and Sophie thanking Rage for a lovely dinner and making their excuses to leave. I grow peevish at this thought, wondering if I have somehow done something to make them want to leave, or if they have been made uncomfortable by all this. As they leave, I see Ted’s hand clamp down hard on the back of Sophie’s neck, and am both comforted and embarrassed. I have a used feeling that cannot be avoided when someone cums on you and leaves.
Rage closes the door quietly and sits in the chair beside me. I notice that he is hard, and I’m gratified. “I didn’t say to stop touching love,” he reminds me. I lower my hand to my cunt and jump up in discomfort. I am almost always too sensitive to touch in the aftermath of orgasm, but my master’s eyes are hard on me. Willing me to continue. He can see the discomfort of the intensity in my eyes and he’s enjoying it. He’s enjoying it. He’s hard. He’s excited. These thoughts spiral in my mind.
“I told you what I was going to do to you. My goodness how you look. Another man’s cum smeared on your face and tits, in your mouth, still rubbing your cunt like a sex starved bitch. Are you in heat Laurel?”
It is always so odd when his words issue like this. They are half spit at me, and some part in me wants to cry, even as the rest of me is embarrassed and excited. It is only his excitement that ameliorates the ache.
“You’re going to cum for me again Laurel. Just one more step in our travels love. Making you cum when you don’t want to. And then we’ll have the experiments. I think I’ll make you into a lesbian one month? Make it so that you cannot cum unless your face is pressed into a pussy, or thinking about it. I can do that to you Laurel. I can.”
I groan. The heat is coming faster this time as I flick my clit. I can still smell the cum drying on me, and his words. Again his words. Never ending. As if he can see right into my mind and hear me thinking. He keeps talking. . .slowly. Letting each phrase sink into my mind. Into my cunt.
“Because you can be trained little one. You’re just an animal. Animals can be trained, and I’m training you. It will take a while, but I’m patient. I have the rest of your life to make you into what I want. To try to make you into different things. And yes, I’d love to make you a lesbian for a while. Indeed. Make it so that your cunt twitches when you look at women. mmmmmm. To have that control. Not just to make you do something that I want, but to make you become something I want.”
With those words, I feel myself on the edge, “Oh please master, please!”
“Cum Laurel.” And I do. This time sharp staccato bursts as my insides contract. I am left panting and gripping the side of the table.
“PUT YOUR HAND BACK!” he admonishes me. I do. It is nearly unbearable. I grunt, trying to control the urge to pull my hand away.
“Oh god master. Too intense. Too—“
“Don’t stop Laurel. You’re going to come again.” And Rage continues with the words. More and more intense, until, two orgasms later, I’m shaking in a puddle of moisture.
“Master -- . . drink—please?” I don’t think I can form sentences anymore. It’s a rarity that I would cum four times in one day much less in the space of a few hours. I am dehydrating, and my mind is dizzy.
Rage brings me back some water and holds the cups to my lips so that little streams of cold run out the sides of my mouth and down my neck. I don’t care. I gulp it down. “Time to start again Laurelie.”
“Oh god master. . .please no more. Please.” I say. I hate begging. I truly do. But I’ll do it now.
“Begging already Laurel? tsk tsk. We’ve just begun love. You see, I’m not going to fuck you until you’ve cum twelve times. And when that happens, you may just be too tired to enjoy it. . .but, no matter, -- I will.” Rage smiles malevolently, and my insides turn over. Rage puts my fingers back and starts to talk again.
“I love doing this to you. Making you a slave to your own cunt. I really can give you to anyone, or anything. Sure, you don’t want to cum now, but in a few moments, you’ll surrender. All you’ll want is to cum. Because you’ll be obeying your cunt. And what do cunts want Laurel? What do they always want Laurel?”
“To cum, master.” I grunt.
“And you should obey your cunt then. I know that you’re a good girl, slave. You want your master’s cock. You don’t want to be a slut. But your cunt doesn’t much care. It wants any cock in it. Just like she wants to feel any cum spurting on your face. Do what she wants—cum Laurel.. Maybe she should have a name. . . . hmmm. . . Oh. She does have a name doesn’t she? I just realized. It’s your cunt that’s named Laurel. That’s the little puzzle isn’t it slavelette? That’s the wreath, the prize, the honor. The victor gets to have his cock wrapped up in your pussy. A little wreath of pubic hair.” Rage laughs at his cleverness. I shrink about a hundred times more. I just don’t exist. I’m a speck of dust. The humiliation is too great. And I’m cumming, even as the bitterness seeps. I can’t help it. I am enslaved.
At the tenth orgasm I can feel the soreness, and I beg for water after each orgasm. They are arriving closer and closer together now, and I feel like any threads of control I had are slipping through my fingers leaving me rope burn. By the eleventh, I think I can stand no more. “Please no master. I don’t want any more. Please.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want my Laurelie. This is all part of our travels. Part of making you mine. Part of turning you into the kind of trained animal that can be conditioned exactly as I like. You’ll be like a puppet Laurel. I’ll pull the string and you’ll do as I ask. A puppet just like you are when my fist is crammed inside you.”
I start to sob, softly. I don’t know where it all comes from. I think I’m going to pass out, and yet I don’t even know if that’s possible without my master willing it. And that’s when I hear the zipper. “On your hands and knees.” Rage orders, and I turn over, arching my back up to receive him. “I think my slave needs a little sample. Would you like a sample?”
“Oh yes master! Yes!” The absurdity of him being fully clothed in his suit, and me writhing, messy, whore-like at his knees is slamming home anew. I feel him press himself into my cum slick opening, hold a moment, and pull out. I groan in agony at the withdrawal. “Please more master. Please more. Yours. . your whore. . .please” I dissolve into incoherence.
“You get more when you cum for me again Laurel. Do it Laurel. Do it. You have to.” he says simply. . .and with those words, I feel the contractions begin and I collapse onto my stomach as I cum again. While I’m still laying there panting and in sweet agony of accomplishment, lower than I have ever been, I feel him press his cock into me. But not into my pussy, into my ass. I am too exhausted even to shriek!
The zipper of his pants grates against my flesh and I feel like a slobbering humiliated animal. I do. And I hear him grunting. He grabs my hair for balance and scratches down my back with the other hand. I am too tired to move. Too tired to hump my ass back at him. Too tired to protest. Indeed, unable to do other than obey. And this is, I realize, exactly as he would have it.

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