Several weeks went by as mistress and slave grew more and more comfortable and attuned to their roles. Laurel found herself becoming extremely content. Even the most arduous workdays ceased to bother her; knowing what awaited her at home, the ways her slave could remove her tension, actually prevented the tension from developing in the first place. She was more productive, more relaxed, better rested, and quicker to smile or laugh than she had ever been.
Jared, too, was greatly enjoying his servitude. He had always disliked housework; now, given the context in which he performed it, it was actually fun, a game. In his eagerness to please his mistress, he found himself going to great lengths to ensure things were not just clean but spotless, that his meals were not just ready on time, but were expertly seasoned and served with careful presentation. Making the bed, folding clothes, ironing, all things which he had previously done begrudgingly and with no real attention to detail, he now took great pride in.
He'd given her no reason for punishment since those first days, although, as good as her word, she still gave him floggings or whippings from time to time, for the simple fact that she legitimately got aroused from inflicting pain. As Jared was equally aroused by receiving it (or, more accurately, by knowing that inflicting it aroused Laurel), it was a good match. She allowed him two or three orgasms a week. These were sometimes the result of a rough handjob from her, or, on rare occasions when she genuinely wanted his cum in her mouth, from a quick blowjob, always when he was bound severely and always with a time constraint applied. More commonly, though, she allowed him release by having him masturbate to orgasm, invariably into a glass from which afterwards she would command him to drink. She had not yet allowed him to penetrate her except when wearing the hard acrylic sheath over his cock, nor to place his mouth on her pussy or breasts. These were treats she was not yet ready to yield.
Laurel knew that time would come, and she found herself longing for it more and more as the days went by. But a fear persisted in her mind, the fear that once she allowed him that intimacy, his attitude toward servitude would somehow change, that his performance outside the sexual realm would diminish in quality. When she examined her feelings, she realized that she loved him—not as a person, for she didn't really know him as a person. She had not engaged in any deep conversation with her slave, hadn't asked him his likes and dislikes, his personal history beyond the little she already knew, his politics, his religion (if any). No, she loved him simply as a slave—loved the fact that he kept the house spotless, that her laundry was immaculate, that her meals were delicious, that she was pampered, massaged, and otherwise physically satisfied in every way she could think of. She loved every moment of it, and she recognized that had her slave been someone other than Jared, her experiences would, she thought, not be quite as satisfying as they presently were. Perhaps most of all she loved that she did not have to care about this man at all. His needs and wants were utterly immaterial to her; she could use him to her own ends and give nothing in return, at least nothing in terms of emotional energy.
But there was one problem—she was starting to care. She found herself wondering if her slave was as happy with their arrangement as she was. He'd given her no reason to think otherwise, but she was beginning to realize how devastated she would be if he decided he wanted out. She knew she didn't have to meet his needs or desires in terms of a traditional relationship, but she wasn't so naïve as to think he didn't have needs and desires that had driven him to seek such a situation to begin with. Part of those, she knew, revolved around his desire to avoid personal responsibility for his life. But she worried that was a reaction to his divorce, that as he healed from those emotional scars, he would grow out of that phase. Such thoughts only troubled her vaguely at first, but in recent weeks they had been occupying more and more of her mind. The annoyance this caused her, though, gave her sadism a renewed force, particularly in light of the fact that her slave's exceptional performance had not otherwise allowed her many opportunities for punishment.
Jared, for his part, was head over heels in love with Laurel, although he knew as little about who she really was as she did of him. But he was keenly aware that serving her brought him a contentment—happiness, too, but more importantly a contentment—that he had never experienced. Apart from this, he had come to think of her as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And while the constraints on his sexual pleasure were demanding, the nearly constant state of arousal in which he found himself made the orgasms he was allowed of a quality and intensity far beyond those he'd enjoyed in his previous life of pornography, masturbation, and less-than-satisfying sex with his former wife. Still, he longed to be inside his mistress, to deepen their connection (he hoped it was their connection, and not just his), and he often wondered what her feelings toward him really were.
One evening at dinner (her latest whim was to have him lay on the table and stroke himself while she ate), Laurel had almost decided to ask him to speak candidly about his thoughts on their mutual arrangement. Just then her phone rang. It was her older sister, Lydia.
After the usual pleasantries, Lydia said, "Well, I'm sorry for the short notice, but this just came up. I'm flying in tomorrow for a meeting, but I figured I might as well stay for a few days and we can catch up. Since you didn't make it for Christmas last year, it's been almost a year and half."
Laurel loved her sister, but wasn't sure a houseguest would be a good idea. Still, she couldn't very well say no.
"I can't really take much time off from work, but...how long were you thinking?"
"Well tomorrow's Wednesday. I figured I could stay through the weekend and fly back Monday, so at least we'll have the weekend."
"Sure, it'll be great to see you. Do you need a ride from the airport?"
"No," said Lydia. "I'll be picked up for the meeting and I can have them drop me at the house afterward. We'll probably be done by 3."
"Ooh, I've got some late meetings tomorrow so I won't be able to get home before six."
"Well, just put a key under the mat for me."
Shit, Laurel thought to herself. "Yeah, sure, of course."
"Great! See you tomorrow, Sis. We'll hit the town."
Laurel put the phone down and tapped her fingers absentmindedly on the table. She watched Jared's prone body, his hand sliding up and down his rigid pole.
"Slave, you may stop." She indicated with her hand that he was to sit on the floor beside her chair, a position she reserved for him whenever she didn't want to send him away and yet didn't require any particular services from him.
"My sister is coming to visit for a few days. Obviously, this presents us with something of a problem. I see three solutions. The first is that we put you in a hotel during that time. This is the most secure of the three, but I am not partial to it for the simple reason that during that time you will be beyond my control, and that does not appeal to me. Second, we continue our arrangement. This will be incredibly awkward for all of us. I am not eager for my sister to be aware of my...proclivities. Finally, and I think this is the best, though not a perfect, solution, you can pose as my boyfriend, and our interactions will have to assume all the trappings that would entail. Will that be a problem for you?"
"No, Mistress."
"Good. You'll be clothed, of course, and call me by name, as I will you. You'll continue your domestic duties. Under no circumstances will you kiss me or otherwise touch me, say, by holding my hand. I may hold yours, if I see fit; if that happens, you may reciprocate, but do not reach for my hand first, or do anything else that would compromise your true standing as my slave. You'll share my bed during her stay, but will not touch me while there either. We'll say you are a freelance writer. Otherwise, if the need arises, provide accurate details of your own life. We don't need a bunch of clumsy lies floating around. She'll arrive sometime after three tomorrow. Please let her in, get her settled, etc. I'll be home at the usual time. We can dispense with the bath. She and I will go out for dinner tomorrow, from which you will excuse yourself on the grounds that you have work to do. You'll be in bed before our return. Understood?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Good. Now clean up and retire to your room. I'll have no further need of you this evening."
"Thank you, Mistress."
Laurel was annoyed by the impending visit, annoyed at the lengths she would have to go to in order to hide the true nature of her relationship with Jared, annoyed mostly because of the disruption of her routine. It would be good to see her sister, she admitted. It had been too long. But would it be worth it?
The next day at a quarter to four, Jared nervously opened the door to reveal a rather petite and attractive blonde. She was heavily made-up, though attractively. Her clothes and hairstyle expressed none of the alternative, slightly Gothic appearance that Laurel embraced. She looked, in fact, perfectly ready to present the evening news.
As the door opened, Lydia startled; she had just started to bend down to look for a key under the mat.
"Sorry," said Jared sheepishly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm Laurel's boyfriend, Jared."
"Oh. Boyfriend? I didn't know...she didn't tell me. I'm Lydia."
"I assumed. Come in. Can I get your bags?"
"Please. How long you two been together?"
"Not long. A couple of months."
"You live here?"
"Um...yeah," said Jared, realizing he'd fallen into a bit of a trap.
"She's not usually so quick," said Lydia, teasing.
"Let me show you to your room," said Jared, hefting a bag over his shoulder and picking up a suitcase with his other hand.
"I meant I've been living here a couple of months."
"But that's not what I asked."
"Yeah, um, like eight. Eight months. We've been together."
"She hasn't mentioned you," said Lydia, sitting on the edge of the bed in the spare bedroom.
