(another in the Acacia series, see chapters one and two to learn what brought slave Five to this point..) As always, thank you for comments and for voting your score at the end.
6.
In the week afterward, he thought of little else. He was his usual self at the office, in business meetings, in the interactions of daily life- shirts to cleaners, shop for food, a dinner at a local restaurant, and calls to friends. The car service had dropped him off at the club, where he found his car in the back of the lot. Driving home, the time with Acacia began to seem so out of his typical life it had an unreal quality and an oddly flat tone too. As a film or a story, happening to someone else, it would have seemed like an exotic adventure and a sexual fantasy too. In reality, he was surprised how easily he had slipped into the situation, doing things he never had imagined he would, without a real emotional peak.
As the days and nights went past, though, he remembered it in parts, and the feelings he had had. He recalled Acacia's eyes, when he first met her, as she watched him in the conditions she created, as she appraised him. He thought about the unusual ease of being naked and humiliated, and of receiving physical pain and of the honest longing he found himself trying to express to her without words. He thought about the woman Diana, an accessory to the process and someone not at all charmed by his efforts.
He held the small card with her number and looked at it from day to day, trying to understand what really drew him to the situation. At dinner with a woman friend from work, he felt it in his pocket as he chatted through the meal, smiling and wanting something more. The first time he called, the number rang without an answer. He felt somehow foolish, perhaps there was no number at all, and she had put him off as a further demonstration of control. He waited until later in the evening, and realized he had called but she had told him only to text message to the number. He had to stop and think through the process, he was a generation beyond the often-texting younger crowd. He slowly typed out the message had hit Send.
"May I see you pls? 5"
He was immediately doubtful; was this too little to say, did she want more pleading, did this seem too casual, or too needy? Nothing happened. He slipped the cell phone back into his pocket and returned to the paper and some work at home, but his mind wandered. When he heard the chimes, he had to think before he realized it was the text message tone, which he was not used to. He fished the phone out and found the key to light the screen.
"Graycliff station. Fri 8pm pickup. A."
He knew the place, a commuter rail station not far from the club where they had met, a place that would be empty long after rush hour the next day. The finality of her text seemed clear, with no invitation to reply or to chat, no greeting or humor. He knew he would debate with himself, consider not going, and never knowing, and he realized he would be there.
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It was raining Friday evening, a slow misty drizzle slanting through the lights on the other side of the station parking lot. He had left his car alongside the two or three others, probably commuters staying late in town. He was standing under the shed along the tracks, looking down the line to the three red signal lights and the gleam on the rails. Once in a while a car splashed along the road that swept by the parking lot and went under the bridge nearby, with its lights tracing the dark trees along the road. He had brought nothing with him, with no instructions to follow. Under his raincoat, he had worn casual but dressy slacks and a shirt, trying to hit the right note of style yet submission, without knowing where that line might be. He was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake about the date or the time or her intent when his phone chimed.
"Be ready 5. One min."
He turned to look down the hill to the road as a pair of headlights picked him out and curved toward him. The car was a surprise, an older Lincoln stretch but one well past its prime, another car service vehicle it seemed. He stepped out into the rain and opened the rear door to slide in, and as he turned on the creased black leather seat he was surprised to see a woman facing him in the car. He had not seen her before, but he began to think she might have been at the terrace lunch. She was in a dark raincoat, with boots, and seemed to also have just come in from the rain. As the car moved away, he started to settle into the seat when she spoke to him.
"Slaves kneel, don't sit with me." She pointed to the flat floor, and he awkwardly took the kneeling pose as the car moved him around. He could not see the driver, as he braced himself with knees apart and his head up. She reached out with her booted foot to push his legs further apart and held her boot between his legs, tapping smartly under his balls. She held the toe of the boot to his lips, expectantly, and after a few seconds he kissed it, tasting the wet leather of it. She held it there, and he tentatively licked it, which seemed to be the right thing. He licked more, polishing it, as she watched, and the car bounced over the road. As he licked, he looked up along the tall boot.
"Are you looking up my dress, Slave? Is that what you want? You seem to have only one thing in that mind."
His face reddened, and he turned his eyes down. "Ah, no, umm,,Ma'am,,,I never.."
She used her foot to push him off balance, and he fell sideways on the floor of the moving car. As he scrambled back onto his knees, she slid forward on the seat and pulled him toward her, opening her coat and pushing his head between her thighs. Lifting her skirt with one hand, she used the other on the back of his head to push him forward roughly. Her musky aroma was strong, as he struggled to kiss her legs, and her panties. She pushed harder, and he worked his tongue, finding the smooth skin of her thigh, pressing the panties aside and licking into her. He found it hard to catch his breath as she lifted her hips to him, making him choke as he licked faster. She held him to her, urging him on, then sat back and pushed him away again with her boot. He knelt, his face wet with her juices, as the car took another corner. She reached past him to tap on the glass divider, and after the car pulled off the road he felt the cold air as the driver opened the rear door.
A younger woman, clearly the driver, stood at the open door. The rain had stopped now, but a cold mist blew into the car. The woman in the car laughed.
"This slave begged to serve; he seems to think he is something special. Try his tongue, see what you think." His face went redder, but he knew now not to question her. The driver stepped into the open door, with one foot on the floor of the car, and waited for him to crawl closer. She lifted her skirt as the older woman watched, exposing herself shaved with no panties. He knelt and leaned forward, his head against her, and his tongue out. He probed and stroked, to find her slit, and began to lick deeply as fast as he was able. His tongue was tiring as he felt her convulse, and press her body forward, holding him against her as his tongue fluttered in her and he tasted her juices. With an annoyed sigh she pushed him back, stepped away and slammed the door. He found his place, kneeling, as the car bumped back onto the road.
A few minutes later, the car turned into the familiar drive at Acacia's and climbed the rise to the country house. As the car pulled up, Acacia came out onto the broad front porch. The driver came around to open the rear door, and the older woman slid out and straightened her coat, brushing it smooth. "Nice to see you again, you know I always love your house."
Acacia smiled and touched her arm. "Thank you for stopping by the station for me to pick up that package." She turned, and saw him, still kneeling in the car, and laughed. "Five, get out of the car and go to the back door, you know your place here. Did you let them use you? My god, you are a disgusting slut, really. Go now."
"From the moment I called him Slave and made him kneel, he was a natural, and he never said no. His, ahh, skills do need improvement though; you will need to teach him I think. Still, he has some promise."
As he rounded the house, he heard the exchange of goodbyes and the slam of the car door before it headed back down the drive. At the lamp post by the kitchen door, he found his harness on the hook, with a black leather thong. He stood in the dark under the pool of light from the lamp, stripping off his clothing and awkwardly buckling himself into the harness, fitting it over his body and between his legs, then slipping the thong on over it. He went to the rough cocoa mat at the door and rang the bell.
Diana, the younger submissive woman from last time, opened the door and stepped back for him to walk in. She was casually dressed, in a short skirt and a loose shirt, with sandals, and smirked to see him almost naked in this slave costume. She took down the collar and chain leash for the coat hook in the back hall, fastened them on him, and led him down the stairs to a cellar, rather than to the front of the house. It was a country cellar, not a dungeon setting, with whitewashed stone walls and wood beams above, and dried flowers and herbs hanging upside down next to the large window and door to the back yard.
She pointed to him to stand on two low wooden boxes, then looped the chain leash over a hook on the beam above him. He began to feel ridiculous, with the silence, and the costume, and his legs spread as he straddled the two boxes, his hands at his sides. She walked around behind him, out of his sight, and he felt the weight of wrist cuffs being buckled on, and then attached behind his back. He heard the scrape of a wooden chair on the stone floor as she sat somewhere behind him.
