Itten's Pet

One of the most vivid dreams I've ever had involved an empty house, a chair, and a woman.

In an otherwise empty room, the woman was sitting up straight in the chair, her arms bound behind her, making her back arch. I kneeled in front of her, and kissed and sucked and nibbled and licked her nipples while she moaned. I guess it was what they call a lucid dream, because I felt totally aware of myself and made each decision in the dream consciously. I remember how her nipples felt in my mouth, the way her knees pressed against my own tits, remember even thinking I should kiss lower and see what she tastes like, "down there."

Waking up from that dream was painful. I was so wet, so horny, and no amount of masturbation or fucking could make me satisfied. I'd never been with a woman before, and I'd always been curious, but after that dream, I felt like I had tunnel vision. I would imagine pressing my face into heavy, natural breasts, nuzzling and kissing all the feminine curves... then stop short, so disappointed that it was only a fantasy.

I love cock, don't get me wrong. And as a submissive in a BDSM relationship, I get plenty of it. But this curiosity was getting the better of me, so I thought it was time to let Master know. But here's where my feelings got a little complicated.

I may be very much a submissive, a servant for my Master and him alone, but I didn't have any desire to be topped by another woman. In all my fantasies with other women, I was the top, I was the seductress, I was in control.

Master knew about my curiosities, but he didn't yet know the turn things had taken. In bed that night, I opened the conversation by showing him a porn clip I'd watched that day. It was a Domme playing with a skinny blonde woman. She was strapped down and the Domme was fisting her, slapping her tits. Master was interested, but not in the video. He was much more interested in the fact that I was interested.

"Who are you identifying with here, kitten?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "The girl strapped to the table, or the one doing the fisting?"

I swallowed. I didn't like my answer, it went against everything I knew.

"The one doing the fisting, I suppose." I avoided his eyes, so ashamed. I worried that he'd be disappointed in me.

His hands roamed my body, pinching my nipples, stroking my hair, cheeks, and neck. He pinched my nipples again, hard, painfully and perfectly, and I melted against him in a moan. He whispered against my ear, "That's right, give it to me, give me your pain." His fingers inched down my body, pulled my panties aside, and started rubbing my clit. My knees opened wider for him, like a kingdom's gate opens for its king.

"Could you really do that, kitten? Fist another woman's cunt, lick her clit, call her dirty names? Do you want to know what another woman's cunt tastes like?"

"I think I could. And yes, I do," I mumbled incomprehensibly.

His fingers stroked up and down my lips, opening me up and making me jump a little every time he came back up and circled back down. Clit to taint, taint to clit, and back again, passing up the glory hole each time, despite my hips pushing up and out, trying to take him in. He kept talking, asking what I would do with a woman, forcing me to imagine my mouth clasped to a soft, round breast, imagine my fingers exploring another woman's sloppy wet pussy.

He made me cum for him several times that night, over and over again, intent on his work, making me keep my eyes open for him each time. And making me thank him for each one.

*******

Master seemed thoughtful the next morning, watching me rush around to get ready for work. I pulled a white shirt out of the closet, a beige bra, my dark jeans.

"Not the beige one," he said softly.

I squinted at him. Raised my eyebrows, not in doubt, but as if to say, which one then?

"Black, please."

He knew I was wearing a white shirt, but I didn't question it. I knew better. He knew exactly what he was doing. I had a scarf already picked out, so maybe it wouldn't be too noticeable.

But she noticed. My supervisor definitely noticed. And not in a Um, that's not very professional way, but in a raised eyebrow, Oooh yum, sort of way. Interesting. She had blonde hair in contrast to my dark hair, straighter lines where I had ample curves, but I've always liked to watch her. She was a supervisor in every sense of the word, always in command and in control. Rebecca. I wondered if she had ever been called Becky.

When I went on my first break of the day, she was in the office kitchen, doctoring her coffee. Her back was to me, and I found myself staring at her hips, watching them move in rhythm with her stirring. I shook my head and went to pour my own cup.

Reaching for the sugar she had just set down, I said, "My mom always told me if I was going to drink coffee, I should learn to drink it black. But I've never quite managed that."

She chuckled. "Me neither."

"I can't help it, I like the sweet stuff." I wriggled my eyebrows and grinned lasciviously, over-exaggerating in the hopes of getting another laugh from her. I succeeded.

We shared a table and chatted until my break was over. When I stood up to leave, she took a turn wriggling her eyebrows at me. "Nice bra, by the way."

I gave her an open and sincere smile, waited a heartbeat. "Thanks."

********

"So? Any comments on your bra today?"

Sometimes he has the most uncanny ability to read my thoughts, because at that moment, I was playing the whole scene over again in my head.

"Yeah, Rebecca mentioned it, actually."

"Not in trouble are you?"

"Um. Well, no. No, I don't think so." I smiled a little half smile at him.

"Really? It's like that is it?"

"Only if you wanted me to. But yeah, I think it's possible."

He studied me for a moment. "Let's go to bed, kitten."

Knowing his cues, I stood in the middle of the bedroom with my eyes lowered, my hands resting at my sides. I quieted my thoughts, let out a slow cleansing sigh, and found my submissive self. In my mind's eye, she was curled up on a dog bed, naked except for a collar and leash. With my eyes closed I sensed her wakening and stretching, then kneeling in the perfect submissive's pose. Waiting. I waited, too.

Master stepped toward me and twisted my hair gently, laying it over my shoulder. I felt the leather collar against my throat, felt him buckle it, And with that, I was one with the submissive that was hiding inside me just moments before. We'd done this for so many years now, moving from a vanilla couple in public, to a Master and slave couple in private. But even now, it was easier for me to transition into sub mode if I pictured it in my mind like this. Almost like a changing of the guard.

"Who owns you?"

"Master owns me."

He put his hand in my hair and made a fist and pulled. "Who owns this?"

"Master does," I winced, but with pleasure. No one can pull my hair as perfectly as he does.

He brought his hand around to my throat, grasping and squeezing above the collar. "Who owns this throat?"

"Master owns it." He growled and squeezed a little harder, bringing me just to the edge of seeing stars. I began to wish I was kneeling, and focused on not letting my knees buckle.

He handled my breasts roughly, slapping them once, twice, then a third time. I moaned.

"Who owns these tits?"

"Master does," I heard myself croak, already starting to feel the detachment that comes with a sub high. I love it when he starts like this.

His hand slid down to my hips, smacked each one hard, making my eyes water.

"Who owns these perfect curves, these hips?"

"Master owns these hips."

He hooked a finger through the collar and pulled me closer. Nose to nose now, he whispered forcefully, "I'm going to brand them. Soon."

I swallowed, lowered my eyes again. "Yes, Master."

"On your knees, bitch."

I dropped to my knees without hesitation. I licked my lips, anticipating his cock.

He kept a hand on my head while he pulled his boxers down with the other. I opened my mouth, and he filled it full with his cock. His hand kept my head still, while he fucked my face, slowly. All the way in, tapping the back of my throat, and all the way out, leaving my lips pursed and sucking on the tip of his dick.

"We're going to lay some rules down, fucksocket. My kitten is such a good girl, I'm going to let you fulfill your little lesbian fantasy. You're going to get to motorboat some tits, lick a cunt, pull some other bitch's hair. Isn't that what you want?"

I tried to nod.

His hand clenched in my hair and he nodded my head for me.

"But you're never going to forget who owns you, are you?"

I tried to shake my head, no. Never.

"Good."

He started fucking my mouth faster, pulling in and out with a sharp rhythm. No time to swallow, I let my spit spill out the corners of my mouth and drip down my chin.

"Now, this weekend, we're going to brand your hips. They're mine, you're mine, and I need it visible and known before you go fucking around. Once they're healed, you can bring Rebecca home. I'm going to watch, that's my right, as your Master."

He was rock hard now, his cock slipping into my throat with each thrust. He never pulled all the way out, he just kept hammering my throat, while I gagged and snorted, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"You're my hole to fuck." I groaned with pleasure at that. And groaned again when I felt his legs start to shake.

He pulled out and came in long thick spurts across my face, my open abused mouth, my hair. The last shot fell short of my face and hit my tits.

I licked my lips, reaching all that I could with my tongue.

"Thank you, Master."

*******

I only wished that Master had brought some handcuffs or rope to our branding appointment. I wanted this, to be marked as his, as a submissive, as a slave, and I was prepared for pain, having been tattooed a few times in my youth. I knew this would be a different pain, and in a different place than where I'd been tattooed. I was just a little worried about jumping or flinching and ruining the mark.

I tried to relax while the specialist readied his tools. Master had done some research, and chosen to go with the more modern method of elelectrocautery branding which involves a device something like an arc welder. It uses a spark of electricity to burn the skin and is more precise than the other methods. With an artist friend, Master had chosen a simple but graceful design involving his initials.

Taking another deep breath, I closed my eyes and looked for my submissive self. Imagined her naked, with a perfect and beautiful brand on each hip. When I opened my eyes, the branding artist was looking at me thoughtfully. The probe in his hand looked innocent, like a pen or a wand. A thin blue wire attached it to the electrocautery device.

"Are you sure about the size then?" he asked me, without looking at Master. I corrected this obvious mistake by looking at Master myself. He smiled and answered for us both.

"Yes, we're sure. The size of my hand print. Both hips."

He had already drawn the design on each side of me, and now he sat down to start on my left side, his head level with my hips.

"Please breathe, kitten. Don't hold your breath." He stood slightly behind me and cradled my head, reached down for my hand.

It was something like getting tattooed, in the sense that I was enduring extreme pain voluntarily. Not unlike being spanked or whipped, I suppose. Only I did find some pleasure in that, since I was always dripping wet when he finished. And the pain here was way more intense than a tattoo. Being tattooed brings a dull pain, one that gets down into your bones and makes you hum to distract yourself from the ache. With a tattoo, my endorphins always kicked in, and I would be giggling that it tickled by the time the piece was finished.

But this. This was a pain like I've never experienced. The first zap felt like nothing, just the impression or the idea of pain, but then nothing. And the second zap, and the third. But at some point that vague idea of pain became real pain. Real and sharp and maddening. One second I was fine, then I noticed I had broken a sweat, and as soon as I realized that, it was there. A sharp burning, like a million fiery needles attacking my hip relentlessly. I think the branding artist's name was Richard, but at this point I was calling him Dick in my mind. Or maybe it was out loud, hard to say.

At some point Master brought me orange juice, and I was sure it was fresh-squeezed nectar of the gods. So sweet and cool, I didn't stop drinking it until it was gone. I don't think I was supposed to chug it like I did, and I hoped I wouldn't get sick all over myself and the equipment. The faint smell of burning flesh, and the delicate wisp of smoke rising from my hip didn't help.

When Dick was finished, the design on my hips looked like it had been scored with a box cutter, or maybe scooped out with a tiny ice cream scoop. There was no blood of course, since the laser cauterizes the blood vessels as it goes. And most delightfully, it was all completely numb, just a sensation of being a little swollen.

I spent the next few days at home, naked from the waist down, enjoying some extended aftercare from Master. A few days after that, he soaked me in the tub and lovingly picked at the scabs of my scars, as ordered by the branding artist, to actually increase the scarring and visibility of the brand.

And a few days after that, I suddenly remembered why we'd done this, other than to mark me as his of course. He was going to let me be with a woman, as long as I had this reminding me that I belonged to him. My heart skipped a beat or two.

*****

I had taken a week off from work to allow some healing time, and I needed to burn up some vacation time anyway. I went back to work wearing loose fitting skirts and no panties, until I'd healed completely.

Then, one rainy morning before leaving for the office, Master gave me an especially lengthy kiss, then held me as close as he could and still be able look into my eyes. I believe it was what they call a piercing gaze. That was all it took to know that he was giving me the permission I needed.

Rebecca had noticed my new skirty style immediately, since I didn't typically wear skirts or dresses unless I was held at gunpoint. The first morning back she had flashed me the old eyebrow wriggle looking obviously down at my bare legs. I had laughed and turned away, very aware of how the skirt swished around my naked and tender hips.

And then, finally, I had an opportunity to visit Rebecca in her office.

"They say you need to sign these before I send them off to the printer?" I had poked my head in her door, waited for her to motion me the rest of the way inside. She glanced up from her computer and smiled, but continued to type. I took her smile as a cue to come on in.

She usually kept her door closed, not to separate herself, but simply because the rest of the office was pretty loud and she was on the phone with clients so often. Without hesitating, I closed the door behind me. I stood in front of her desk for moment, while she finished out her thought, writing whatever she was writing. I shifted my weight, trying not to look impatient. I watched her face, her dark eyebrows pinched together, contrasting so dramatically with her blonde hair.

As a sub, I was always waiting patiently. Waiting for the next blow job, waiting for the next orgasm, waiting for the next spanking, waiting for attention. Patience is practiced constantly. A quiet and calm mind are necessary, and impatience is not rewarded.

I wasn't feeling very subby right now. In fact, I felt very far away from that part of me. I couldn't imagine standing there another moment, looking lost and helpless. Looking submissive, of all things. I knew what I wanted, and I'd be damned if I was going to wait or be patient one more minute. I wanted control and power, and I felt like I had all the confidence in the world to take what I wanted. A quiet voice in my mind wondered if this was how Master felt.

I walked, if not marched, over to Rebecca sitting so snottily behind her desk, ignoring me so pointedly. As if I was an observer in that moment, I watched from a distance as I reached for her hand. Watched her let me take it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Watched me swivel her around in her chair so she was facing me. Watched me take her hand and place it on my thigh, just at the hem of my skirt. Watched me move her hand slowly up my thigh, under my skirt, to the warm place where my thighs meet, further up and up, until I heard her quiet gasp as she realized my pussy was bare.

Holding her hand there, I said, "I want you."

She looked up at me finally, I felt like I could read her thoughts, and even more than that, control her thoughts. They were mine. And she wanted me, too.

*****

With little discussion, Rebecca came home with me. She followed me in her car, and I had a hard time keeping my eyes on the road. I kept glancing in the mirrors to see if she was still following. I tried not to plan out the rest of the night. No pressure, whatever happens, happens, I told myself. Regardless, I couldn't help but imagine what Rebecca would look like naked. What her skin would feel like, her smell... if she liked her hair pulled.

I suddenly felt so nervous. What if I had it all wrong? What if I had no idea how to finger another woman? What if I suck her nipples too hard, licked her pussy too lightly? What the fuck was I thinking?

Then I remembered Master would be there. My lifeline, my support, my anchor. The gratitude I felt almost moved me to tears. Sometimes it still amazes how I find bravery in my submission.

After some awkward small talk in the driveway, I opened our front door for Rebecca, and felt some of my confidence come back. That strange new side of me thought of her as my pet, and I wanted to guide her, be kind to her. I ushered her into the foyer, and shut the door softly behind me. She looked as nervous as I had felt on the drive home.

Recognizing the need for a reassuring touch, I reached for her hand. "Have you ever done this before?" I asked, smiling warmly.

"Ah. Well, one time there was this... Well. No. I haven't really."

I decided not to volunteer that this was my first time, too.

Leading her by the hand into the kitchen, I found Master preparing supper for us. He knew I was bringing her home tonight, via some quick texts from work. I introduced them, and watched her face as he indulgently brought her hand to his mouth and gave it a friendly kiss. Always the gentleman, he won her over quickly with his charm.

We talked and laughed over dinner and wine, and soon found ourselves treading in increasingly intimate conversation. I started feeling anxious, then annoyed. Then impatient. Sitting on our deck with the sun dipping down below the horizon, the candles, the hot and humid southern evening; all these things were making my thighs slick with sweat and desire.

That powerful and impatient feeling welled up inside of me, fresh and new. God, it was so like being high, just the opposite of a sub-high, way on the other end of the spectrum. I cleared my throat and set down my glass. I looked at Master, and he gazed back at me, gave me the tiniest of nods.

Without a hint of hesitation, I stood and walked over to Rebecca. I took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, up her forearm, to the inside of her elbow. She smelled amazing. Sweat and sex and honeysuckle. I heard her breathing speed up as I pulled her hair back from her damp neck. Mmm, salty and sweet, all at once. I nibbled her ear, let my breath exhale ever so softly against it. I watched her knees open slowly.

"May I?" I breathed against her ear again.

She nodded, assuring me. I scooted her chair back a little bit and kneeled in front of her. She glanced over at Master, then at me, with a questioning look.