We're moving house. We didn't want to but they insisted - the tenants in the other apartments that is. They say I make too much noise. Balls! The walls may seem to be made of paper but don't tell me they can hear us over their TVs.
Anyway Master nearly always gags me before we start. We keep a bowl of apples on the table and when he's in the mood he'll say 'Open Wide', just like my old dentist - in the days when I could afford a dentist. And when I open my mouth, why he pushes an apple between my teeth. Sometimes he ties a scarf round my mouth to keep it in place, but mostly he leaves it to me to decide - he's kind and considerate that way.
So it's not my screams, or the sound of his hand on my arse, or the flogger on my breasts and thighs, or my moans when he finally rams himself in my welcoming hole.
No, it's envy. We mean everything to each other and it shows. We can't get enough of each other. It's there for all the neighbours to see.
The way he holds his arm around me when we go out, his hand under my cropped tee shirt massaging a sore, bra-less boob, occasionally tugging the chain joining my nipple rings. The times when my cheeks are a bit streaky, my eyes slightly swollen - people can see that not long before I was crying with the blessed pain.
Not that its taking us any real effort to move. We don't own much. Our Ipod, the laptop, a couple of books, and our toys - the cuffs; the ropes; the paddles, whips and floggers; and the hefty ringbolt that he screwed into the lintel above the bedroom door. We've also got a suitcase with a some clothes for when we need to go out to the shops, or to panhandle for a few pence - we rarely bother to wear anything in the apartment. It's fun to see the reaction of a salesman or unsuspecting visitor who, having made the mistake of knocking on our door, is answered by one of us, naked as the day we were born.
Master says it's a coincidence - they do happen - that we're moving home on the anniversary of when we met. It certainly doesn't seem a year since he found me sitting on a bench in the park crying with despair.
I'd come from seeing my mother buried - I never knew my father - and now I was an orphan, alone in the world. Too old they said to go into care, to become the responsibility of the state. Too inexperienced to fend for myself. What was I to do without money and a place to live?
Sobbing, I told him the only practical solution I'd come up with was to sell my body to the men who kept staring at me - it seemed they couldn't keep their lustful eyes off my long legs and big tits. But how to do it; what to charge; how to make sure they paid?
He was gentle, said that if I wished he would look after me. I was too naive to distrust him, and so I became his woman. Fortunately, within a couple of days, it became clear that we were truly meant for each other and couldn't contemplate ever living apart.
However, it took longer to discover what best pleased and satisfied the other. Those first few of weeks I used my safety word a lot, until he slowly came to appreciate how much of the pain I so desired I could actually accept, and I learnt how to use my hands and tongue to evoke his deepest pleasures.
He celebrated the end of our first month together by presenting me with a collar, complete with a loop at the front to which he could clip my leash. Never have I so welcomed a gift. To be allowed to wear the mark of his ownership for all the world to see.
Then for my birthday - I may not look it, but I'll have you know it was my nineteenth - he took me to meet a friend of his who owed him a favour.
Sat on an upright chair I was told to remove my top. Mesmerized, the friend stared at my naked tits for several minutes then said, 'You always were a lucky bugger, Paul.' After which he teased and pinched my nipples until they stood hard and erect.
To the side he had a blowtorch. Holding a large needle in a pair of pliers he carefully held it in the flame. When it was cool again he nodded to Master and, leaning forward, grasped my left tit. Master stood behind me and held my shoulders as the friend pushed the needle through my nipple. It's just as well Master is strong for I struggled and cried out at the pain. Pulling the needle out the friend replaced it with a large silver ring. I'd nearly fainted, but they ignored me and methodically proceeded to fit another ring through my right nipple.
Tears were streaming down my face as Master thanked his friend and took me home. There he produced what had once been a silver chain necklace and threaded it between the two rings.
Before using me that evening he held me in front of the bathroom mirror and let me admire the two rings with their linking chain that now decorated my tits. I had to agree it looked superb, worth all the pain. He's promised that next birthday I shall have one for my clit.
Because it's our anniversary and all, we're going to make a small ceremony of the move. He's had me clip his hair at the back, where he keeps it in a short ponytail, while he's shaved his bristles and tidied up the greying bits at the sides. I've trimmed my pussy, and together we've washed, dried and brushed my long hair. I'd thought of cutting it but he says he likes the way I keep it in a long plait that reaches down to my nestle against my butt. With clean tops and our jeans freshly washed we look smart.
Occasionally people wonder if he's old enough to be my father - he says it's possible, and that I'm certainly young enough to be his daughter. Which seems to confuse them - except the ones that are clever enough to note the difference between physical ages and mental ages.
We arrive at our new abode just before midday. The lift carries a stark notice
Out of Order
, which means we have haul out cases up the six floors of stairs. If it's normally like this, then it's as well we don't go out often.
Breathless we reach our new front door. Master unlocks it and steps inside. As I go to follow he stops, drops his cases and turns to take mine - indicating that I'm to wait outside. Our bags settled he comes back to where, mystified, I await him. Smiling broadly he reaches down and with one hand behind my knees and the other around my back sweeps me off my feet.
Bearing me like a fragile and precious possession he carries me across the threshold as if I am a new bride. I almost break down and cry with the joy of his kindness.
'Right,' he says, 'let's get organized then we can start playing.'
Playing
, that's what he calls the centre of our lives, the times when we seek to give each other a glimpse of heaven.
The small amount of furniture in the apartment is worn, but what do you expect of a cheap rental. As I unpack the case containing our clothes and place them in the scratched chest Master screws the hook over the bedroom door - at least that's what I think until I notice that from somewhere he has found four ring bolts, one for each corner of the frame. Great, that means I can be spread eagled upright as well as on the bed.
He finishes first and delving in one of the bags comes up with the two cans of beer we had been saving for a rainy day.
'They talk of wetting the head of a new born baby, so I think we should wet the door of our new found home,' he announces, opening the cans. 'A toast, to our home and all who play in it.'
'Most appropriate,' I say wandering over to survey the view from the window. Though the only thing to be seen is the block across the way.
Master comes and stands behind me.
'We'll have to get some curtains. If the guys over there see us at play they might decide to call the cops.' I tell him.
'Right you are,' he says gently stroking my shoulders. Then he lifts the back of my crop top and licks along my spine, sending a tingle right through me.
I place my empty can on the window sill and lift my top off over my head. As I drop it on the floor, from somewhere a gentle breeze strokes my bare flesh. A grunt of satisfaction from Master and his hands slide round to capture my firm breasts.
Spreading my hands on the window sill to take my weight I lean forward allowing my tits to hang freely. He squeezes and pulls my nipples pretending to milk me like a cow. It's one of his favourite ploys, though to be perfect I should be lactating and he should drink from me. Perhaps, one day soon - I hope.
Briefly I can feel his tool, hard and erect, press between my buttocks before he pulls away a pace and finds the fastening of my jeans. Speedily they, and my panties, are around my ankles. I kick off my trainers and step out of the cloth.
