He peeled off his black shirt, pulled it over his head then dropped it onto the tile floor. He pulled his badge off his belt, then his gun, setting both down on the counter next to his sink. Off came the beige pants, left in a heap on the floor. It was time to wash away the vanilla day that had left his skin tainted, as it often did.
The mirror was already steaming up when he stepped into the shower. He poured soap over a washcloth then began lathering up his body. Up his arms, covering the colorful serpent tattoos adorning them. One for each friend he had lost. Then over his core, hiding the names of his parents who had been taken from him too soon. Down his legs, strong and sculpted from the miles he ran each morning to clear his head. Lastly, the suds covered his cage and dripped down the date written in black ink on his inner thigh.
Today was the day. He didn't know how he would be allowed release, or if it would be a true release or a ruined one. All he knew was one way or another, the ache between his legs that had been steadily increasing for the past month would disappear for at least a little while. Then he would be locked up again, the date pushed back another four weeks.
Forty minutes later the sight of the towering trees made his prisoner start pushing against the bars of its cage. He pulled up to the south gate, often called the Slave Gate, and punched his number into the keypad. The iron bars slowly began to swing open, revealing the back of Château de Fierté. He pulled inside then parked underneath an ivy covered pergola.
He stepped out of his car and rocked his head back, inhaling the scent of fresh fallen rain on the cobblestone path. The château stood before him in all its intimidating splendor. Two stories, painted grey with crisp, white trim. The victorian style mansion called to him as it always did. No matter where he chose to live, this was home.
Two doors stood out on the back of the mansion. He headed towards the one in the far right corner. It was the only one a community slave was allowed to enter through unless accompanied by a domme. He typed his number into the keypad on the door then pulled it open when the green light flashed.
Before the door had clicked shut behind him he was already stripping out of his clothes. He wasn't allowed to wear them here. He folded them and placed them on one of the shelves lining the room then knelt down on the floor. There he stayed, waiting to hear the sound of footsteps coming to get him. Sometimes he waited minutes, sometimes hours. But he was a slave, and he had learned patience long ago. He inhaled deeply then released his breath, letting all the falsehoods he maintained in the vanilla world out with it. Here he didn't have to pretend, and he wouldn't.
They started from far away, all the way down the hallway. Then closer, and closer, until they were right outside. When the door swung open she looked down at him, a scowl covering her face.
"Eyes on the floor, Slave!" she shrieked, then pursed her painted red lips together.
He averted his gaze and clenched his jaw, his arousal plummeting at the sight of the inexperienced domme. He watched the silver key sway from a chain around her neck as she bent forward to lock his collar on him. The metal always felt cool against his skin, and today it felt even colder.
She snapped a leash to the collar then jerked on it. "You can crawl, Slave."
He followed closely on his hands and knees, the metal digging into his neck every time she playfully swung the leash around with her hand. Her black heels echoed down the hallway. He imagined she was purposefully accentuating the noise. Her curveless body couldn't possibly be causing so much natural concussion.
She turned left into a smaller dungeon then opened one of the cabinets. "Open. Now," she commanded, holding a butt plug to his lips.
He opened his mouth and she shoved it inside.
"I'm going to stick that in your ass shortly," she informed him.
He had already figured that much, but maybe it would be distracting enough to drown out her voice.
She pushed her hands underneath the short blonde hair at her neck then undid the clasp on the necklace. "Today may be your release day, but you better not come without permission or I'll push your day back eight weeks. Got it?"
Even though his sac was heavy with the weight of repeated denial, he doubted maintaining control would be difficult in her presence.
"Are you being disrespectful, Slave?" she questioned, putting her hands on her hips and tapping the toe of her black stiletto against the hardwood. "You answer when I ask you a question!"
He raised his eyebrows and looked up from the floor at her bobbing head. He pushed the plug halfway out of his mouth with his tongue to remind her of its presence then sucked it back in.
Her mouth tightened, her foot tapping more furiously. She reached forward, ripping the plug out from his lips. "Bend over," she hissed.
He held his seated position just long enough for her to recognize the only control she had was the control he was humoring her with. Then he assumed the position requested, flinching when the plug was shoved unceremoniously in place.
Her hand came down hard against his backside, her laugh sounding in his ears. "Good bitch."
He tensed, his anger burning through his chest. Today was supposed to be his release day, but now he would deny himself. He would never risk his place in the community over an immature, amateur domme, but he would not allow her the satisfaction of topping him. He would continue to behave as was required, but he would not come for her. Even if it meant another thirty days would pass before he was given another opportunity for release, he would gladly withstand the ache.
"Sit up, Slave," she demanded. "You don't get to come without permission. Understand?"
He had been a slave for three years and was well trained to adhere to the golden rule. But he sat up and for the thousandth time confirmed it. "Yes, Mistress."
She bent down, her hair tickling against his skin as she unlocked the cage and pulled it off. She poked at him, laughing. "Is that all there is? I hope it's a grower 'cause it's definitely not a show-er."
He had no concerns about the size of his manhood. Given how often he was uncaged and used for a domme's pleasure before being relocked without release, he knew his length was not only satisfactory but also in high demand. If she wanted to humiliate him there were much more appealing ways of doing so. The insult, however, would be beneficial to his current cause. So he sat still, unmoved by her attempts to emasculate him.
Her hands prodded at him, poking and stroking, attempting to bring him to life. "Nobody likes a tiny dick, and they damn sure don't like a soft, tiny dick. You should be punished for it being so pathetic!"
He had spent his twenties in the marines, and the seven years since in the police force. His slave training only added to the self control he'd spent his entire life mastering. She could tease and touch all she wanted, there would be no movement.
"Bend over!" she said, grabbing his hair and shoving his head to the floor. "Let's see how many times I have to spank you to get you hard."
Her hand came down on him, the sting shooting through his backside. He wondered how many swats she could manage before her arm got tired. He didn't consider himself a pain slut, but at the moment he found her attempts more amusing than painful.
The sound of the door creaking open brought his attention away from the irritation in his lower half.
"Hello, Mistress Elsa." The familiar voice made his muscles tense.
"Mistress Natalia," the domme behind him spoke, her tone flat as she brought her hand down on him once more.
Heels tapped lightly across the hardwood, his heart pounding harder with each sound until one finally struck the floor right next to his head.
"I'm so glad I could be here on such a special occasion, Officer Ray," her voice whispered in his ear.
His sac clenched when he heard the term of endearment only she ever used.
"Do you mind if I watch, Mistress Elsa?" she asked, taking a few steps away from him.
"Only watch, Mistress Natalia." The warning was clear, then her hand lit up his skin again.
"Only watch," she acquiesced, feigned innocence sounding in her voice. But the innocence disappeared in a second, her hazel eyes shining like gold when they found his.
Mistress Elsa's hand reached underneath him, then she sighed. "I didn't know you were impotent, Slave, or I would've chosen someone else."
"I'm sorry, Mistress," he replied, wondering if she would give up.
"He's not impotent," Mistress Natalia's voice cut in. "He's just stubborn."
"He hasn't been allowed to come for a month," Mistress Elsa argued. "No man is that stubborn. He just can't get it up."
"Maybe you need to use more invasive measures," Mistress Natalia said, her smile returning.
"You're right," Mistress Elsa said, then quickly turned and headed towards the far left cabinet. "Get on the bench, Slave."
His eyes stayed on Mistress Natalia as he bent over the bench and placed his arms and legs on the side rests. She didn't direct his gaze to the floor like most of the dommes at the château. He knew she used her body as an instrument of torture, every part of it from her silvery blonde hair to her white-tipped nails. She grabbed a chair and placed it a few feet from where his head rested. When she sat down her short red dress ran almost all the way up her thighs. He followed the sight, disappointed when she crossed her legs.
"I'm going to fuck you 'til you come, Slave," Mistress Elsa's voice sounded behind him, shattering his reverie. She walked around the bench, buckling the straps over him until he was sufficiently secured.
"You must have an incredible amount of stamina. Much more than I possess," Mistress Natalia commented from her seat.
