This is the final part of Tethered. I want to thank everyone for reading and for your comments. They are much appreciated. I hope you enjoy how everything wraps up.
SDNight
21
She started to rise. Cassandra stopped her. "No, no. Little pets shouldn't walk unless they're told to do so." She went to her hands and knees and began crawling to the authoritative woman. "Much better." Cassandra patted her thigh. She went to her, knelt at her feet, and placed her head where summoned. The cloth of the dress was cool against her cheek. Cassandra stroked her hair. "She takes instruction well."
No answer from her master. He must've merely nodded, or he found the statement beneath his acknowledgement.
Of course, I'm well-trained. He trained me, bitch.
"What else does she do well?" Cassandra asked.
"As I said, find out for yourself."
At that, the fabric of Cassandra's dress moved beneath her cheek. The woman took the dress at her thighs and lifted it until, beneath the table, she bared herself. Still in position, her cheek now touching bare thigh, she waited, seething. Cassandra traced a single fingernail down her face. She refused to react to the woman's touch. "I don't know your commands, little pet, but I don't need to. You know what's required of you."
She crawled under the table, positioned herself between Cassandra's parted legs. The woman wore no panties. She started by peppering Cassandra's left thigh with light kisses, working her way inward, then teasing her pussy with a soft exhalation of breath before moving to the other leg and working her way down it. Hearing no response, no sighs, no moans, she teased a little longer. Nothing. The room was quiet. She opened her mouth and closed it on the slit between the woman's legs, working her tongue into the moist folds. She found her clit easily, but kept the tip of her tongue away from it. Instead, she explored. Damn it, the bitch tasted wonderful, and grew wetter with each lick, each prod. Yet, still no sounds. Fine. She slipped a finger inside Cassandra, rotated it, rubbed at her, massaged her most tender parts. She alternated the pressure of her tongue as she lapped between the woman's legs. She licked at her clit, first slowly, then speeding to steady flicking motions.
Finally, a sound, though not any she'd been hoping for.
"There's a village in a valley about thirty miles from here," Cassandra said, her voice unchanged. "That's our closest neighbor. We interact a little, mostly vegetable trade. They're a decent lot."
"How long would that trip take?" her master asked.
"By foot? About four days."
Her mouth and cheeks were wet with Cassandra's juices. Her cramping tongue was buried inside her, working furiously. Yet, there wasn't even a hitch in the woman's breath as she carried on her conversation. She slipped her hands underneath the dress and soothed them up to her breasts.
"Uh, uh. No hands," Cassandra said casually. "Put them behind your back."
Bitch
.
"What about over the mountain?" her master asked.
Her sticky cheeks grew warmer. Sweat formed on her forehead, spilled into her eyes and stung. With her hands behind her back, she could only support herself by pressing harder into Cassandra's pussy. Her arched back screamed a protest. Her jaw popped. When the hell was this woman going to come?
"That's a hike. It'll take a couple weeks at best. Probably more. Even when you make it down the other side, the next place with any decent sort is another eighty miles."
"You're sure?"
"We keep up with our neighbors."
"Of course."
She stalled her tongue, tilted her head to the side to draw a deep breath. She was panting, almost gasping. She didn't move her hands though. Her master would be severely displeased if she disobeyed the woman. As she turned her face back to commence, Cassandra grabbed a handful of her hair and lifted her off.
"Enough," the woman said. She held her aloft as she smoothed her dress back down. With her other hand, she patted her thigh, then released her.
Steadying her breathing, she returned to Cassandra's lap. Her muscles ached, and her limbs quivered from the exertion and awkward positioning. How long had she been between the woman's legs? Ten, fifteen minutes? The trembling she knew Cassandra could feel embarrassed her. Hadn't the woman just questioned her toughness? Yes, and now she'd been reduced to shaking like a scared mouse. She cast that worry aside. There was a more pressing concern. Why had the woman stopped her?
Enough
. She obviously hadn't had an orgasm. Had she jerked her away because she was on the brink? Much worse, had she done so because she hadn't liked it and had grown irritated with her fumbling around? She swallowed hard, immediately wished she hadn't. It felt as if a rock had worked its jagged way into her esophagus.
"When will you leave?" Cassandra asked, and resumed stroking her hair lazily.
"Soon," her master said.
"Then we'll loan you a horse. No, don't object. We often trade them with our neighbors. It'll save you significant time. It's not as dangerous up here as down there, but the mountains are still treacherous. Best not to be without shelter any longer than need be."
"I would be in your debt."
Cassandra laughed. It wasn't the worst sound she'd ever heard. The fingers running softly through her hair tightened suddenly, tugging at her scalp. "Oh, I think after tonight, we'll be quite even."
The rock worked its way down further.
"Stand, little pet," Cassandra said.
She rose on unsteady legs. She kept her head bowed, eyes on the floor, hands behind her back. She awaited further instruction in a fog of anxiety, uncertainly, and, she hated to admit, expectancy.
"Who owns you?" Cassandra asked.
She almost said
You do
. It had been her answer to that specific question for so long that it was ingrained, a reflex, a habit. "My Master," she said.
"Correct, but for tonight you will obey me. Understood?"
She didn't need to look back at her master for assurance. He'd chosen to gift her to this woman. If he had any problems, he'd let them be known. "I understand."
Cassandra slapped her face. It wasn't particularly hard, but it caught her off guard. "I am not your Mistress, but neither am I undeserving of proper respect. You do not answer me as if I was some gal pal of yours." Cassandra reached out and gripped her chin, forced her to meet her eyes. "Yes, ma'am. No ma'am. That is how you answer me, little pet." The woman thrust her chin away. She bowed her head again. "Now, do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She wanted to rip the woman's hair out of her head. Who was she to talk to her this way, to treat her this way? If her master desired for her to do this, fine, she would. She'd do any demeaning thing required of her for his pleasure, but she didn't have to like it. He'd shared her many times over the last year, but those people had understood their place. They bossed her around, made her do all manner of things, hurt her, pleasured themselves with her body, but no one spoke to her as if they owned her. She had given that to only one person. No, she didn't like Cassandra at all. Her voice, though, that composed, controlling, confident voice, that she couldn't seem to make herself hate.
"Better. There are four rings screwed to the wall over there." She pointed. "Go stand in front of them."
She started toward the rings. She hadn't taken two steps when Cassandra snatched her by the hair and forced her to her knees. The woman's mouth was at her ear in an instant. "Did I tell you that you could walk?"
"No ma'am," she said, wincing.
"No, I did not. You better learn quick, little pet, or tonight will be much rougher on you than necessary."
Cassandra released her, and she crawled on hands and knees to the wall with the four rings. Her cheeks were flushed. Heat escaped from the neckline of her dress. Neither was from embarrassment. A vivid image of sending Cassandra's body tumbling down the stairs popped into her head. She suppressed a sinister grin.
She reached the wall, inspected the rings. Four of them - dull grey, a bit rusted, about three inches in diameter. Two were about ankle level. The others were just the right height to attach a pair of wrists. That is, if a person raised their arms and spread them wide. If she hadn't already figured out that this wasn't Cassandra's first rodeo, this did the trick.
Footsteps came up behind her.
"Stand. Now, take the hem of that pretty dress in your hands. Raise it to your chin, and show yourself to me." She bared her body to the woman. She would've loved to gauge her reaction, but couldn't with her eyes cast down. "Stuff the fabric in your mouth, bite down, then drop your arms to your sides."
When she'd done as instructed, Cassandra took one of her breasts in her hand. The hand was rough, a worker's hand, but it was warm. It squeezed at her, not gently. Fingers found her nipple, pinched hard and tugged down. A soft cry escaped her lips before she could snatch it back. The hand released her tender nipple, and nails scratched down her stomach. Cassandra cupped her pussy. She willed it to be dry, unenthusiastic, disinterested. It was none of those things, damn the little traitor. Two fingers thrust inside her. When Cassandra pulled them out, she knew they'd glisten with her juices.
"Let the dress fall. Turn around." She did. Cassandra lifted her dress up and over her head. The hem tickled her nose. Fingers pried at her lips. "Open." Mouth open, the fabric was forced in deep. "Bite down. Spread your legs wide." When she had, she heard footsteps walking away from her. They returned moments later, and a hand clutched her left ankle. With impressive speed, soft rope was looped around her ankle, fed through the ring, and tightened securely. Cassandra affixed the right ankle just the same. "Arms over your head, spread wide. Do not let that dress fall out of your mouth."
In moments, she was fastened to the wall. She had a little room to wiggle, but not much.
Cassandra cupped both of her cheeks and dug fingernails into her flesh. She traced lines across a few old scars. "Impressive. Lovely. You do good work."
"An artist must create," her master said from his chair across the room.
Hearing his voice made her long for him. She didn't want to be this brash woman's canvas. She was not her master. She could beat her within an inch of her life, but she wouldn't be anything but a pale imitation of the man who owned her, body and soul.
"What do you think?" Cassandra asked her master
"Very nice. Where'd you find such a thing?"
