The Boostore

By lamignonne and Zenmackie

(With this chapter our story comes to a close, unfortunately. Lamignonne and I had thought to make this a longer work, perhaps even a novel, but her life suddenly became extremely busy and she had no more time to write.

We're still in touch, at least occasionally, so it's not impossible that we'll come back to Marie's adventures some day, but probably not any time soon.

I hope you've enjoyed it. --Zen)

Marie was still straddling him, eyes closed and trying to catch her breath, her body still shuddering with the pleasure of her final orgasm, when he pushed her off his lap and onto the floor. With her arms still cinched behind her she had no way to stop her fall or brace herself for the impact, and she cried out as she fell. She landed flat on her back, wrenching her shoulders painfully in the process, and cried out a second time.

She was not the least bit puzzled, however. She knew she had failed to inform him before she came the last time and that there would now be consequences. There was a moment of apprehension...which to her surprise dissolved almost immediately, absorbed into the pool of serene acceptance which now lay at her core. She didn't care about anything just then, as she lay on the floor, still shaking with the occasional aftershocks of her climax. He would punish her, yes. And that was as it should be and she was glad of it.

As he stood up, seeming to tower over her as she lay looking up at him, she couldn't help herself: she gave him a smile that held all the love she felt for him in that moment.

Amazingly, he didn't seem angry. He looked a little exasperated, maybe, as he shook his head at her, then he made an impatient motion with his hand and said curtly, "Turn over."

Marie rolled, with some difficulty, to her stomach, her heart speeding up again as he stood over her at her feet.

He can do anything he wants to me

, she thought, shivering in anticipation.

He knows I'll take it—and thank him afterwards

. She could feel his eyes on her as they both savored her helplessness and subjection.

She didn't know what she expected—blows from some mysteriously-appearing implement to start falling on her, maybe—but she was surprised when all he did was reach down and remove the cinch above her elbows. She sighed in relief as her shoulders relaxed, but he left her hands cuffed.

He told her to get up and she struggled to her knees first, craning her neck to look up at him as she said quietly, "Thank you for letting me fuck you, Master."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond, only took her by the elbow once she'd stood and steered her to the stairs. Once at the top, he gave her a gentle push toward the bathroom. Suddenly realizing how badly she needed to use the toilet, Marie scampered in, somewhat relieved that he didn't follow her. At least he wasn't going to watch this time.

But, a few seconds later, Marie made the uncomfortable discovery that with her hands still bound, she had no way to clean herself. He'd set out a toothbrush for her, she saw—she must be spending the night, she thought happily—but she wouldn't be able to use it. Knowing her Master, this was not an oversight. Well, she had no choice. "Um, Master?" she called, but her voice came out hoarse and weak. She tried again. "Master, will you come and help me—please?"

He appeared in the doorway—grinning, the bastard. Marie hurriedly spread her legs and watched him practically swell with satisfaction.

"Wider," he ordered, just because he could, and she obeyed him. He helped her finish up, brushed her teeth for her, even brushed her hair until she was melting under his attentions. He stood behind her at the sink, and she met his eyes in the mirror as he massaged her sore shoulders, his strong fingers running over her silky skin. Suddenly unmindful that he didn't like her to speak out of turn, she blurted, "You're so handsome, Master!"

He turned her to face him and tipped her chin up, his twinkling eyes giving the lie to his grave tone. "Are you trying to flatter me, Princess?"

Marie's eyes widened and she hastened to say, "Oh, no, Sir—that is, I was just—just voicing my thoughts."

"Good. Because it won't get you out of your punishment."

She felt her knees go weak—and not with fear. "You could spank me, Sir," she breathed.

He reacted immediately—grabbing her hair, wrenching her head back and swiftly ripping off her nipple clamps with his other hand. While she gasped in pain, he growled, "What I

should

do is leash you to the end of the bed and make you sleep on the floor."

Marie felt crushed. Oh, how could she have doubted for a moment that he knew exactly how to punish her, really punish her and make her suffer? Not getting to share his bed tonight was the worst thing he could do to her right now, when all she wanted was to be close to him, to have his attention. "Please don't do that, Master," she pleaded. "I'm really, really, sorry—please punish me some other way,

please

!"

He watched her bottom lip trembling. God, he loved making her beg, especially beg for punishment, like she was now. He pushed her back so that she half-stood, half-sat on the edge of the sink. He forced her legs apart with his hands and then began to swat her pussy, hard, as he replied, "Then

stop

...

tell

ing me...

what

...to

do

with you!"

Marie held his gaze even as her eyes overflowed. She bit her lip and whimpered as each slap landed between her legs but she kept perfectly still until she was sure he had finished. Then she slid to the floor and took her kneeling position, wrists still cuffed behind her, looking up at him with tears rolling down her face. "I'm so sorry, Master," she whispered. "I'm your property, to do with as you wish, whenever you wish. I promise I'll never forget again." And with that she leaned back, sliding down the cabinet behind her until her shoulders, and then her head touched the floor, her legs sliding out from beneath her.

He stepped back, uncertain of what she was doing, and watched as she placed her feet on the floor, wide apart, and raised her hips as high as she could, offering him her slap-reddened pussy.

"Yours, Master," she said, her voice strained from keeping her position. "Only yours."

Damn, how did she do it? How did she get to him like that? He wanted to pick her up in his arms and hold her. He wanted to drop to his knees and fuck her just as she was. He felt himself stirring—again!—even though he had just come a few minutes ago. She brought out things in him he had never felt before...or had felt so long ago that he had forgotten. He had to fight to maintain his severe expression.

To distract himself he leaned down and gently separated her pussy lips with thumb & forefinger. Using his free hand, the one still holding the nipple clamps, he used the tip of his forefinger to stroke her clitoris. Not surprisingly it responded quickly to his ministrations, swelling up like a tiny cock as he watched. He heard a soft moan from Marie and saw that she had her eyes closed and was beginning to breathe heavily through her nose. He kept stroking her long enough to make sure that she was under his spell. Then he quickly opened one of the clamps and used it to seize her clitoris.

Marie shrieked. "Oh god! No! Please take it off, Master! Oh god, please!" ...But she held her position.

He admired her for that—even though these weren't his strongest clamps, it had to hurt like hell. And now her legs were starting to shake from the pain and the strain of holding her hips up off the ground. But he didn't want her to get complacent, and start thinking she could breeze through a punishment with her dignity intact. He knew that with time she'd learn not to presume, but for now, he had to put her in her place before he could hold her again.

He knelt straddling her legs, then, deliberately, he reached down and dragged his fingernail over her engorged clit where it was trapped in the clamp.

It worked; she shrieked, collapsed, and tried to roll away, but was prevented when he rested his knees on her thighs, effectively keeping her legs open and holding her in place. "You say this is mine?" he asked her, his voice low but intense.

"Yes, Master..."

"Then ask me to do it again."

She moaned, felt herself getting wetter, despite her discomfort, and made an anguished effort to obey him, but all that came out was a whimpered, "Please..."

He slapped her lightly across the face, and she stopped thrashing her head around and looked at him. "Ask me."

Pinned by his gaze, she choked out, "Please—touch me again, Master!", and then he watched her eyes widen in alarm as he slowly brought his hand down to her spread open crotch. When he was millimeters away she lost it, bucking, wringing her hands in their cuffs behind her back, and whimpering, and the feeling of power that rushed through him was intoxicating. God, he loved this, having this beautiful, vivacious creature entirely under his thumb—so to speak. He scraped his nail over her again and she broke out in a sweat, and then started babbling apologies.

Well, there was no hope for it now, he thought. He was going to have to fuck her again. Without hesitating he rose and then yanked his wobbly slave to her feet, marching her swiftly into the bedroom. He pushed her down on her back on the bed, her head near the middle of the mattress and her legs dangling over the floor at the foot. Moving quickly, he snatched some silky ropes out of a drawer and swiftly and efficiently tied Marie's right ankle to the tall bedpost, as high up as it would go. He did the same with her left ankle, so that she was left on her back, her hands cuffed behind her, and her legs spread wide and pointing straight up into the air. Fumbling with his pants, he took his place between her legs and plunged into her wet pussy at the same time as he pulled the clamp off.

Marie's eyes rolled back in her head and she let out a strangled scream as heady sensations overcame her. Her clit throbbed and stung as the blood rushed back into it, and meanwhile his cock was buried deep inside her. And then she gasped and started to struggle as he began fucking her, remorselessly rubbing her swollen and sensitive clit in rhythm to his thrusts. Sweet Jesus, he was going to kill her—the pleasure she felt now was so akin to pain, so mixed up with it, that she couldn't assimilate it.

Only his voice, rough with urgent desire, kept her from passing out. "Whose pussy is this?" he demanded, his fingers squeezing her clit, his hips pounding against her ass as he fucked her.

"Yours, Master!" she screamed.

He was breathing hard, fucking her savagely—"And I can do what I want with it. Right, slave?"

"Yes, oh, yes, Master!" She was sobbing now, as she felt her besieged senses bringing her close to orgasm. "Yes, punish me, do what you want with me, Master, I'm your—your propertyyyyyy!" Her cries ended on a wail as she came explosively, squeezing his cock so hard he came himself, then paused just long enough to untie her legs before he collapsed next to her. Neither of them could move for several minutes.

Marie drifted away into sweet lassitude, her bodily pains somewhere beyond a distant horizon, coming back to herself only when she felt his hand gently brushing away the hair that had fallen across her face. She opened her eyes slowly and looked up at him. She loved being like this: laying beneath him, completely surrendered and open, the center of his attention. She smiled timidly and asked, "Am I forgiven, Master?"

Instead of answering he drew away from her and stood up, and for one terrifying moment Marie was afraid she had offended him again by asking. He rolled her onto her stomach. She could no longer see, but she heard his footsteps padding across the room and then disappearing down the stairs. She

had

offended him, and he was going to get something with which he could whip her, she was sure of it. She found that she was perfectly fine with the prospect of further punishment if that's what he felt she deserved...but the thought that she had displeased him again hurt her to the heart.

She was already composing an apology in her mind when she heard his returning footsteps. She waited. The footsteps came to the side of the bed and stopped. He seized her wrists in one hand and Marie was prepared to be dragged off the bed, or held there and flogged or.... anything but the click of her handcuffs being unlocked and then removed. Anything but being gently rolled onto her back and taken in his arms as he lay down beside her. Anything but being kissed tenderly and told, "Yes, you're forgiven, princess," and then kissed again.

Marie had to duck her head, faintly ashamed at the thought of him seeing how powerfully he affected her emotions. She nuzzled her cheek against his warm chest and tried to blink back her tears. Would there ever come a day when his approval made her feel only mild satisfaction? Surely she wouldn't always be this overwhelmed with joy and relief when she pleased him... She needed to get a grip. In an attempt to distract herself, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head: "Are you mad that I can't cook?"

He laughed. "Wouldn't it have been nice to have a slave who was capable in the kitchen?" he mused, teasing her. "Fortunately, I'm competent enough for us both, I think."

"Yes, Master—thank you for the lovely meals," Marie hurried to say.

"How do you manage when I'm not around?" He was genuinely curious.

Marie grimaced, thinking of how frequently she ate cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—how horrified he'd be to hear of that, she thought! "You don't want to know," she muttered.

There was a brief pause, and Marie continued to hide her face from him. Strangely, she didn't feel at all sleepy now. There was a sort of tension between them, things they needed to talk about.

Finally he broke the silence, murmuring, "How are you feeling now, princess?"

Suddenly realizing she'd been holding her breath, Marie exhaled shakily. "I feel...well..." she hesitated, trying to put her myriad emotions into words. Just then he rolled to the side so that she found herself on her back, his weight on her legs and hips, while he braced himself on his elbows, looming over her. She felt comfortable this way, with his power so clearly defined in their respective positions, despite the way his authority made her heart beat faster. She put her arms around him gratefully. He slipped his fingers into her hair on either side of her head, stroking the line of her jaw with his thumbs and tilting her face up, so she finally looked into his eyes. "I feel like I'm drugged," Marie finally blurted, the admission coming out in a whoosh of breath. "It's—

you

—are...intoxicating," she tried to explain. "I—I really don't know how I'm going to go back to my normal, boring life. With you, every minute I'm

feeling

something. It's...dizzying."

She searched his face to see how he was reacting to this, but as usual he gave nothing away. A moment later, though, he moved his hand and idly closed it over her breast, his hot palm brushing her nipple. Immediately, she gave a little gasp and arched her back, trying to push her chest towards him in invitation.

"Such passion," he murmured. He didn't tell her this, but his feelings since meeting her were not dissimilar. This thing between them may have started as a game, as far as he was concerned, but it had quickly become something much more important, something all too real. He pictured her as she'd been on that first night, passion warring with uncertainty in her demeanor, spread out naked on that table in the back room, her pussy swollen and wet for him even as she writhed in the pain from her clamped nipples. Even he could not have guessed how easily she would become his slave, how completely she fell into the role once given the chance.

He wondered how she'd feel if she knew he'd been watching her, on and off, for most of the day; that the 'security' cameras installed all over the house provided a live feed to his computer that he could access from his cell phone? He'd never been able to watch for more than a minute or so at a time, and only when he was alone, of course, which hadn't been often that day. But he'd checked as often as he could, knowing that with her hands chained the way they'd been there was some danger of her falling or otherwise injuring herself, and he'd been prepared to rush back to the house on a moment's notice if need be. Not to mention the immense satisfaction it gave him to watch his sweet, naked little slave struggling to serve him obediently even when he wasn't there to oversee her, even when she so obviously hated what she was doing.

Such sweetness, such passion...such complete surrender. Yes, he was becoming at least as intoxicated with her as she was with him...and he wasn't at all sure that was a good thing. He was glad that the weekend was nearly over. They both needed to catch their breath.

He leaned down and kissed each of her nipples in turn, tenderly. Then he raised his face to hers. "Your 'normal' life is never going to be boring for you again, princess. From now on, no matter how far apart we are, no matter where you are or what you're doing you will always be aware of what makes you different from everyone else in the world."

He fell silent, and waited. Marie looked up at him, her eyes shining, and whispered, "That I belong to you, Master."

He made no reply, other than to lean down and kiss her on the mouth. He lingered there, gathering her up in his arms and crushing her to him as if trying to pull her all the way inside his body. It was a long time before he let her go. Then he rolled off her and onto his back, pulling her with him so that she nestled into his shoulder, her head resting on his chest.

They slept.

Marie awoke, feeling him gently caressing her hair. It was still dark outside, with just the barest wash of gray hinting at the approach of dawn. He was standing next to the bed, leaning over her. As she became more awake she saw the he was fully dressed—and that he was holding her collar and leash in his hands.

"Time to go, princess," he said softly.

Marie's heart sank within her. She'd hoped they'd wake up together, snuggle in bed for a while, maybe fuck again, shower together and have a leisurely breakfast—prepared by him, of course—before he sent her on her way. Oh god, she couldn't stand the thought of leaving him at all—why did it have to be like this? The life she'd been leading contentedly enough just a few days ago now stretched before her like an endless desert. Still, he was here now, holding her collar and leash...

She obediently sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, lowering her head and offering her neck for him to close the collar around. Instead, she felt his lips there, warm, soft and a little dry, and this show of tenderness, especially when she was already feeling so vulnerable, had the effect of making her burst into tears, fall to her knees and throw her arms around his legs, sobbing, "Please don't make me go, Master! Please! Let me stay here...I'll clean the house, I'll...I'll learn how to cook, I promise! I'll...I'll..." She dissolved into incoherent sobs, her head against his thigh, her shoulders shaking.

She felt her arms being gently disengaged as he knelt down to face her, taking her hands in his own. He waited for her to raise her eyes to his. "You belong to me," he began, softly. "You are my most precious possession." He reached up to cup her face in hands and used his thumbs to brush away the tears as he continued, "But that's not

all

you are...and neither one of us would be happy for long if you tried to be." He pulled her forward until her head rested on his shoulder and began stroking her hair. "I'm going to take you home. You're going to do your homework, answer your email, catch up with things. Tomorrow you'll go to your classes, talk with your friends, live your life just as you've been doing." He pulled her away from his shoulder and looked into her eyes. "You will not contact me or come here or to my store until Friday night, is that understood?"