AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a story of sexual fantasy. All events and characters are fictional, although many are inspired by my experiences. When engaging in BDSM, I always adhere to SSC (safe, sane and consensual) principles. Readers are warned, however, that I've depicted a few scenes in ways that some might deem excessive. Those who object to such depictions are encouraged to enjoy other works.
As a writer, I greatly value engagement with readers, so I welcome all feedback and questions, either in the public comments or privately. All private communications will be answered.
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CHAPTER 3, in which Holly adjusts to new circumstances
"Wake up, Holly. It's nearly eleven o'clock."
Carla's voice cut through the fog of my sleep like the razor-sharp steel of a katana blade. Through blurry eyes, I looked up and saw her glaring down at me. She wore a negligee of light blue satin, which accentuated, rather than hid, her perfect breasts and thighs.
"Mmmm, wouldn't you like to come back to bed?" I asked, reaching out to grab her bottom. My mind filled with memories of enjoying Carla's body for much of the night. The softness of her limbs entwined in mine. The untamed wetness of her mouth. The faint scent of her sweat. The taste of her juices. Carla had turned out to be a wonderful lover -- every bit as skillful as you'd expect, but also generous and tender and kind. True, she never went down on me, but she was very affectionate, and she made me come many times with her supple fingers. And after each orgasm, she held me close until my trembling had passed.
More important to me, she'd taken immense pleasure from my attentions to her pussy. I thrilled at hearing her moan as I licked her swollen lips, slid my tongue between them, massaged her clitoris. Heaven lay between the legs of this beautiful woman -- incredibly, the same woman who'd inflicted such terrible suffering on me the previous evening. When I made her come with my mouth for the third time, I felt a swell of pride at having brought her to the peak of pleasure.
Sleeping next to Carla was as good as the sex. She spooned me from behind, with both arms around me, fondling my breasts and nuzzling my neck as we drifted off. On the estate, I nearly always have to sleep alone because Mistress gets jealous. Sir also likes to spoon after sex, and with three in the bed, this creates a problem. Let's face it, there can be only one little spoon, and someone is always going to feel left out. Sir made me the little spoon once too often, and since then, Mistress usually sends me back to my own room after we've finished our fun.
All this is to explain that when I looked up at Carla that morning, I would have given anything to feel her next to me again, to hold her, to caress her, to worship her pussy.
"What I want," Carla answered, "is for you not to make me break my promise to your Mistress on our first day together. If this isn't lazy and spoiled, then I don't know what is."
Her words were a pitcher of ice water poured over my face, shocking me back to reality. "I'm very sorry, Miss Carla," I said, kicking away the duvet and swinging my feet off the bed. I stood before her, naked.
She looked at me, and for a moment, I thought I saw tenderness in her eyes. She reached out, as though to caress my cheek, but instead she grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked downwards, forcing me to my knees. I whimpered.
"Is that how a slave should behave?" she asked. "Lazing about in bed, when I'm already up?"
"No, Miss Carla," I replied, looking at the floor.
"How did I promise your Mistress I would treat you?"
"Harshly," I said. "You promised to punish my bad behavior consistently and severely."
"And is that what you want?" she asked. I didn't answer. She tightened her grip on my hair and tilted my head back, until her big blue eyes pierced mine. "Is that what you want?" she insisted. I nodded. "Say it out loud."
I hesitated another second, then choked out, "I want you to punish me, Miss Carla."
"Very well," she answered. She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up a hairbrush from the nightstand. She snapped her fingers, ordering me to lie across her lap.
As with the cane the evening before, Carla got straight to it with the hairbrush. No light taps, no teasing, no warm-up. She whacked me hard, several times in a row. I let out a little yelp with each blow. The previous evening, the thin rattan cane had left five burning stripes across the backs of my thighs. Now, I'd have bruises on my bottom to go with them. She paused after the fifth blow to rub my bottom. Then she whacked me again. Then another pause, more rubbing, and more whacks. And on. And on.
Neither Sir nor Mistress had ever taken me over the knee, and I found the punishment strangely intimate. Not as intimate as having Sir's cock inside me or lapping Mistress's pussy, but I felt very close to Carla as she spanked me. I hoped she would use her open hand next time -- not to lessen the pain, but to increase the feeling of intimacy. After my spanking, she rubbed my bottom for a long time. I expected to feel her fingers enter my moistening pussy, but instead, she eased me off her lap and onto my knees.
"Thank you, Miss Carla," I said.
"Good girl," she replied. Without another word, she stood up and strode to the bathroom, snapping her fingers. I followed.
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Like a lot of people I've known, I don't understand myself very well most of the time. But one thing I know for sure is that if a person wants to possess me -- I mean really own me, own my body and heart and soul -- then they must understand and satisfy my two deepest, my two most overpowering needs.
The first, which I call my deep dark secret desire, is something I've already hinted at and will explain more fully a bit further on. The second, which is much easier for me to talk about, is my tremendous need to serve others.
On the estate, I glow inside every time Sir and Mistress take pleasure from my service. I know precisely how they like everything to be -- from how much cream to add to Mistress's coffee in the morning, to how best to coax Sir's cock into an erection at the end of a stressful day, and everything in between. And the pleasure I'm able to give them by doing the things they like fills me with continuous joy.
That's why, when Carla ordered me to attend to her in the bath that morning, she touched me a lot more deeply than you might imagine.
I turned on the water, and while I waited for it to get warm, I removed her negligee and hung it on a hook. Holding her hand, I led her into the shower. She stood under the stream, letting the hot water massage her shoulders. I squirted a big glop of shower gel into my palm, getting it wet enough to work up a lather before applying it to her.
Carla's body is a work of art, and I was happy to have the excuse to touch it. But when she let out an almost inaudible moan of pleasure at my touch, I felt my heart swell. I held her from behind, and she leaned back against me as I washed her, rubbing my soapy hands up and down her flanks and torso in long, luxurious strokes. She didn't object when I massaged her breasts for much longer than I needed to make sure they were clean.
I squirted more gel onto my hands and reached between Carla's legs, one hand from the front, the other from the rear. She moaned again as I washed her vulva, spreading her lips apart and gently cleansing around the folds. I swirled my soapy finger around her anus, eliciting another moan when I inserted the tip and wiggled it around inside her.
I brought the shower head down to rinse her off, and as I ran my fingers over her pubic mound, I detected the tiniest hint of stubble. I'd not expected this, since Carla seemed like the type to have undergone laser treatments, but when I looked up at the shelf, sure enough I saw a razor.
"Miss Carla, may I..." I was too shy to say the word, but she understood. She nodded and handed me the razor and a tube of shaving cream.
I knelt before her and was rewarded with another of her enigmatic smiles. Before I applied the cream to her skin, I leaned forward and kissed her pubic mound reverently. I took my time shaving her legs and crotch, treating her perfect pussy lips with utmost care. I wondered why Mistress never had me shave her, and I promised myself to find a subtle way to suggest it when I returned home.
Finally, I rinsed Carla off, led her out of the shower, and wrapped a thick towel around her. I patted it to dry her back.
"Shall I help you dress, Miss Carla?" I asked.
"I'll manage," she said. "You go make breakfast."
I smiled, knowing that this was my time to shine. Even though Sir and Mistress employ a full-time gourmet chef, they prefer me to serve their breakfast, and over the years I've grown pretty proficient in the kitchen. It didn't take me long to find everything I needed.
I should explain here that on his estate, Master Richard maintains two apartments for his slaves, each with its own kitchen, bathroom, sitting room, and bedroom (two slaves share one queen-sized bed). For our month together, he'd given Carla the use of one apartment, forcing the remaining three to share the other (although as a practical matter, at least one, and more likely two, would spend every night in his bed.)
While Carla dressed, I put a pan of water on to boil and got everything ready. By the time she sat down to the table, which I'd set exactly like they do at the snootiest hotels, I'd prepared perfectly poached eggs on buttered toast, with smoked salmon, orange juice, and coffee.
After I arranged her napkin on her lap, I stood next to the table, waiting for her to dig in, a self-satisfied smile on my face. But my heart sank when she moved the salt and pepper shakers a little closer to the center of the table, and then adjusted the placement of her coffee cup by a few inches. I blinked back a tear when she had to turn the cream pitcher a few degrees to make the handle easier to reach. I fixed these corrections in my mind, determined to do better the next morning.
