Subconscious

Next morning she saw a text from Mirei:

You good?

She replied:

Best big O in history.

She also wanted to brag that she'd given her best blow job ever, but she thought she should save that for a one-on-one, after at least two strong cocktails.

She gave him another that morning. She'd awakened feeling great, but alone. He came in already dressed for work. He sat on the bed and offered her a warm mug of hot coffee. She sat up, uncovering her breasts. He reached but held back. It was clear that she was not, at least at this moment, his slave. With her free hand she took his and placed it where it should go. They shared a long, silent minute while the coffee plus his thumb woke her up fully.

"I'll need to get going in a little while," he said finally. "Can I take you somewhere?"

"You've already taken me to paradise." She put the mug down on the night table. "Should I put some clothes on?" He stood up to let her out. She slid out, still naked, but onto her knees in front of him. "Do we have time for a quickie?"

She got to work a bit late, but she found her ability to concentrate on her technical work was razor sharp. A bug in a critical algorithm that had defied her best efforts for days suddenly was obvious and she corrected it quickly. Then in her new project, an innovative sensor array, she came up with an out-of-box conceptual breakthrough that halved the array's complexity and weight, important because the array would be going into a satellite.

Are you free tonight?

From him just after lunch. She immediately replied with a heart.

6:45,

came back,

Car will pick you up. Business elegant.

Mirei had been texting her all morning, wanting details.

Meeting him tonite,

she sent her.

Concentration became impossible. The rest of the workday was a total loss, antimatter to the morning's productivity. She wanted to dress like an escort for him, but thought better and kept to her meager business wardrobe, substituting a pencil skirt for the slacks as her only concession to the wet buzzing between her legs. The car was big and black, a private service, that took her across town to a very high end restaurant she only knew from reputation.

He was already there, in the lobby with two men and a woman. A mischievous twinkle in his eye when he caught sight of her was enough to generate more fantasies, including a special way to greet him in front of his colleagues. Nice Girl was appalled. The males did their best to hide their ogling. The woman assessed her with a single glance, then gave a long look at him. She wasn't sure what that meant.

Dinner proceeded as they always did at such places, small plates, bottomless glasses of quite good wine, entrees not much bigger than the small plates. She followed the conversation as well as she could, which was mostly about a project as some local start up, sparse on details with her at the table. But she was able to add to it when they were arguing about some statistics. "You want to look at it using Bayesian statistics," she said, only thinking after that maybe she shouldn't have intruded. They fell silent with blank looks so she gave them a quick tutorial, priors, the theorem, advantages, and so on. Science Girl had her turn to be appalled that they didn't know Bayes.

"Look into that, will you?" he told the men. And to her, "Thanks."

During dessert she got a text:

Remove your underpants.

She excused herself, went to the ladies room to do as she'd been told, nodded to him when she returned, and threw him a tiny kiss, showing how she'd also repainted her lips with a dark red she'd bought once on a whim and never before used. Under the table she felt a hand on her leg briefly, an acknowledgment of things to come.

Later in the lobby while they waited for their transportation the woman took her aside. "I thought at first you were just arm candy, which isn't like him at all. I have to apologize."

In his car she was pulling down his zipper as he was pulling into traffic. She got him hard while he worked a hand up her skirt and a finger into her now very wet hole. At what she hoped was a red light his free hand pushed her head down so far she would have gagged but instead she came really hard from whatever freaky thing his finger was doing down there. His cockhead kept its well-deserved place at the entrance to her throat while the aftershocks, which he continued stimulating, rocked through her. She pulled up, needing to breathe, and he released her at both ends.

"I'm sorry, my Lord." They chuckled together at what was becoming an in-joke.

"Now you're apologizing for

not

making me come?"

"Yes, my Lord. I'll make it up to you." It was silly to feel guilty, but strangely stirring, and she did feel a little guilty for not feeling guilty. Most of her tried to stay silent but Slavegirl blurted out, "Do I need to be punished?"

"I could spank you."

"Thank you, my Lord." She tried to stay calm and submissive, but couldn't keep the excitement completely out of her voice. She'd never been spanked, not seriously. "As you wish, my Lord."

"Or perhaps more than spanked. We shall see."

That genuinely scared her. What had she just volunteered for? But her pussy, in spite of the orgasm, still buzzed incessantly.

In his apartment she went down on him before the front door was fully closed.

You're turning into a crazy slut,

Nice Girl warned, but the she didn't care. No, wait, she did care— she wanted more than anything to be a crazy slut.

Sluts are free,

Slave Girl pointed out.

When he was fully stiff he urged her on her feet, bent her over, lifted up the skirt, and plowed into her from behind, right there in the hall. She thought he might make her come again, but he had other plans. He withdrew and motioned her to follow him. In the living room, in the middle of the carpet again at a spot he'd pointed to, she waited while he went to a credenza and took out a black leather bag like a gym bag.

"Topless," was his simple command as he opened the bag. She complied. Facing her, he played with her nipples and said, "I need you to agree to something."

"Anything, my Lord, if it—"

"Wait until you hear what I ask." She fell silent. "I'm going to cause you pain." Excitement built inside her again. "Don't worry. I won't injure or damage you. I would never do that. But it will hurt like hell."

She had to take a breath. It took all of her, all her personas, to join up to produce the words. "I agree." She deliberately avoided the honorific. She wasn't playing slave girl. She was submitting. All of her.

He nodded. "Give me your hands." He wrapped straps around her wrists, with rings. Padded handcuffs, she realized. She was going to be tied up or something similar. She trusted him but couldn't help feeling a bit afraid. Which excited her even more.

"Kneel. Remove my pants." She obeyed. "Suck."

"Thank you, my Lord." She got him nice and hard. He sat on the couch and she crawled to him to continue her service. He leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, seeming to all but ignore her. His only acknowledgement of her presence was the rocking up and back of his hips as she did her duty and the occasional short moan when she used her mouth in a way he particularly liked. She was just his slave girl. She didn't even have a name. Her only identity was to be the woman who did obscene things for this man's pleasure. Nice Girl, paradoxically, was particularly excited by that thought.

He sat up and opened his eyes. "Stand up. Over here." He pointed to one side. "Give me your hands."

She found herself being pulled onto his lap, face down, as if—

"Hands behind the back." When she did as he said he grabbed her wrists together. He pulled down her skirt, rubbed her ass, ran his fingers down her crack, which tickled and made her squirm.

Thwack! The sudden sting on her behind made her jump and flop like a like a newly caught fish, but his strong hand held her down. "Hold still." He rubbed the spot he'd smacked, which helped a little. "How many times do you want to be spanked?"

"My— my Lord?"

"You heard me."

"Why— I don't think—" She felt his hand raise up. Science Girl spoke up. "Zero!"

He laughed. He squeezed a cheek as if it were a plush toy. "Think again. Give me a number. Above zero."

She tried to. She was Nice Girl. Never been spanked, at least not this way. How had she let this happen to her? She just wanted to suck this man's cock and get really well fucked again. It was exciting to be his slave, to be used, to be helpless, to be ordered to do things she would never in a million years have the temerity to do but down deep wished for. She wriggled in frustration.

Thwack! The second smack was even harder. "Four," she yelled, just to say something. "Four."

"Four and four? So four on each cheek." He began.

The sting of each slap was bad enough. Worse was the waiting. He didn't a give her a quick series of spanks. He paused after each one, rubbed her cheek, played in her crack. Each new smack made her legs involuntarily kick like a swimmer and sent her in an attempted dive that he pulled her back from. He waited patiently, too patiently, for her breath to slow. He seemed to be able to tell the moment she relaxed and then smacked again. Her sensitized skin, hot and no doubt as pink as a Hello Kitty doll, sent increased pain through her with each added assault. Each smack had to be as hard as he could smack, but the next one arrived on her tortured rump with even more potency.

Only eight but the torture seemed endless. She was surprised when he let her slip to her knees between his legs, panting from the last two, which had come in quick succession and made her scream out loud. She pushed her face into his crotch, wiping tears in his pubic hair, followed along his rod with her lips to the head and thankfully took him in her mouth, thinking only of eating him. A glow filled her body down to her toes, as if he'd slipped her some kind of drug.

Endorphins,

Sci-girl pronounced, but that couldn't be the half of it. She slurped and drooled and sucked.

She'd been so obsessed with getting his meat into her that it was only when she tried to squeeze his balls that she realized her hands were bound behind her. He must have hooked those clips on the cuffs. She looked up at him, mouth full of cock, eyes watering, arms bound, feeling truly helpless. Yet also somehow, way deep down, free. Slave Girl was right. Free of everything society required of her. Free tonight of everything her job and family and life would ask of her tomorrow. It didn't make any sense at all, but the more she was his, the more free she felt.

"You really liked that, didn't you?" He was grinning, obviously pleased with himself.

She pulled back. She had to clear her throat. His pre-orgasmic fluids were sticky on her lips. "I wouldn't use the word 'like'." She gave him a few more good sucks, just to show him . . . well, just to show him. "But that was a . . . special . . . experience."

"More?"

"Whatever my Lord wants is what his slave girl wishes for most in the world."

He laughed heartily. "As you

wish

, my slave. Stand. Give me your foot." She put a foot on his thigh. From the bag he dug out two more cuffs and put them on her ankles, pausing briefly to put his face in her pussy, which was soaking. Then he had her kneel on the couch while he attached the cuffs together and did something she couldn't see. He took the opportunity to feel over her ass, still warm as if sunburnt. When he told her to stand in what she already thought of as

the spot

she felt and then saw that he'd tied a rope to her feet. She didn't understand.

He bent her over his lap again. She took deep breaths, preparing herself for another spanking, wondering how many to ask for this time. More would certainly please, but eight had already been perhaps more than she should have said. He pulled her hair together and used it to pull her head back. She found she couldn't move her legs because he'd somehow secured that rope. She was trussed like the heroine in one of those old safari movies where the cannibals have captured her and are about to boil and eat her. It was almost fun. She could do this. The after effects still buzzed inside her. She told herself the spanking hadn't been that bad.

He paused and just held her. Perhaps admiring his handiwork, she thought, or waiting for her to relax. But instead he reached into that bag again, which she was learning to fear. "You're not going to like this at first," he said. Out came a long, thin object like a fishing rod, or that thing jockeys used in horse races.

A cane? He was going to— she tried to get loose but he'd done too good a job and he was too strong. "Remember that you agreed to this and even implicitly asked for it."

He struck once across both buttocks. She screamed a bloodcurdling laser of sound that emptied her lungs, bucked like a wild horse that refused to be tamed, lunged and twisted and flailed. When her reaction subsided he let her slip down to her knees. His cock appeared inches from her face, stiff as ever. She went for it like a drowning woman toward a lifesaver. Her universe shrank to cock. The pain from the swipe, as sharp as anything she'd ever experienced, disappeared as quickly as it had struck, leaving a delicious, levitating, ecstatic devotion beyond anything she'd ever imagined. She was pure desire, an abstraction of a love goddess that had somehow become real.

At last she had to come up for air. He looked like he was being electrocuted. But he quickly recovered. When he was able to look at her again she saw an awareness in his eyes, a respect bordering on fear. She let his eyes follow hers to his cock.

"I am totally helpless, tied up and naked, and I will have to do anything you want. Would you like me to suggest ways in which I can give you pleasure?" No honorific. She wasn't playing slave girl. He turned to her, movement like a big cat lounging in its lair. He took her head by her hair and moved to put his cock between her lips. She held still and let him explore her mouth, trying to put as much of herself in contact with him as she could as he used her.

"Go ahead. Tell me some ways you could give me pleasure."

He took his cock from her and held her back by her hair when she tried to follow. "Fuck my mouth. That's why I'm here. Or if you prefer, just lie back and I'll force you to come."

He smirked as if they were in some kind of competition— chess or debating— and she'd just fallen into a trap that he was about to spring. She was suddenly scared. It was true, after all, what she'd said. She was mostly naked, her skirt around her knees, and well tied up, and he really could do anything he wanted with her. He put his cock to her lips and held her head so that only her lips and the tip of her tongue had access, then slowly let her have more and more until she was the one trying to back off, without success.

"Or, another way you can give me pleasure?" he said after several minutes of enjoying the deepest parts of her mouth, keeping her on the verge of gagging. He was making a point.

"Or, my Lord, if he wishes," she said, reverting to Slave Girl and seeing deeper into the combination than he had, "Can enjoy caning his sex slave again, and then have her force him to come." She was sure he would not be able to resist that offer, and she was confident he wouldn't be able to make it through another session like the one she'd just given him. It was worth a bit more intense pain to make him come. She moved to allow him to lift her onto his lap again.

He stopped her and instead turned and lifted her so that she was lying chest down on the couch with her knees still on the rug. And her ass up in the air. He pressed on her back so she couldn't move, though there was nothing she could do anyway. He unclipped her ankles and spread her legs apart, pulled her ass back a bit as an adjustment, and entered her.

She groaned and sighed in the pure pleasure of being fucked again by this man. It was truly heavenly. Whereas a short time ago she'd been crying from the pain, now tears of joy wetted her eyes. She yammered without any sensible sounds coming out, but he seemed to know what she was saying, or at least what she wanted, and she felt herself rising up and up and . . .

He pulled out. She tried to raise her butt up, to find that cock again, but his firm hand would not let her move at all. "Please," she managed to get out, but then a lightning bolt of agony sliced across her ass and she lost control of her body. Gasping, she tried to plead, for mercy or cock, she couldn't decide. Another lightning bolt struck and words became impossible.

Even as she was convulsing as if possessed she felt him re-enter her and the agony instantly flashed to a white universe of exploding ecstasy. Each thrust was a supernova, her body an exploding cluster of supernova orgasms, every cell in her body, every neuron in her brain, outshining a whole galaxy, on and on, filling up the entire Universe with her pure white rapture.

When she opened her eyes he was still inside her but her hands were free. He slid out when she moved. He helped her climb onto the couch and stretch out. It took all her energy. She'd never felt so completely and utterly used up. Nor satisfied, or content.