Author's note:
Welcome to the final chapter in a three-part series about a relationship between two young women that becomes increasingly dark and possessive. The story contains strong themes of domination and emotional manipulation, and this chapter contains hard bondage and brief watersports, so if that's not your thing, you've been warned... All characters are fictional adults. Please let me know how you like the story - comments and emails are welcome. I appreciate all the response to chapters one and two. And thank you for taking the time to read my first effort. It's been interesting and fun!
**
It felt good to step through the door into my warm, quiet apartment. The late February wind outside was savage and frigid and I felt frozen to the core. I unlaced my snow-dusted boots, shrugged off my winter coat and set my school bag aside, then carried the take-out Chinese food to the kitchen. I used the washroom and warmed my hands under hot water.
I knew my girl hated cold hands on her bare skin - not that she'd ever complain.
She was sitting up in bed, draped in blankets, smiling eagerly. Her padded blindfold was still on, and I knew she hadn't touched it since I'd buckled it over her eyes nine hours before. My laptop was on the desk, its webcam facing the bed, and I'd peeked in remotely from my phone several times that day. It wasn't that I didn't trust her to obey - quite the opposite, I trusted her more with every day that passed. It just gave me peace of mind to be able to look in on her at will. I hadn't asked her, but I imagined she felt happier knowing I was watching over her.
"Hungry?" I asked?
She nodded excitedly.
"Good. I brought your favourite."
Her smile widened and she held out her hands towards me. I took them and gave them a gentle squeeze, then bent and kissed her forehead. She brought my hands to her lips and kissed each of them.
"Okay, get on your mat. I'll heat up the food."
She slid out of bed and felt her way to her foam-padded floor mat next to my desk. I went to the kitchen and transferred food from the take-out boxes onto two plates. I put one of the plates in the microwave, set it for two minutes and returned to the bedroom.
Becca was kneeling low on her mat, her bum on her heels, forehead on the ground, wrists crossed behind her back and raised up towards me. I grabbed some soft, half-inch rope from my desk and bound her with practiced skill, then helped her sit back on her heels.
The microwave beeped and I grabbed a textbook from my school bag, collected the hot dinner plate from the microwave and returned to my desk. I sat down and opened the book, then started to enjoy my dinner. Becca knelt beside my chair, knees wide, back straight, tied and blindfolded, looking up in the general direction of my face. Her black, titanium collar, lean body and smooth sex were available to my eyes at all times. She was quiet and still - she knew I liked to read during my dinner and didn't appreciate noise or fidgeting.
Since early January I'd escalated my efforts to enforce her passivity. She spent much of the time either blindfolded or bound, or both, dependent upon MY eyes and MY hands. Obviously I couldn't leave her bound when I was away during the day - I envisioned nightmare scenarios where there was a fire or she had some kind of medical incident and couldn't get free - so I only kept her blindfolded during the day. But when I was home, she was usually restrained in one way or another.
My gift of the smooth, metal collar had changed her. Maybe it had crystallized in her mind the submissive role I expected her to play. Maybe the emotional impact of receiving an expensive gift from someone she loved had made her more devoted and obedient. Maybe donning such an obvious symbol of slavery had freed her to fully assume the true identity that had always lain inside her.
Whatever the reason, the power dynamic in the relationship had become explicit, and had changed my behaviour and hers.
Where I used to build narratives around my rules in order to make them 'reasonable' and more palatable to Becca, now I issued commands and expected them to be obeyed for no other reason than because I was the one in charge. Angry Gwen was long extinct, replaced more recently by Mistress Gwen, a firm-but-gentle authority who ruled Becca completely but not cruelly.
And Becca had grown even more silent, passive and acquiescent. As strange as it may sound, the more control I took away from her, the less anxious she became, as though she were growing more confident and assured as she descended more deeply into servitude. Her face rarely showed the nervousness and distress that had haunted her for most of the time I'd known her. She knew there was no need to worry; as long as she was attentive, obedient and eager to please, I would handle everything else.
She knelt next to me as I read through the chapter and slowly ate my dinner. Every so often I could hear her stomach rumble, but I couldn't be mad at her for that - she hadn't eaten since breakfast and her body was craving its second meal of the day. She didn't complain or so much as twitch; her posture remained perfect and motionless. Even her breathing was slow and even. Almost two months of daily practice had paid off.
Eventually my meal was done and the chapter half-read. I took my plate to the kitchen and ran it under some water, then put the second plate of food into the microwave and started it heating. Almost time to feed Becca.
Today was the five-month anniversary of Becca returning to my life. Five months since she'd entered my home with her luggage. Five months since she'd last set foot outdoors. In all that time, MY face was the only one she'd seen, MY voice was the only one she'd heard, MY scent was infused into the sheets and mattress where she spent her days, and her bare skin had felt only MY touch. She'd followed MY rules and been subject to MY desires and whims. MY decisions had shaped her body, her psyche and her destiny.
What does it do to someone to spend five months indoors, confined to a tiny basement, alone for almost every waking hour? How does it affect the mind? Or maybe it works the other way - only someone with a particular sort of mind could stand five months like this. At times the sheer boredom must have been Hell.
Or maybe I'm being too dramatic. She wasn't in prison, after all. She was safe. She was healthy. She was fed good food and slept in a soft, warm bed. She was physically fit. She had someone to look after her. She experienced nights of sexual pleasure and emotional contentment. Even now, as she knelt blindfolded, bound and naked on a padded mat next to my chair, tummy growling with hunger, she knew that food was coming. She knew with certainty her needs would be met. Maybe that certainty - that freedom from anxiety - made it all worthwhile for her. In my softer moments, I choose to believe that.
When the microwave beeped I took her plate of food back to the desk.
"You did really well today," I said in a soft voice. "Good girl."
Her face lit up and she flashed a proud smile.
I scooped a spoonful of fried rice and with my other hand gently cupped her chin. She immediately opened her mouth wide, reminding me of a baby bird waiting to receive an offering from its mother. The mental image made me smile as I slid the spoon into her mouth. It had been weeks since I'd allowed Becca to feed herself.
She chewed the rice, swallowed, then gave a soft, contented sigh.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"There's plenty more," I replied. And it was true - Becca's portion was half again the size of mine. Of course, I got lunch and she didn't...
I slowly doled out the fried rice, egg rolls, sweet and sour pork and steamed veggies. In between bites, I gave her swigs of milk to wash it down, and she quickly consumed half a litre of it.
By the time she finished eating, her normally flat belly was bulging slightly and she'd been kneeling for almost a solid hour. That had to be hard on the knees and legs, even with all the practice she'd had, so I helped her to her feet and gripped her arm just below the shoulder to steady her.
I carefully led her to the bathroom, gave her a mouthful of water in a cup I kept next to the sink and watched her rinse her mouth and swallow. I took my time brushing her teeth thoroughly, then flossing her as she stood open-mouthed and still.
When she'd rinsed and spat in the sink I guided her to the toilet and seated her. Peeing in the tub was too much trouble with her wrists bound behind her. I stood in front of her and firmly pinched and rolled her fat nipples in my fingers as she emptied her bladder, bringing a blush to her cheeks and another sigh of mixed relief and pleasure. I wiped her and flushed.
I handled all her toileting now, a task which was at times fun and intimate and at times really disgusting. It humiliated her and sometimes grossed me out, but at least Becca realized she was dependent on me for ALL her life functions. There was no part of her existence she was allowed to control.
And that applied to her sexuality most of all.
I brought her back to the bedroom, untied her wrists and re-tied them above her head, lashed to the bed frame, leaving her face-up and stretched on the mattress, tantalizingly laid out for my pleasure. I took a moment to run my eye down her slim, toned length, enjoying her smooth armpits, her petite frame, her ribs and abdominal muscles adding sensual contours to her torso and stomach, hips and lean thighs framing a hairless pussy, shapely legs - even her feet were soft and cute.
I got up and grabbed a couple of towels from the bathroom and slid them under her bum; she was about to get very messy and I didn't want to sleep in a wet spot. I lay down on my side facing her, my head propped up on my hand as I ran my right hand over her chest and distended tummy.
"Did you think of me today?" I asked.
She nodded. "I think of you all the time."
"What did you think about?"
She smiled ruefully. "Last night."
In response, I slid my fingertips over her pubic mound. "The welts are barely visible now."
"I wish I'd been stronger. I still feel bad about failing you."
I bent and pressed a slow kiss to her right breast. "I didn't want you to feel bad about it. That's why I punished you so hard."
That was another effect of the collar - corporal punishment had quickly worked its way into our relationship. I won't say I'd become 'liberal' with it, exactly, but when I felt it was needed, I wasn't shy about dishing it out. Becca didn't object; I guess she accepted the realities that came with wearing a slave collar, and had come to understand that her pain was a small price to pay for my pleasure. Such a good girl!
"I want to be perfect for you."
I continued to graze her most private skin with my fingernails. She edged her knees apart unconsciously as the good feelings rolled through her core. I bit down on her right nipple, then lashed it with my tongue. She gasped in surprise, pain and delight.
"And I won't accept less than that. But you'll get there. We have nothing but time."
"Thanks. I love that you're so patient with me."
"Shall we practice again tonight?" I asked.
"If you want to. I want whatever you want," she said in a voice that was soft, calm and assured. Not a hint of worry there at all.
"Last night you made it twenty-six minutes. What did I say I wanted from you?"
"An hour."
My fingers stopped their feather caress of her mound and plunged between her labia, finding her already soaked and eager. She gasped as my fingertips tickled her clitoris.
