Tuesday, November 30, 2010
I view this as something of the last bastion of her innocence, the last place she can hide behind her fears. Even as she reads this I know her mind will be screaming, begging to be spared from this. But it is time, time at least to see if it is feasible to make it a more permanent addition to our play and time for me to claim that ass.
Beginning the first week of the break we will start plugging her for an hour with the small plug every day. To start, this will be coupled with time in the cage, keeping her focused and from moving too much. After a couple of days we'll move to tying the plug in for two hours at a time during normal activity. She will be plugged for any sex we have during the break as well.
By the end of the week I'll graduate her with a inflatable plugged enema session. Week two, I'm hoping that I'll have the next larger sized plug so I can start... expanding her horizons so she can wear it for about two hours a day to start, gradually increasing as our schedules permit. My hope is to claim her anal virginity by the beginning of week three.
Though I have to make allowances for the reality of our daily lives to get in the way, I still hope that I will have truly expanded my little slut to a three hole whore as a Christmas present for the both of us. Either way, it should be an experience and one documented by plenty of photos and video to share, I hope...
I've been looking forward to this one and now that it is here, I can't decide what to post. I had thought about posting an image that I have taken of jenpet, but I do that on FetLife. Usually I have a problem with posting other people's work, but I feel that this is a special occasion and I'm making it perfectly clear that I take no credit for the image, it is just something that I find ridiculously erotic.
Even that is not easy for me as I have gigabytes of porn, both videos and images. So this might take a moment to find, here we go...
(Tick, tick, tick)
Okay, here is one that I find terribly erotic.
Again I want to make it perfectly clear that I do not take any credit for these images. They are not mine, the are from Kink's WiredPussy.com...
Monday, November 29, 2010
Day 7: What’s your favorite toy?
Okay, let me first start by saying that I am a Libra, and choosing a favorite anything is just not something I can do. I have things I like and things I don't care for as much. Next, let me go the cheap and mushy route here and say that my favoritest toy evar would by my slave girl. Everything else is just nipple clamps on the cake. Mmmmmmm tweaky, pinchy cake.
Short but sweet on this one. Anything else and it would just appear as an itemized listing of my kinky inventory...
Day 4: Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hint at your kinks?
Several actually, there were a number of games that I played as a kid that just screamed kink. Like in the Day Three post, pretending to be the big dragon that captures the maiden sacrifice and keeps her locked away in my cave. Or playing cops and robbers, binding the crafty girlie cat burglar with jump rope. Loving the damsel in distress situations on Saturday morning and afternoon cartoons. Binding my toys and playing out kinky little scenarios.
Day 5: What was your first kinky sexual experience? If you haven’t had one yet, talk about what you hope to have happen.
First kinky sexual experience huh? Hmmmmm. Let me think back on that one, its been a while. I'd have to say that it would be with my first sexual girlfriend, I bound her to the bed and made her beg for it. It was fantastic, and felt like it was old hat for me. I knew then that it was kinky or bust for me. As a tie in, that is why I am so grateful for my girl.
Day 6: Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.
Oh wow, going for the gusto here huh? Okay. Well, I have tons of sexual fantasies and I do what I can to make them sexual realities. If we're reaching for the outlandish, I would love to have a large property with a number of slaves, who wouldn't. For a fantasy that is a little less cliche, I fantasize about living in a community or nation where I could freely take my naked, bound, leashed slave out into public, just like walking a dog. Living the way of life without complications or offending overly.
I have fantasies that are darker, edgier. Tortures that are too extreme for reality. Electro torture that is so strong it seizes the diaphragm, leaving the victim unable to breath while they fry. Water torture with dunk tanks and full submersion tubs caged off just under the surface. Having my slave live in a small concrete cell, sealed by a heavy metal prison style door with a bucket to shit in, a single blanket, and a dog dish for water. To be retrieved only when I had need of her or for small periods of "exercise" time.
Full suspension noosed hangings, watching a slave dangle helplessly, struggling at the end of a rope. Toes pointed, desperately seeking any purchase as she gurgles, face turning red and tongue growing thick. Mmmmmmm.
Oh, sorry. Little drool there. Well, kind of the shotgun approach to answering, but there you have it. Days Four, Five, and Six. Again I'd like to thank Rayne for coming up with this and I hope that it gives you all a little more insight on myself and our dynamic. Happy Holidays...
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The very first thing that I wanted to do was to set up this photo shoot notion that I have had for a long time. A while back on this blog of ours I posted a picture that I had found online of a Dom sitting at a table with his slave girl locked in the center like a pair of duel use stocks. Ever since then I have really wanted to do this "Table Stocks" photo set.
The girl was her usual skeptical self, rolling her eyes and sighing heavily. A little secret about my slave girl, the more she bitches and whines the harder she wants to be pushed. Shhhh, you didn't hear it from me. ;P. Well, having no choice in life or any other such situation, she brought herself around to be quite helpful and even eager in a sense. My second "I'm Thankful for..."
I had spent the early part of the day getting everything ready so we could just dive right in when she got home. She returned, took a nice relaxing shower, whisked the boy off to the siblings, and we got down to some business. The photos look great, they are on FetLife. The response has been unbelievable as well; friendship requests, Fet messages, and over twenty comments on the two primary photos with many more scattered about. Let me tell you all, there is a kind of high that comes with being so well received by one's peers and the next thing I'm grateful for is all of you who make sharing these precious moments well worth it.
It was a fun experience and one that reminds me like a slap to the face just how much fun and how rewarding doing these clever little photo sets can be. I'm hoping for many more opportunities during the coming winter break.
The night didn't end there either. Being in the table stocks for the duration the shoot, a time period I was happy to drag on while watching her become more and more taxed holding herself up. See, as she wrote about in her last post, I had offered her a pillow to kneel on but she declined. Happy for me because now I get to be both the nice guy and enjoy her sufferings. I love it when a plan comes together :D. The longer she spent the more effort she exerted keeping herself from basically hanging in the stocks. When I finally did let her out, she curled up on the floor and lay there for a long moment. I snapped this picture quickly, capturing a lovely moment. The girl had described the experience as being similar to being caged, the inability to move or flex causes a tension in her muscles that seems to melt through her, igniting her submissive passions.
Then it was on to the bathtub. It was time to christen it with some water play, passed time to tell the truth. I warmed up the tub with a bath of hot water, again being the nice guy. Then she was bound, hands to hips and placed face down in the tub. Here is another thing I'm grateful for, having a big ass bath tub. I turned on the faucet, turned on the video camera and watched as my girl strained against the rising water. There is something almost zen about watching the inevitable slowly unfold. Despite her struggles, regardless of her shuddering efforts, the water will eventually win. I am thankful for these simple pleasures of a tortured slave.
Alas we were on a time limit and there was more to come, so I stepped into the tub, straddling each side of her body chastising her for holding out so long before I shoved her head under. And so it went, time after time I'd let her up, water cascading down her face and into her gasping mouth as I counted down the seconds till I shoved her under again. I love the feeling of her struggles as I hold her face under the water, her body twisting and tugging at the binds, her abdomen heaving. On the last one, she asked if I would turn her over and try dunking her face up. That's my masochistic little slave :)
So, over she went, though it did not work the way I hoped, her face just barely stuck out of the water with her head pressed against the floor of the tub. So, in one of my moments of pure genius, I pulled my underwear off and wrapped it around her face, effectively waterboarding her. This lasted for a good, long time and during this under garment waterboarding, she passed out I think twice and woke up cumming once. I say "I think" because my lovely camera stopped recording before we got to the whole waterboarding part so I have only my pleasure fogged memory of the experience and she has even less:D.
Well, we were done with that part, so it was on to the bedroom. The slave earned her self quite a punishment over this passed semester, twelve strokes with the cane. Once she was dry and mostly warm, a problem in the winter time, she was cuffed up and chained to the bed. I placed the punishment log, a newer addition to our punishment regiment, in front of her so she could read off her offenses and be keenly aware of the reason for her correction. I was proud of her, she handled it with an acceptable amount of composure. However during the last three strokes, earned for a general attitude adjustment, she managed to pull her foot out of the thick leather leg shackle we have, which is no small feat. Still, there lay twelve freshly administered, red and rising cane welts across her ass and a very apologetic and thankful slave, ripe for the fucking.
And fuck we did. I have to admit that I don't remember much of what I did to her, I think that I left her hands still chained up while I pounded her. I remember the begging, and the shuddering, and spraying glistening drops of liquid love all over her body. And there I lay, sweaty, breathing deeply, thankful for the haze of ecstasy that descends upon us both in those rare moments. Moments that are sadly no longer than their moniker. With that lovely fuck, we ran out of time and I sent the slave to clean up and retrieve our child while I stayed behind to clean everything up.
So, dear reader, that was our lead up to this great thanksgiving. The photos and videos all got posted on FetLife and every time that I see them, they bring warm feelings flooding back to my heart. Just as a Holiday memory should...
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
I have a slave for that. she is very good at it and she enjoys it. Perhaps not the clean up afterward, but that's just tough.
It is not for lack of ability, mind you. I can follow a recipe and have concocted a small number of my own tasty meals, including my bacon stir fry. Nummy.
No, the reason is... Well I'm thinking Final Destination. That overly elaborate death trap that requires the noob to activate their own demise. This morning is an excellent example. There must have been an excess of cosmic radiation floating around because this morning the brilliant idea to cook a little breakfast for my son and myself.
The first clue to my pending culinary calamity was getting the utensils needed to make the food. Pan, check. Spatula, check. Forks? Oh, okay I need to wash some. There were a couple of bowls in the sink, but I didn't think anything of it. That is until I turned my adjustable faucet on full and the magic of concave surfaces gave me an involuntary shower. Well, that happened.
Undaunted, yet soggy, I returned to the stove and began heating the pan. Now, I need something to grease the pan with. Butter, of course. So I dug it out of the fridge, found a butter knife, and cut a section into the pan. There it sat, un-melted. WTF stove? Normally I enjoy tweaking knobs, but when the stove isn't cooperating I don't enjoy it near as much. Apparently the adjustable settings, you know numbers one through ten, are a lie. There is either off or lighting shit on fire. Instantly the butter melted and started evaporating. Crap! Okay, turn it down, add a bit more butter, and try again.
With the eggs set to cook I decided to pop the bread into the toaster so it would be good to go at a moment's notice. No issues. Okay, so maybe things are starting to settle into the groove. Scramble the eggs a bit... Wait, they aren't cooking. Not even turning white in the center. So I turn the stove back up waiting for the fireball to follow. After a moment of squinting at the pan, the eggs began cooking nicely. I let out the breath held between clenched teeth, and retrieved the cheese. What are scrambled eggs without a little cheese?
So, things progressed nicely from there. Little did I realize they were just awaiting the grand finale. Once the eggs were cooked, I brought the pan over to the table to dump the eggs on the plate. I reached up on top of the refrigerator to grab the bread one more time to set it on the table. Instead, I grabbed the box containing canning jars, also on top of the fridge, flinging the whole thing down onto the table. Jars went all over, slamming into the remains of my son's dinner from last night, a bowl of hardened romin noodles with a convenient fork protruding like a medieval catapult. Broken remnants of noodles went everywhere! Reflexively, I went to set the pan down. The spatula, still in the pan, apparently envying the siege weapon configuration the fork took on, joined in the fray flinging freshly cooked eggs all over the kitchen.
So, that is how I made breakfast this morning... for the dog. -Begrudgingly munching dry toast-...
Monday, November 8, 2010
Well, I think that is somewhat simple. I was born that way. I know that is more of a cliche these days but I feel it is true. Some of my earliest memories were of feeling an excitement at bondage and life threatening predicaments depicted on cartoons and television. Even from an early age I discovered the pleasures of masturbating and did so often, always thinking of the peril, the helplessness, and the control.
The games I played were often dripping with kinky overtones, the princes bound in the dragon's cage waiting for her prince charming to come and rescue her while I (the dragon) protected my pretty prize. The hero's sidekick bound helplessly awaiting some campy Batman inspired doom while I (the hero) took his damn time getting there to free them. In fact, looking back on it, I don't think there has been a single moment in my life that BDSM didn't play a part.
I was the kid that bound his toys up, finding them to his chagrin many years later while preparing a box for donations. Or worse, the questioning look on my mother's face when she found them first. The school kid who used jump ropes to bind girls to the playground equipment during cops and robbers games. The guy that always imagined leading the cheerleaders around in their outfits on the end of a leash.
Like most of us, I'm assuming, I spent so many years feeling alone and different. Many times cursing my oddities and destroying way too much viable porn after binging. Giving it all up for Lent, only to find myself immersed in it again and again. Then the day I discovered that it wasn't just me, and it wasn't just soul damming porn. That it was just another way of life, and one embraced by many people. How I desired to be a part of that world.
My first girlfriends were somewhat adventurous, allowing me to explore my own talents. Bondage, power exchange, public sex. I've written here about our early years, jenpet and I. How we were elementary school sweethearts, separated through our middle school years, to come back together in the later years of high school and have been together ever since. How we played one game of truth or dare that changed everything in those bygone high school days, bringing us both to the realization that we were kinky soul mates. And now she has been my collared slave for eleven years.
So, how did I know I was kinky? The same way I know I need to feed or breath the air. It is a part of me, through and through...
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Apart from that one, glorious night, and one quick tit fuck sometime following, the rest of October was a really slow month. The changing of the weather, school schedules, our child, and some other miscellaneous crap kept us from enjoying each other carnally.
That is until last night. The mood was right (no one felt like hammered crap), the time was right (the boy fell asleep), and we graciously retreated to the bedroom for some adult activities (we hauled ass up the stairs, shedding clothes like they were on fire, and crashed into each other in the body slam of lust).
There was no bondage, no toys, no words, just my powerful desire to watch her writhe and cry. I tore at her tits and ribs, dragging my fingernails over her flesh from collar bone to ankle. I punched her stomach, slapped her face, covered her mouth and listened to her gasp. I took her... hard. Using her body to tease and tantalize me until the evidence of my pleasure rained down on her chest and stomach like liquid diamonds.
And then I collapsed, utterly spent and blissed. It almost felt like being possessed, like pure passion and desire consumed me before tossing me aside like a used condom. And I wanted more! So much more! The tears were still running down the side of her smiling face, her breath racing to catch up with her quaking, wet body. It wasn't enough, it's never enough. Even then, laying motionless and gasping myself, I wanted to grab her, slap her ass until it was beet red, shove my cock down her throat until she gagged desperately, and fucked her like a dog until she howled.
That moment passed, but then there was tonight. Coming back from a full day of family activity, the boy fell asleep in his car-seat, the perfect chance to make November more than a once off. Again we rushed up stairs, a little more dignified this time, and toys were retrieved. The metal shackles (recently re-sized to fit jenpet's wrists as they were a little too tight when we bought them over a year ago), the Lelo Gigi (her favorite vibby toy), the new black nipple clamps, and a dildo gag.
First thing was first, I dove right in licking and suckling tenderly at her exposed girlie parts. It is something that I enjoy but don't get to do often, plus her sensitivity tends to fluctuate a bit from comfortably enjoyable to WTF! After letting her hips dance about for while it was time to get down to some business. The cuffs went on, the clamps were attached, and the gag went in. And we fucked, then I flipped her over onto her front, clamps and all, and took her from behind listening to her begging and crying as the clamps pulled free of her nips. Then I came, spraying her legs and the bed.
Yet again, it was not enough. Sure I was still dripping cum and she was creamy herself, but I still wanted to pound into her more. We went downstairs for a shower to clean up but my desire would not ebb. So, still dripping wet from her shower, we went back up stairs for round two. I handed her a bullet vibe to work herself back into a nice lather (poor Gigi had run out of juice with our first round) and slipped on a condom. Then I slipped back inside her. She was wrapped in a blanket, always bitching about the cold, which I delighted in ripping away from her periodically. She shuddered and begged and came again and again, and finally so did I.
Again, spent and gasping we fell to the bed. Sleep lurking at the fuzzy edges of our consciousness, drifting in and out. And still, there was that twinge. How I look forward to continuing our binge...
Friday, November 5, 2010
Just talking about a result or symptom of some pathogen starts my rather sizable imagination running and I develop phantom pains and sympathetic symptoms. A prospect that makes my skin creep is the idea of suffering unto death from some wasting disease. So yes, lets spend all fucking day talking about it!
Not only that but the material is decidedly antagonistic against those that live alternative lifestyles, at least from my perspective. There is nothing wrong with education about the risks of any activity, that is good and necessary. But when that education takes the moral stand point that anything outside of a wholly heterosexual monogamous relationship is "risky behavior" and likely to severely likely to lead to horrible life ending consequences, then I get a little incensed.
I practice safe sex with my partners. I believe in safe sex, and I understand the importance of it. I understand that there are risks in anything that you do, but the way that they express the dangers of any sexual activity as opposed to public transportation or death rates on State highways, you might as well be playing Russian roulette with a semi-auto! "Here is a diagram of who you slept with, and who they slept with, and who they slept with. So last night you had the most solitary 200 person gang bang ever!" It's like the Gonorrhea version of the seven degrees to Kevin Bacon!
I hate the futility that it drums up in me, that if in your entire life you ever slept with someone who had more than one partner, then you must have a disease that will irrevocably change your life for ever! What fucking repressed Catholic nun came up with this shit? I hate it! I hate it wholly! I detest disease, that hopeless wasting away into a chronic pained old crone, twisted and gnarly, bleeding out from every possible pore in your body, spreading illness like beaded necklaces at Mardi Gras! Oh and just before you leave the class, "Be sure to wash your hands, boys and girls." Right because that's going to keep the terminally-illinator away after that little slide show! Thanks a fucking bunch!
Thursday, November 4, 2010
jenpet - There is this movie, with Colin Farrell in it, called Ondine.
Me - Odin?
jenpet - Yes, it's an Irish film?
Me - Really? Because Odin is one in Russian?
jenpet - No it's Irish. It means... HOLY CRAP!!!
Me - What? Really?
jenpet - Huh? Oh no, I just saw something.
Me - That's awesome! What does it really mean?
jenpet - Something about mermaids?
Me - Nothing about sacred shit?
jenpet - NO!
Me - Okay, okay...
Yep, that is my darling girl. While driving down the road, countless times, she will just randomly exclaim, HOLY SHIT or JESUS! or just give a big panicky sharp intake of breath which sets off my spidy senses, scanning the road for dangers or looking for flaming comets from space crashing down around us. Only to find that a business is having a sale or someone forgot to use a blinker while turning. The result is almost never worth the dump of adrenaline that accompanies her exclamations and she usually pays for it with a sharp slap to the inner thigh...
Monday, November 1, 2010
Sweet dreams were not something that someone in her position had often and when they came it was hard to let them go. Autumn stirred, opening an unwilling eye. It was daytime, sunlight streaming through gaps in the heavy window coverings. Her Master was no where to be seen, no doubt having risen early in the morning to attend to his busy day. Autumn's hands were freed from the manacles, unlocked by her Master before he left. The collar, however, was still locked lovingly around her neck.
She sat up in bed, looking lazily about. She was in no hurry to start her day. Sleeping in was a rare treat and Autumn didn't want to take it for granted. She lay back down, luxuriating in the silken bedding and warm blankets. Even against the sweetly soft sheets, she could feel the ache in her cheeks from the paddling the night before. She smiled, grinding her butt into the bed, savoring the sensation.
Autumn gave a heavy sigh, figuring that she had probably wasted enough time. She stretched this way and that and finally climbed from the bed. Her bare feet touched the cool hard wood floor and she smiled, heading for the bathroom. As long as she was being pampered so this morning, she was going to have a nice long, hot shower.
Her Master's bathroom was one of the most ornate and beautiful she had ever seen. Polished marble, gold trimmings, elaborate fixtures, and antique silvered mirrors. There was a large whirlpool bathtub, almost like a small hot tub, a throne of a toilet complete with bidet, and a massive shower designed to look like the base of a waterfall. Half a dozen shower heads, hidden within the smooth rocky surface sprayed from different angles, each programmable to a dozen different settings. It was the most incredible sensation and one she was rarely allowed to enjoy, at least under her own recognizance. Autumn parted the glass door and stepped inside.
The hot steam surrounded her, water cascading from her curves as she leaned against the rock wall. Every muscle in her body soaked in the warmth and she breathed deep the vaporous cloud. Her mind wandered, not so much thinking as just simply experiencing. It was easy to become lost in the world of luxuriating sensations.
Some time later, she finally climbed from the shower, toweled herself dry and gazed upon her reflection in the mirror. She examined the bruising on her ass, smiling at the sight. Master's gifts... Breaking herself from thoughts that spiraled around her mind, she hung the towel up and left the bathroom.
The bed was a mess, blankets tossed every which way, pillows draped off the side or bunched up in the middle of the headboard. It was the house's rule that if a slave were allowed such a lazy morning, as she had, then that slave was responsible to tidy up the room. Usually, that task would be left to the maid slaves assigned to the room, but of course they wouldn't have had that chance with Autumn buried in the center of the bed. She set to making up the bed and ensuring that the room was put back just as her Master wanted it. She tossed back the thick curtains, tying them with the bit of rope at the sides of the window frame. It was still morning, the light from the windows shone in at an angle reaching the foot of the bed.
Her Master didn't believe in clocks and so there were none in his room. He relied instead upon his uncanny internal sense of time. Autumn was not as fortunate, and had to rely upon hints from the sun to help tell the general time of the day. If the light from the windows reached the foot of the bed, it must have been about ten in the morning.
That done, she retrieved the black gown she had left folded the night before. Pulling it up over her long, silken legs, bruised ass, and supple breasts, Autumn left her Master's room.
The life of an operative was one of momentary glamor and excitement coupled with long hours of constant training. Martial arts, advanced driving, espionage, pattern recognition, etiquette, and much, much more. The majority of her day was spent in some kind of training or exercise to keep her skills sharp and her hands occupied. Who knows what naughty little things a slave would get into if they weren't kept constantly busy? Society logic.
The first thing she wanted to do was to get something in her stomach. She headed down the long hallway and took a left at the corridor. As a structure, House Obsidian was quite massive, containing many passages, rooms, and more. The building extended several stories underground, though retained the appearance of a antiquated, sprawling villa from the surface. Below is where the training pens were located, as well as the firing range, weapons and gear storage, the self contained server rooms, the gym (complete with Olympic sized swimming pool) and even some rooms that Autumn had never been allowed to see.
The kitchen, which held her interest far more than the sub-levels at the moment, were open access to all, member and slave alike. Though, of course the meals were restricted depending upon which group one belonged to. The kitchen was staffed by slaves but managed by one of the House's famed culinary members, Master Augustine. Italian by birth and trained in some of the most prestigious culinary academies and famed kitchens throughout Europe, his culinary expertise and renown could have landed him in any House he wished. He chose House Obsidian. No one really knew why he did it, but it was said that after just one meeting with the Head of House Obsidian, Autumn's Master, Augustine had decided.
Membership in any of the Houses differed as much as the Houses themselves. In most Houses, there were members who retained their public lives; politicians, military generals, actors, business men, etc. Most of these types enjoyed the privileges and the status, but had little to do with maintaining the House itself. Then there were the members who lived in the house, who were in charge of certain areas, such as Augustine and his kitchen, and who acted as the governing body of the House and all its members. These members were usually rather removed from the outside world, living a life that would seem very alien and even barbaric by modern standards. Autumn enjoyed the hypocrisy at times.
The dining hall looked like it belonged in some medieval castle. Long low, Greek styled, mahogany tables trimmed in gold and bordered by plush cushions stretched in long rows. These were the tables for the House's slaves. And above, on a raised platform sat a grand table, ornately carved and polished to a gleaming shine. Finery fit for royalty, was meticulously placed for each of the House's thirteen members.
There were very few seats taken, not surprising given the time Autumn supposed. She walked quietly to one of the low sitting tables and knelt down on the vibrant red cushion. It was actually rather comfortable, kneeling this way to eat, a bonus given that slave's weren't allowed to be on the furniture. Not even her.
One of the kitchen slaves came to her side, hands folded behind her back.
“Good morning,” she said in a mousy tone.
“Good morning,” Autumn said, returning the greeting.
“What may I offer you today, sister?”
Autumn had been pondering that since she left her Master's chamber. She put another moment of thought into it before answering.
“Today I would like to have french toast, two pieces with butter and syrup, and some mixed fruit on the side. Cantaloupe, honeydew, watermelon, and passion fruit. A Chai tea to drink, please.”
The girl made a mental list and nodded.
“Very good, sister,” she said, turning to walk away.
Autumn smiled, waiting for a moment in silence.
“Autumn, I knew it was you! You always order the same thing when you come back from your... your tasks, eh?”
“Master Augustine, a pleasure to see you,” she said, standing to greet him and kissing him once on each cheek.
“It is a pleasure to see you,” he said with a coy smile, looking her up and down. He laughed, his deep infectious laugh and she smiled.
“So, you had a... a successful trip, eh?”
“Yes sir, it went well. And now I'm back were I belong.”
“Eating your french toast? Every time you return you say, 'french toast'. When are you going to ask for something more exciting, where is that sense of adventure?”
“Oh, now sir. A girl's got to have her traditions, besides how could I pass up the perfection of your recipe? You are a victim of your own resounding success.”
A wide smile spread across his reddening face.
“You make me blush, such flattery! Okay, okay, french toast it is! But I warn you, little miss silver tongue, one of these days I will plead my case to your Master and then we will see who will be the victim of my successes.”
He turned and walked back to the kitchens, slipping through the doors shouting in Italian.
Autumn smiled, she couldn't help it. Being an Operative of the House placed her in an entirely different category. Any slave of the House who was not attached to a specific member was subject to every member of the House and even those slaves who were attached, to a point. Any slave could be ordered to perform tasks and be used for any whim by a member. Attached slaves, slaves who were owned by an individual member, were subject to any member for use in tasks but nothing else. Operatives, like Autumn, were subject only to their individual Master and as such walked with a degree of impunity, almost like members themselves. This made for some very interesting interactions among the members, much like her usual banter with Master Augustine. She knelt back down at the table to await her breakfast.
Before too long, the young girl returned with a tall mug of Chai tea, complete with a thick layer of foam sprinkled with nutmeg. She bent down and placed it on the table before Autumn.
“It will just be another moment for your meal,” she said with a bow. As she turned back to the kitchen, Autumn noticed three fresh, red stripes across her curvacious ass. Someone had gotten into trouble, she thought with a smirk. She picked up her mug, bringing it up to her lips, inhaling the steam as it rose to tickle her nose. Her eyes closed. Sweet heaven, she thought, taking a long sip. The warm, sweet tea washed over her tongue like liquid pumpkin pie. She had to force herself to stop, setting the mug back down on the table before she drank it all in one shot.
The young girl returned, this time with a plate and a place setting. She placed the plate gently before Autumn and laid the fork, spoon, and knife almost delicately on either side. It looked delicious, two thick pieces of battered and fried toast, a dollop of real whipped cream and a sprinkling of cinnamon with a side of mixed fruits. A congratulatory meal if she had ever seen one.
“I hope it is to your liking, ma'am,” the girl said with a slight bow.
“Oh yes! Please pass my gratitude to Master Augustine.”
“Yes ma'am,” she said, turning to scurry off to the kitchen once more.
Autumn picked up the folded napkin and unfolded it, placing it in her lap. She then took her fork and knife and, almost remorsefully, cut a piece off the corner. Slowly, she brought it up to her lips, letting it first touch the tip of her tongue before passing her teeth. She chewed, again closing her eyes as her taste buds were sent on a magical ride.
Savoring her breakfast, Autumn took the better part of an hour to finish, downing two cups of Chai before pushing back her plate and resting on her heels. Stuffed and content, she rose to her feet and left the dining hall, leaving her plate and mug to be attended to by the young girl.
She decided to take a nice leisurely stroll around the grounds to help digest her food and complete the last part of her coming home ritual. It was a lovely day, warm and sunny. A broken blanket of scattered sliver clouds covered the sapphire sky. A slight breeze played through her hair as she exited the house through the back patio. It was not too late in the season and the grass still looked vibrant and thick. Autumn, stepped off the pave stone patio, feeling her bare feet sink into the cool grass. Grounded, she thought. She wiggled her toes, enjoying the feeling of blades of grass between them.
The grounds of House Obsidian stretched on for quite a ways, covering hundreds of square acres. Some was used for farm land, providing the House with fresh grown food. Some was used for training, especially animal slaves, such as pony girls or doggy boys. Then some was used for sport. The land belonging to the House was varied, a delightful mix of flat grassland, a large grove of trees, and some rolling, rocky hills. Autumn's mind wandered back to the number of times she had been taken for a walk, led on her Master's leash while bound across the property. Simple pleasures, she thought with a smile.
A whinny caught her attention and she turned to see one of the ponies leading an ornate rickshaw across the field The driver saw her standing and turned his girl to head in Autumn's direction. She recognized Master Phillip, the House's slave trainer, as the girl came trotting up to her. A shiver ran down Autumn's spine. She had spent three years in the training pens under the merciless hands of Master Phillip. Every slave did. It was his job to break the slaves, utterly destroying them so that they may be built back up in whatever way the House desired. Like a perverted baptism, whoever she had been had died in those pens and she was reborn Autumn of House Obsidian.
She held no grudge against Master Phillip, no anger or hurt feelings. She understood the necessity of her years of suffering, but it was not something that one ever forgot. Just the sight of him still had an effect on her. It didn't hurt anything that he was also the House disciplinarian and he was very, very good at it.
“Autumn, I had heard you were back,” Master Phillip said, pulling on the reigns to halt his pony.
“Yes sir, last night. How are you today, Master Phillip?”
He smiled, reaching a hand out to pat his pony on her flank. “Good, good. I'm just taking Tabby here out for her daily exercise.”
Tabby, a young blonde girl with muscular legs and ass, shook in her leather rigging. The metal chains binding her to the cart rattled.
“She looks good, sir. May I touch her?”
Master Phillip smiled. “Sure, go right ahead.”
Autumn reached out, placing her hand on the girl's flank. Tabby shuddered, again rattling her chains. She was beautiful, blonde hair braided tightly into a long tail that hung halfway down her back. A matching braid extruded from a plug placed deep in her ass, guided upward by a metal brace so it curved up and out to hang free down to the backs of her knees. Autumn knew that the tail braid would have been Tabby's own hair as well, cut from her head during her initial training and given back as something of a graduation gift once she reached her pony status.
Her tan skin was coated in a thin veil of sweat from her exertions, giving her a glistening sheen in the midday sun. The thick, polished leather harness hugged her every curve, enhancing her luscious form. Autumn brought her hand to the side of Tabby's face and the pony girl turned into the caress. For a brief moment, their eyes met. Tabby's eyes were bright blue and vacant, filled only with the bliss that accompanied being reduced to a simple animal.
She chomped on the metal, hinged bit between her teeth and huffed. Stamping the ground with her hoofed boot, telegraphing her impatience to move on. Master Philip gave a gentle tug on the reigns.
“Calm yourself, girl. Patience, we'll get moving here in a moment.”
Tabby whinnied and shook her head.
“Ponies, eh?” he stated. “So, what are you up to this fine day?”
“Just enjoying the last bit of my post mission free time, sir.”
“Well, I'm sure you deserve it,” he said with a crooked grin. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you, sir,” Autumn said, taking a step back from Tabby and the cart. “I hope you continue to have a fun day.”
“Why, thank you, Autumn. The same to you.”
Master Philip snapped the reigns and Tabby eagerly started trotting off back toward the direction of the stables. He delighted in cracking the buggy whip at the backs of Tabby's thighs as she went.
Autumn watched the two of them for a moment more before continuing on. She wandered aimlessly for a little while until she came to the ponds. Tranquil pool of crystal clear water, dotted by lush waterlilies and framed by tall green grasses and cattails. It was a favored spot for meditation used by member and slave alike. It was Autumn's favorite spot in the whole of the estate. Smiling, she walked to the water's edge and gently sat in the grass. Dipping her toes in the cool water, she closed her eyes and breathed. The sun ducked behind a group of clouds, casting the world in a silver glow. A warm breeze flowed over her flesh. The songs of passing birds reached her ears, and for one lingering moment the world was perfect.
It was so easy to get lost in those rare moments, to let the whole day pass one by. However, her day was not her own, nothing was. She took another deep breath, one last savory moment before rising to her feet and returning to the House.
As an Operative, Autumn was given her own room. A spacious, richly furnished cross between personal quarters and an office. She was allowed a single sized bed to sleep in when her Master did not wish her presence in his bed. The bedding was no where near as plush as her Master's, but she was grateful regardless. It certainly beat sleeping on a concrete floor with only a thin blanket to fend off the chilly night.
There was a smaller armoire, like her Master's, where she was allowed to keep a small selection of clothes. She only had a few items, a couple of dresses including the black dress she was wearing, her work suit, and a couple of risque pieces that her Master really liked her in.
In the center of the room sat a large, antique desk. Carved with similar reliefs to that of the Head Master's chamber door and headboard, it almost looked more like a medieval sarcophagus. Sprawling and extravagant, it dominated the room. A remarkable example of a time when such things were made to be works of art, a time before Ikea.
Though the desk was a remarkable relic, the equipment it held was state of the art. A sophisticated computer system with a fiber-optic based processor and custom operating system, contained within a housing the size of a paper back novel. Completely wireless, all of the interface components communicated within an encrypted signal network. The system was tied into the House's private server network.
Much like Autumn's desk, the House may have appeared to be a throw back to an ancient time, but it had hidden within it some of the most advanced equipment in the world. Whole Governments didn't have the technical capabilities of many of the premier Houses, and the Society was keen on keeping it that way.
Autumn, returned to her room, removed her dress, and placed it back into her armoire. Then, she went into her small bathroom to freshen up a little after her lax morning. She returned, fluffing her breeze blown hair a little. Sitting at her desk in her leather arm chair, she pressed her thumb onto the black box activating the print scanner. Her identity confirmed, the computer keyed on taking a brief moment to boot completely. She accessed the internal comm network and checked for her daily itinerary. As an Operative, her days were planned out ahead of time by her Master and her trainers.
Today's itinerary listed the morning's free time, followed by a sparring session in the courtyard with Ashton, a fellow Operative and personal slave to Mistress Sloan, the House's martial expert. Autumn smiled, she always enjoyed trading blows with the sexy blonde slave. It always felt like foreplay. The rest of her day was typical, broken up between a language class, finishing up the section on Arabic, some time in the shooting range, and finally an official debrief of her latest mission.
Official debriefings were both exciting and scary. Sat before at least three of the House's members and strapped into a metal framed chair while they reviewed the mission's details. Since she had been wearing the faux House Scion ring imbedded with the tiny camera, the video captured would be reviewed as well. Something to look forward too, she smirked thinking back to Kyle Porter's last night.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, she checked the time. Eleven thirty, giving her about half an hour before her scheduled sparring match. Autumn's Master, being a meticulous person, was unforgiving of tardiness and she had learned quickly to be timely as a result. Still, half an hour gave her enough time for a few stretches, a chance to loosen up a little.
She keyed her computer, setting it to sleep and began stretching her legs and back. Sliding into the splits, then rolling it around to the other side. Her nice relaxing morning coupled with a nice relaxing hot shower left her limber and loose. Over all, she felt great!
Autumn went to her armoire and withdrew her Gi. Simple white and humble, it was the standard Martial Arts uniform found just about anywhere. Despite its years of service, it still looked bright and fresh. The laundry service in the House was nothing short of amazing, she thought considering all of the grass and various blood stains that had graced its heavy fabric.
She slipped it over her naked flesh and tied it closed around her. It felt familiar, like a second skin. Running her hands over her body, she began to grow excited. A warm tingle deep within that brought a growing smile to her face. Closing her armoire, Autumn went to her bathroom, bound her hair back into a pony tail, grabbed a towel, and left her room.
Like so much of the Estate, the Courtyard was a little piece of paradise. A long outdoor table, large enough for every member of the House plus a small group of guests, sat amid clusters of groomed, sculpted decorative bushes. A canopy of tree branches gave cover to the arrangement, casting it in a perpetual cool shade. From this vantage, the members could watch as the slaves tended to a number of activities, including the sparring ring.
Autumn found Aston already working through forms in the ring. She was a beautiful sight to behold. Her golden hair bound tightly back in a braid, her Gi clinging to sweat dampened curves as she moved, a sheen over her tanned flesh, glistening in the midday sun. Long, slender legs, belying their deceptive power. Curvacious body, ample bust, an angelic face, and eyes like sapphires; she was every bit a living work of art.
“Good day, Autumn,” Ashton said, finishing her form.
“Good day to you, sister.” Autumn stepped into the ring, pausing to bow in respect.
“How was your last mission?”
“It went well,” Autumn said with a smile, “thank you for asking. And how have you been?”
“Well, sister, very well. To tell the truth, I'm a little anxious for my next assignment, I feel as if I'm in danger of falling prey to cabin fever.”
“That's no good. It's sad to think that such a thing is even possible in place as lovely as this.”
“It is,” Ashton chuckled. “but a person can only take so much training without putting it to use. At least, I feel that way.”
“I can understand,” Autumn said knowingly. “Well... Shall we?”
“We shall, sister.”
The two women squared off against each other and bowed, falling automatically into ready stances.
“I have to admit,” Ashton said, circling Autumn, “I was looking forward to this when I saw that we were scheduled to spar today.”
Autumn smirked, “Oh, yes? And why is that?”
“Because...” Ashton said, launching into a flurry of short hand attacks. Autumn sidestepped or blocked most, throwing a number of counters as she did.
“That's not much of a reason,” Autumn teased. She pressed back, working a number of combinations and grapples. Ashton expertly moved in and out, avoiding the traps and countering effectively. They stepped back, squaring off again.
“It's reason enough,” she quipped. “We're quite the pair, don't you think? An excellent match of skill, and beauty.”
Ashton was always very blunt, speaking her mind freely. It was a trait that her owner, Mistress Sloan, held in high regard.
“Such praise, I didn't hit you in the head too hard, did I, sister?”
“Brat!” Ashton laughed.
The two women traded blows for a while longer, each pressing their advantage while the other avoided and countered. Their breathing grew heavy while sweat flowed, dripping down their backs and soaking into their uniforms. Strikes gave way to grapples and soon they were entangled together, rolling about on the ground fighting for control. Occasionally a hand would slip into an open top, grabbing and groping.
Foreplay, Autumn thought once more, wrapping her legs tightly around Ashton's waist and rolling her to her side. Ashton, ground her elbow into the middle of Autumn's thigh, forcing her scissor lock fall open. Ashton tried to slide over, mounting Autumns chest and pinning her to the ground. However, Autumn recovered, catching Ashton's arm and pulling it across, dropping her to her side as she wrapped her other leg around one of Ashton's.
“If I didn't know any better, I'd think you girls were trying to do something expressly naughty!”
Startled, they both untangled from each other and rolled onto their feet. Mistress Sloan stood, smiling as she watched. Her graying hair left loose and flowing, framing a youthful face. She was dressed in her own Gi, one far more extravagant than that of either Autumn's or Ashton's. Metallic blue and black with a fire breathing dragon pattern stretched from shoulder to opposing leg. She looked at once gorgeous and intimidating.
Both girls bowed.
“Good day, Mistress Sloan,” they chimed together.
“Good day, girls. Been working hard, have we?”
“Always,” Ashton said, looking over at Autumn.
“Some more than others,” Autumn responded, unable to suppress a crooked smile.
“Well, I've been watching the two of you for a while now, and I have to admit I am impressed. You both have taken to your lessons well. However, I couldn't help but notice the occasional wayward hand,” she said with a knowing smile.
Both Ashton and Autumn blushed a little.
“Just make sure that those errant grapples don't turn into grappling of another type. You both know the rules.”
“Yes Mistress Sloan,” they chimed.
“Good. Now, Autumn, I believe that your hour session is up and that you have other duties to attend to.”
“Yes Ma'am,” Autumn said with a nod.
“Well... be off with you. Ashton and I have some work to do.”
“Yes Ma'am,” Autumn turned to Ashton and bowed out before rushing to retrieve her towel and heading back inside. Ashton smiled before turning to her Owner and beginning her lesson.
Mistress Sloan had been right, things were getting pretty heated. Autumn felt her excitement churning deep inside. Had she not have interrupted, the two of them may have crossed a line. The House, and indeed the Society at large, had strict rules about slaves and sex. Basically that the slave, not owning any thing, had no right to their own pleasure or components. That the House or specific Owner controlled a slave's sex completely, using it, or not, as they saw fit. It was a big issue and a lot of slaves have the hardest time learning to control their desire and channeling it. The punishment for breaking this rule was rather severe, a subject that Autumn was unwilling to dwell upon.
She returned to her room, eager for a shower and to get on with the rest of her day. Having the debriefing hanging over her head was making her anxious.