His Latest Acquisition Read online

  “Yes, sir, I did…in an odd way.”

  “Odd?”

  “I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to handle him.”

  “But you did.”

  “And that felt good. I know that pleases you.”

  “Yes, it does,” he acknowledged. “Did you replace your harness?”

  She hesitated, fingers fidgeting in front of her. “No, sir, not yet.”

  “Then be sure it’s handled before you go back to work.”

  “B-but I thought…since…”

  “Since you were butt-fucked that it wouldn’t matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “It matters only that you follow my orders, and my orders were that the harness and the anal plug remain all day.”

  “Yes, sir.” She tried to hide her discontent, though there was a faint grimace on her lips and a self-pitying look in her eye before she resumed her air of respectful compliance. Even that scant inconstancy in her expression was enough to register Justin’s disapproval.

  “Don’t give me reason to punish you, brit,” he warned.

  “No, sir, I won’t. I’ll put the harness on immediately.”

  “See that it’s done.”

  Wednesday Evening

  Justin Booker’s large brick city house was one of dozens in an older neighborhood adjacent to the city center. Simple streets meandered across several hills in what might have at one time been a lovely country setting. Now, however, the upscale neighborhood butted up against middleclass housing developments, business streets, the city TV station and a local grade school. It was an island in the middle of a crazy sea—a world apart from those other jumbled up worlds. Time retreated and the world grew fuzzy around the borders. He could breathe with ease, and slow a harrowing pace where his thoughts grew discontentedly wild.

  Justin came home to a dwelling that inspired his senses. Four fat columns across the front stood like watchmen guarding… though there was little to guard but the physical treasures in his house… the Oriental carpet, Emily’s collection of Danish figurines, porcelain vases from Hong Kong, silver, damask, a state-of-the-art entertainment center—his latest acquisition—and the Monet he gave his wife on their tenth anniversary. He sometimes imagined those stern looking sentinels guarding the true secrets… the ones behind the marriage, inside his head, tucked close to his heart and alive in his groin. He understood his life was false, that he lived daily with subterfuge and lies…but they were good lies, and his secrets the kind of secrets that made him feel alive.

  Emily was home, in the workroom throwing pots, a tender smile on her dreamy face. Justin tiptoed into the foyer understanding where she was and what she was doing simply by the sound of the music coming from the back of the house…Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons’. She was in a classical mood. He liked that. She was creating…that meant she would be horny by the time she finished work. If he was lucky, he could fling her over the back of a chair and screw her with all his pent-up zeal. If he was lucky—luck usually struck once a month and it must have been at least three weeks since the last time he demanded sex this way.

  He caught her working, her back to him, her body moving erotically with the music, hands pouring over the wet clay. He watched her muscles move inside her black sleeveless T-shirt. The diligence, the precision—how lovely a sight that was, enough to stir his aching shaft. He’d think of suspending her—arms stretched high and wide above her head, feet dangling, her back and shoulder muscles straining.

  He shook off the image.

  Pipe dreams.

  Just pipe dreams.

  She brushed back a stray lock of hair with her arm, keeping her fingers on the wheel. Her sandy red pageboy seemed to float as her head moved, the ends skimming her jaw-line and tickling the skin. Every now and again he caught a glimpse of a creamy cheek, the trace of her lips, a dark brow. He believed she was humming, her body keeping time to the notes tinkling off the CD.

  He approached her stealthily, knowing how easy it would be to wring her neck with his hands, watch her gasp, and look up at him in fear and longing…

  He shook off the image.

  Impractical.

  Self-defeating.

  He needed a wife, not another slave, and she was a good wife.

  She’d be miserable as a slave… too self-absorbed, too flighty and impractical. Thoughts of mastering her were impractical; he had to let them go.

  No, he didn’t need a slave, he needed his wife.

  “Emily,” he spoke softly so as not to shake her too hard.

  She jerked anyway and turned around.

  “Don’t you look beautiful?”

  “You scared me. You’re early. I would have had dinner ready if I’d known you would be home so soon.”

  “The appointment canceled.” That was the truth. The new girl in the Guild files looked appealing, but she was like too many others—out for quick thrills, a few scenes, no serious submission, certainly not real slavery. How did she ever get by the proctors? Justin wondered. They were supposed to oust the women with questionable characters. This one slipped by—he’d have to have a word with Simonson next time he saw the director of new properties.

  “Cancelled appointment? That’s good for me,” she said smiling, “but bad for you, perhaps?”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather be home tonight, and with you.”

  “You would?”

  He wanted her now… slightly sweaty, perspiration on her brow and lip, the mix of salty musk and perfume revving up the engines already primed for sex.

  “Yes, now.” He pulled her from the stool, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pushed down her shorts.

  “I’m a mess, Justin.” She tried drawing back, but he was taking her anyway.

  “I don’t care.”

  This was rare and welcome… but a change of gears that required Emily to relinquish her current project… the clay fell back against itself into a pile of unusable mush… she let it go… let her hips glide into his, let her heart beat next to his, let her lips swim against his lips. Kisses, dozens of kisses and she was ready for more.

  When he pulled away, she wiped her hands on a towel, tossed it aside and followed Justin to the porch. Lying back on the divan, he motioned her to his crotch where her hungry mouth and eager hands searched for the hardened muscle inside his pants, finally withdrawing the proud erection. Her tongue made circles around the head, ran down the shaft to lick the base. Smelling the aroma of desire, she sucked his scrotum drawing one testicle then the other into her mouth where they swam about before her mouth moved up his cock to focus on the purple head and hardened stalk.

  “Humm, yes, do that more,” he purred.

  “Humm, yes,” she thoughtlessly replied, drawing him deep, far into her throat until he went no further. Drawing back, she rimmed the head, tasting skin, reacting to his pheromones and finding her body turning on itself for more. “From behind, Justin,” she prompted him.

  Ah! He was in luck tonight.

  This was his favorite position…this her gift to him. Then, too, she was randy now, acting like the slut, offering herself like one of his slaves.

  He was ready fast, looming over her naked behind with his rod bobbing, the tip wet with pre-cum and her saliva. Between her thighs, her pussy juices gathered at the door. Oh! To have the tighter hole! He thought of brit’s reckless behind waving for the unfamiliar cock to take her ass. If that were only Emily.

  But he’d settle now for the simpler fuck. He loved the look of his cock inside the steamy portal, pounding, his strokes long, drawn out to the head so he could plunge back forcefully, moving her to the limit of her willingness. Fucking doggy-style was at the borders of her crudest lust. She’d recoil when it was done, turn shy, blush until her ears were red, then refuse to tell him how much this pleased her.

  She was gone, her head thrashing back and forth in ecstasy. She’d cum. Groaning, thoughtless, milking with a clenched cunt every bit of frothy seed he had to give her.

 
; She was there and so was he… thinking of brit’s ass, transferring the look of one slut to the reality of the other. Emily wouldn’t stand for that kind of talk, but there was nothing to keep him from thinking whatever he damned well pleased.

  “Ah, Gawd, Juuuuustin, yes, haaarrrrrder!” she shrieked this time.

  “Good girl,” he said, pulling at her hair—gently.

  “Ooo, yes, ouch, no!” she rattled off.

  He pulled a little harder, feeling her body jolt and jolt again, her inner channel clench and flex, then suddenly start to writhe out of control. “Oooooooooo, yesssssssssssss,” she hissed, mouth open. A silent scream followed. Justin’s low bellow answered seconds later, his thrusting movements picking up speed as his wife worked the spewing erection with her climax, and he shot the last of his juices to mingle with her liquid cunt.

  “Oh, I hate it when you pull my hair,” she exclaimed when they were finished and exhausted.

  “I disagree,” he replied. “It turns you on.”

  “Does not!” she scowled.

  “Yes, it does.”

  “And how could you tell?”

  “Your body changes.”

  She looked suspicious.

  “Trust me, it does,” he tried reassuring her.

  “How about I get dinner?” she said. She shot off the divan more in a hurry than he was this time. “Say,” she stopped at the patio doorway, “you said you’d set me up with an email account?”

  “Yes, I did.” Why would she think of this now?

  “Tonight?” she asked.

  “Why the rush? It’s been weeks since I offered.”

  “My sister wants to write me.”

  “Sure. It won’t take but a minute.”

  “Thanks.” She picked up her shorts from where they’d landed on the flagstone floor and then disappeared inside the house.

  Chapter Two

  Saturday Night, nine o’clock

  kari was a young slave at twenty-eight. He preferred them older and seasoned but this one was too beautiful to pass up. She’d been with Michael Pitts for almost two years; and left when he married his first slave, Gretel. The two slaves did not get along. In Justin’s opinion, the brash Gretel was not much of a slave in the first place—though he imagined she was a terrific lover. The fallout worked in his favor, however; he figured that he could collar kari on the first date. After two months without a master, she would be wet, crawling the floor at a good Dom’s feet for the attention she craved. This one liked her sceneing savage, the humiliation profoundly degrading. She didn’t need it often…which was good, too. Perfect to compliment arrangements with brit, which were tangled and demanding of his time.

  Justin met his new prospect at the Bistro on the lake near the warehouse district. The tiny hole-in-the-wall was always packed and chaotic. However, this was the atmosphere he wanted for their first encounter. He wanted her lost in the dizzying turmoil—too bewildered for anything but the sound of his voice in her ear. She would listen attentively, with a keener ear because she’d want to be particularly perfect making her first impression.

  He took kari’s arm as he led her inside the din, immediately attracting the attention of the guys at the bar. They noted her short, blonde spiky hair, the full bosom, and the naughty glint of lust in her brown eyes. She packed her clothes well, stretching the seams of her Lycra skirt and T-shirt. She was the porn queen and a naïve schoolgirl at the same time. The innocence in her face was the clue to her submissive character. She clung to his arm, the second clue, and waited for him to whisper commands. The guys at the bar might wonder about the collar ringing her neck. Even though the leather was in keeping with the times, it was a sexy statement that suggested a host of possibilities. Just an inch thick and studded with silver; the collar fit smoothly around her throat, moving as she moved and talked. It could be taken for a piece of jewelry or for the proper implications. Justin liked the element of mystery associated with collars. He liked the horny world inside the bar gazing their way—gazing at kari’s collar and wondering who they were and how they were related.

  The pair were seated in the corner, Justin facing out and kari facing him with her back to the cluttered, crowded restaurant.

  “Sit on your bare ass,” he whispered over their first drink.

  “Yes, sir,” she said without hesitation. It was a struggle pulling the tight black Lycra up her hips enough to bare her behind. Her tight body billowed, oozing sexual hunger. Black lashes batted at the man, while a coy grin surfaced on her lips. With the chairs closed around the back, she wouldn’t be noticed with her skirt tucked up around her waist. Although the trained eye of their waitress might detect her secret, she was assured of little real exposure and a good deal of thrill.

  “You wear no panties?” Justin asked.

  “No, sir, and I’m shaved.”

  “And you keep the protocols because you assume I’ll want the same?”

  “Perhaps, but it also pleases me. I think submissively when I’m this way—reminded of the covenant I made with myself.”

  “And that is?”

  “To live what I feel, sir. It’s not easy being a sex slave when the world would tell me I’m deranged.”

  “Do you fight that?”

  “Most of my life. I work with three lawyers who litigate sexual harassment lawsuits.”

  “Little ironic, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe, sir. But I don’t consider myself harassed by my master.”

  She was sharp, managing to sound firm and intelligent without being aggressive. It was quite a gift. Justin imagined that she might be naturally submissive, something she didn’t adopt—as it was with brit who needed forms and regulations to make her submission real. He liked the way this one smiled, innocently, all the while her mind aflutter with questions she would never ask a master unless she was told to voice her needs.

  “What is it you need from me?” he wondered.

  She thought a moment before replying. “A man of substance who’s not afraid to make me bleed if that’s what I need.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Do you need to bleed?”

  “It hardly ever comes to that… but I can’t stand ninnies. If I’m going to live this way—as a slave—I have to live it the way that makes me feel alive. I don’t want this to sound as if I’m topping from inside my shackles, I just respect what drives me. Usually that turns on the men who want me, so why not say so?”

  “You’ve said so very clearly,” he stated, sounding coolly grim.

  “And I’ve put you off, haven’t I?” She looked slightly chagrinned and disappointed.

  “Not at all. You’re direct and that is more important than being deferential right now. However, to be my slave requires that you forget what you want and focus on my commands. If you’re lucky, you’ll get what you’re looking for. It’s a risk for us both.”

  They stared each other down while eating bowls of chowder and crusty bread, letting the food soothe the rough spots where their mutual anxiety would make them wince under other circumstances. They’d been through these negotiations in their on-line conversations, but there was something important about meeting face to face, hearing the words, the inflections in a tone of voice, seeing facial ticks and quivering jaws, and tiny muscles clenched carefully. It was an important time in a submissive’s life, before she adopted the conventions of a master to suit his needs. If they did not fit now, now was the time to speak.

  By all conjecture, kari seemed suited to Justin Booker’s temperament. She would be attracted to his attractive face and the polish in his dominant attitude. He was practiced, knowing how to work a potential slave with the dexterity of a watchmaker. The way he dismissed her requirements was classic Dom talk, and what she expected. She would understand the man by other means and wasn’t worried that she’d get what she needed. Most importantly, he caused her body to flutter with excitement – the sort of alchemy that comes when diverse spirits collide.

  “I’ll want you collared da
ily, though we’ll meet only once a week. You’ll focus your fantasy on me and live your life as my slave beyond our scenes. When we meet, I name the time, I pick the place and will confirm with you through email. No phones. No on-line conversations in-between. You can email me with any questions or concerns, but I will not answer unless there is some emergency. I’ll address your needs once we’re together—if I think they are worthy of my time. I’m not impressed by submissives who feel the need to whine.”

  “I would not whine, sir. If I trust you with myself, I’ll trust you’ll know my needs.”

  He liked that. “Are you pierced?” he moved quickly.

  “Four times in my labia—two each side.” Saying so made her blush—which seemed odd for a practiced slave, and yet, the blush was charming on her brightening face. “My former master intended to pierce me four more times, so that he could lace my crotch closed with ribbons.” She quivered as she spoke.

  “That aroused you, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Perhaps instead, I’ll dangle bells between your rings.”

  She giggled, her fanny wiggling into the chair with an erotic shimmy.

  Justin observed the move, allowing the sexual tease of it to arouse his fantasy. “I want you to cum now,” he ordered her quietly—though the command was distinct and firmly given.

  “Yes, sir,” kari answered as her right hand immediately dipped between her thighs.

  She stared into his eyes, hers glassy and shimmering, wet like the cunt she played with, while her legs parted wide to accommodate the movements of her hand.

  There was the roar of the restaurant for background music, the clatter of dishes, clinking glasses and bellowing laughter arising like a petulant cloud. She was in her own world, not this other one, drawing in the aroma of food, and the feel of his eyes, responding with her groin doing a gentle leapfrog, muscles spasming and expanding, sensation brewing to peaks then letting go, then shooting like rockets through her thighs and pussy as the tumult of desire crescendoed. She toyed with the rings, tugging them gently, then with the wet folds of her cunt, as her hot elixir seeped out across her hand. Her breathing quickened, her eyes darkening to a smoky hue that like the atmosphere around them reeked with sexual tease—and more than the tease, the darker aspects of their mutual need. She panted heavily, fully aware of where she was, then not aware at all as her body suddenly clenched ready to explode.