The tale of the pretty little slave

“Do you like that my pretty slave?”

“Yes master.”

“You like it when I pull your hair?”

“Yes master.”

“Tell me how much you like it.”

“I love it when you pull my hair, master.”

My hands were bound, white rope biting my wrists, its length tied to the bed head, taut. My arms were stretched at 2 and 10, my hands clenching the smooth wood. My face was in the pillow, the end of a feather scratchy against my cheek, goose down.

I’m naked, on my front, my breasts pressed into the sweaty sheets. I’m covered in goosebumps, the cool air like icy fingers tickling my skin. My hips are raised, arse in the air, waiting, anticipating, quivering.

“What do you want my pretty slave?”

“I want you master. I want you inside me.”

“Inside you? Mmm, I don’t know. I think you’ll like that too much.”

“Yes, I will master.”

“What will you do for me, my pretty slave?”

“Anything my master wants.”



“Don’t move.”

I lay still, prone on the bed, starting to shiver. He rose from the bed and pulled open the bedside drawer. I knew what was inside; a delicious collection of naughty things designed to make me moan and scream. A ripple, a tightening, my cunt already wet.

From the drawer he pulled out a riding crop, a wicked flexible whip with a sharp leather tongue that would leave my arse smarting.

“Should I use this on my pretty slave?”

He faced me, watching for my assent. My eyes were wide, a smile creeping onto my face.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said turning back to the contents of the drawer. The crop disappeared from my view.

I knew better than to be disappointed. He was playing with me. Teasing, making me wait. He had something else in mind.

“Maybe this?” He held up a small purple butt plug, it’s sparkling plastic ruby end catching the light. I nodded.

“Yes, my pretty slave likes this, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” I nodded again.

“Yes what?”

“Yes master.”

“But first, something else. Something to keep you quiet while I play with your arse.”

He reached back into the drawer and slowly extracted a ball gag. The ball had holes in it. He was still training me, but I was learning. Learning to be a good little slave.

He sat beside me on the bed and gently lifted my head so he could slip the gag around my face. He pushed the ball, hard black plastic, into my mouth. I adjusted my lips, my jaw, accommodating this intrusion, calming my breath. Slow and deep.

He tightened the strap behind my head until the gag was firm and he eased my head back down onto the pillow.

“That’s better. You’re a good pretty slave. How does that feel?”

I nodded and mumbled. It was hopeless trying to speak. We had signals if I wanted him to stop. Signals, safe words, precautions we established a long time ago. Back when we created the list.

“Now … I’m going to take your arse. I’m going to make it mine. I’m going to take it and make my pretty little slave very happy.”

I sucked in air, through my nose and the holes in the gag. It whistled softly. I needed to stay in control of my breathing, otherwise I would start to gag. Although that wasn’t so bad. Master liked it when I gagged.

He repositioned himself behind me on the bed. He placed his hands either side of my hips and lifted.

“Up pretty slave. Stick that arse in the air for your master. Keep it high.”

I arched my back, pushing my face deeper into the pillow, the strap of the gag cutting into my cheek.

“That’s it slave. Show me that beautiful arse.”

I was squirming with each word, desperate for him to touch me, to touch my cunt, my arse. I was distracted, caught up, focused on what he was about to do.

His hand was suddenly on my right ankle and I turned my head sharply around.

“Oh, did I forget to mention? I’m also going to restrain your legs, pretty slave. I don’t want you to be able to get away.”

He had my spreader, a gleaming gold bar with patent leather cuffs. He cuffed my ankle, first one then the other, forcing my legs two feet apart. It was my favourite.

Spread-eagled and gagged, face down, arse up, I was shaking. He’d hardly touched me. There was so much to this that had nothing to do with force or pain. This was about giving up control, giving over my own impulses and thoughts. I did what he said, when he said it. I came when he let me. Sucked what he put in my mouth. When I submitted, I was entranced.

“Is my pretty little slave ready?”

“Yes master.”


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