Perfection-09
Perfecton - Chapter Nine
- by xenaRRa
To Kelley without whom this would have remained only a dream.
All characters in this work are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This work may not be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author.
Copyright 1989 by K. Xenarra Brown.
- PERFECTION
- by Xenarra
Chapter Nine
The car bumped along in silence. Constance grew more afraid to speak as the miles flew by and her new Master said nothing. She sat hunched over, studying the floorboard of the car, dreading his first words, his first command; yet anxious for the wait to be over, to know what this total stranger would require of her. She tried to glance at him unobserved, but the sun shining through the driver's side window obscured her vision. She was dressed and capable of jumping from the car, yet she felt helpless and vulnerable. She fidgeted, frustrated by the wait yet unable to get past her fears to open a conversation.
"Uh, are you uncomfortable?" he asked, noticing her distress. "I can make it cooler or warmer if you are."
"No, I'm ok, uh, um, . . ." her voice trailed off and her fears asserted themselves as she burst into sobs.
"What's wrong?" he demanded. "I haven't touched you. What is the matter?"
"I, I, I don't know anything. I don't know if I should call you Master, or Sir, or what. I don't know what name I will answer to. I don't know where we are going or what I will do there. I don't even know if you like me, like my body, want me, or if you're just going to dump me someplace when we get far enough away." The words came in bits and rushes, interrupted by her tears. The man pulled the car to the side of the road, shut off the motor, and turned to face her.
"You don't have to cry and you don't have to worry. I'm here because my friend Max, you probably know him as Uncle, called me and explained the situation to me. I came and got you because I want to take care of you, not because I want to hurt you. Of course I won't dump you at the side of the road, or anywhere else for that matter. You are far to precious for that. As for a name, Precious would be appropriate, I think. You can call me Mike. As to where we are going, my company keeps an small, furnished house for visitors which is empty right now. We'll put you up there until something more definite is decided. I can't stay with you, but I will come to see you daily."
"Precious, you are actually a dream come true. Well, maybe more fantasy than dream. I understand Richard and Laura abused you. That has ended. I know you'll like living in your own house, with your own things to do. When I come, I imagine you will be able to entertain me, you know, keep me satisfied."
"Any more questions?" Constance shook her head, amazed at the answers he had given. "Good, now let's get going, and I'll tell you a little about myself."
The next two hours were filled with the man's rambling voice as he related his life's history. At first Constance tried to listen, attempting to gain bits of helpful information, like the man's last name (Mitchell, she discovered), his occupation (law), and preferences (too many to remember). But as time wore on, her mind drifted as he droned on. Fortunately, he was more interested in the sound of his own voice than her responses. They had driven through rural areas for most of the time, but Constance could tell they were approaching a city as the housing developments of its surrounding suburbs began to sprout from the countryside.
Mike drove into one of these faceless tracts whose sign, proclaiming Somethingdale, moved past too quickly to read. All the homes were new; fresh grass and very young trees adorning the lawns. Identical houses winding forever along identical streets. The car pulled into an identical driveway and a clone garage door opened as his finger pressed the control. It closed behind them, and the car was bathed in the eerie neon glow of the security light. Constance looked out the car windows, but saw only empty garage, sheetrock painted white.
Mike was still intensely occupied with his monologue, which continued as he left his side of the car and sprang to open Constance's door. She exited the car and followed him into the house through a side door. Inside, he took her on a tour of the little house, displaying the two bedrooms, living room, and kitchen with such obvious pride Constance wondered if he had built the place. The furniture was sparse, but as new as the paint and carpeting, indeed, as new as the house. The decor was modern and pastel with the exception of the kitchen whose country cheeriness was nearly nauseating. Every obvious need was satisfied linens, towels, television, radio, fireplace, even the latest newspaper perched enticingly on the kitchen table.
The tour ended in the bedroom where Constance opened the closet and received a shock. It was empty. She turned to face her new Master who had slipped off his shoes and was sitting on the edge of the bed. "There aren't any clothes." The comment seemed stupid, but the thought of being forced to go without clothing again angered her. She ignored her own reactions and plunged on. "Do I have to go naked? I've done that, but I really don't want to." `But it probably doesn't make any difference what I want,' Constance thought to herself, `It usually doesn't.'
Mike sat back and looked at her, completely silent at the sight of her entire inviting body. Constance felt his eyes removing the maid's outfit, gazing directly at what was underneath. She had been humiliated and displayed for more men than she wanted to remember, yet having clothes again restored a sense of prudence to her. She blushed and turned from his gaze, her words falling silent. She tried to retain the feelings of righteous indignation which had so recently filled her, but under his stare, she lost her composure and fell back upon the only successful strategy she knew.
Constance walked to her new Master and knelt before him, her legs spread wide and her eyes cast down. She had learned this posture after a great deal of struggle with Laura and Richard. They had demanded much of her. Her back always be ramrod straight, her breasts thrust out as far as possible, and her manner willing. She now adjusted her position to include these and a thousand other minor details of her demeanor, trying to be perfectly obedient for him.
Still the man sat, looking down on her bowed head, not responding in any way to her attempt to placate him. Wildly Constance's thoughts raced through possible alternative positions. Obviously, this one did not please. But if not this, her legs spread so far, her tits fairly leaping from her chest, what could? This Mike, so unfocused and rambling in the car, now completely quietly stern and unforgiving, must surely be the strictest of masters. Constance tried once more, desperately, to curry his favor. She bent down and began to lick and polish his shoes. Laura had required this of her upon occasion, and had made Constance repeat the job if one spot was overlooked. This was the most humble act Constance could imagine, and she vowed to continue until Mike reacted.
"Now, you needn't do that, Precious," he said after a few moments. "I know you're glad to be away from there. Why don't you just sit up here with me." He patted the bed next to him. Confused, Constance rose and did as he asked. She was puzzled at his request, for indeed it was a request, not a command. Sitting next to him, he took her knee into his hand. "Yes, you certainly are a dream come true. First, let me answer your question. The apartment is for visitors, usually witnesses from out of town. They always come with their own clothing." Constance looked visibly relieved.
"Now, please tell me about what has happened to you. You were concerned about your name. What did Laura and Richard call you?"
"Slave, Sir, they called me slave."
"Mike, call me Mike, I really don't like that Sir stuff. It reminds me too much of being in the service. Precious, why would anyone, even someone as awful as those two grown children, call you slave?"
Constance began to cry at the humiliation of being forced to explain. Why didn't this man understand? Why hadn't he been told? Or did he know her story already but hoped by forcing her to recite it to break down any natural resistance she might have. If that was the case, it was an effective technique. As this thought hit her, she resolved not to let him get the better of her. She forced herself to continue through her tears.
"Because I am a slave. I'm only really happy when I'm serving someone else. Before I was a slave in name, I acted like one. I always put myself into relationships where I would serve the man. I even looked for jobs which would force me to be at the beck and call of others. I am called slave because I am one."
Her silent sobs racked her shoulders, and he gathered her to him with one arm, caressing her hair with his free hand. "But how did you get into that mess with Laura and Richard? Why were you there?"
And so Constance began to speak. At first she rambled on without structure, leaping from incident to incident until Mike was totally confused. Then he questioned her on each point, ferreting out the details and completing the sordid picture Constance sketched. Every time Constance answered a particularly difficult question, she dissolved into tears. And each time, Mike held her, patted her head, and softened his voice. Subconsciously, Constance stored his reactions reactions totally different from those of her previous Masters and Mistresses.
At last the questions stopped and Mike pulled Constance onto his shoulder. She curled against him, her body enjoying the warmth and comfort of his arms around her. But her mind was light years away, trying to make sense of this new type of Master, one who called her Precious and held her as if she was a breakable doll. The warmth of his body against her eventually overrode her busy mind and stimulated her hormones. In truth, Mike was not extremely handsome, or young, or strong. But he was male she glanced down at the hardening evidence of that. It was obvious that he was having difficulty remaining a gentleman with her pressed to his side.
When Mike could no longer control his need, he reached up with utmost gentleness and lifted Constance's face to his, pressing his lips against hers. Her lips parted slightly, inviting his invasion, but instead, he broke off and pulled away abruptly. Constance was filled with confusion. Why had he turned away? What had she done wrong?
"I think you should get some sleep," he said as he stood up, his voice quiet.
"Yes, Mas ; um, yes, S ; uh, yes, Mike," Constance struggled with the unfamiliar response, wanting to please him above all else, but still confused as to how she had displeased. She stood up and squirmed out of her uniform, her soft body free of its bindings and wonderful to watch as she stretched away her accumulated tensions. But when she bent completely over to touch her toes, Mike was treated to the sight of her marked back and buttocks. He moved closer; and she obediently stayed in place, allowing him to trace the marks Laura and her brother had left upon her body. Some were nearly healed, others quite fresh. Still others had been so deep, she thought they might never completely heal. He turned away, sickened.
"In bed, now. Go to sleep immediately." Mike's voice was gruff as he forced back his anger and revulsion. "I'll be back in the morning; but if you get up before I return, raid the refrigerator for breakfast. And don't even think about getting out of bed after I leave. I'm going to stay here and read the paper until you are completely asleep."
He bent over Constance and kissed her forehead as she snuggled down in the luxurious sheets. Then he ran his fingertips over her eyelids, closing them. He chose a spot slightly above and between her eyebrows and began to lightly rub her skin in a tiny, circular motion. Constance felt her tensions and fears drain from her body. Then the hand was gone, the body slipped from the room, but the lovely feeling of his touch was still there. She slipped away into an exhausted dreamless sleep.
It was late in the morning when she woke; she could tell by the position of the sun as the rays slanted into the bedroom. She found the bathroom, showered slowly under floods of steaming water, wrapped a towel about her body, and came out into the living room. She turned on the television for noise and went to find some breakfast. Unlike the closet, the refrigerator and freezer were amply stocked with just about every food, fresh and frozen she could want. The nearby pantry was equally able to satisfy any need. The most difficult part of preparing her breakfast was choosing from the array of food available. How unlike Seth, with his frequent breakfasts from paper bags, and Richard and Laura who required that she take her meals with their uncle and eat only what he ate. The weeks of soups and watery oatmeal had been hard to endure.
She ate until she thought she would burst, then wandered into the living room and landed carelessly on the couch. Immediately she sprung to her feet and knelt on the floor. She watched a game show for a moment, then realized with a start that she was alone, without any of the previous restrictions imposed upon her. She got to her feet and did a swan dive into the cushions, laughing and throwing pillows everywhere. The freedom was intoxicating. She lay back and savored the moment, lazily watching the obnoxious actions of the players on the show.
A soap came on next, after multitudes of commercials. The men and women spoke about love and Passion, yet their actions were wooden and unnatural. Constance flipped the channels, bored with the endless prattle of mindless actors who repeated lines devoid of all emotion. She turned off the set and wandered back into the kitchen. Then she caught sight of the newspaper still on the table and pounced on it catlike. It had been months since she had been allowed to read anything. The bold headlines and stark print were like an oasis in the midst of a vast desert. She read as she had eaten, quickly and with total absorption in the task. So absorbed, she passed the time quickly, not even noticing Mike enter the room until he stood across from her. Even then she only waved a hand in acknowledgement until she had finished the article she was reading.
"Well, you look healthy and happy," Mike commented as he gazed at her body, still partially covered by towel. Her skin was fresh from the shower, damp hair curled against her neck. The towel gaped on the side, and he could see shadows of her breasts and belly which inflamed his passion anew.
"Oh, I'm sorry, um, Mike. I didn't hear you come in. Its been a long time since I've been able to just sit and read the paper." She refolded it, stacking the sections neatly on the table; then stood and walked toward him.
"I'd like very much to thank you for everything you've done for me," Constance began cautiously. She was still uncertain as to this man's motives and possible reactions.
"Well, I think that would be really nice. What did you have in mind?" he responded, a silly grin lighting his face.
'God, what kind of a ya hoo did I get this time,' Constance thought to herself. 'I can't tell if he's never been with a slave before or if he's the most skillful Master I've met. I always seem to tell him more than I really want to. I guess I'll play it safe for now and assume that he does know what he's doing.'
Constance silently knelt at Mike's feet and began to lick the zipper of his trousers. The fabric covering its teeth was smooth against her mouth. In a short time, she was no longer licking the zipper, rather the bulge beneath it. His hands had begun to stroke her hair in long, even passes. When she looked upward, she saw his face turned down toward hers, his eyes full of wonderment.
"Oh, God, I want you to suck my dick. Would you do that? Would you suck my dick?" His voice had lost its cultured tones; he sounded more like a kid in a candy store than a grown man.
Constance responded by taking the top of his zipper in her teeth, her arms wrapped around his hips for stability, and lowering it inch by maddening inch. When at last the passage was clear, she snaked her tongue inside his pants and drew forth his dick.
She studied it for a moment before enveloping it with her mouth. It was a perfectly ordinary penis, erect in almost painful anticipation. The head was dark red, swollen with blood, and oozing the tiniest drop of fluid from the tip. The ridge behind the head was darker yet, blue veins underneath distended with his desire. Erect, his dick was easily seven or eight inches long, bobbing and weaving in front of her face as it yearned for release. Not an outstanding cock, certainly not the biggest or longest she had ever seen, but obviously in working order.
Constance's mouth reached for it hungrily, taking in the head in one gulp. She slipped her wet and ready lips back and forth over it, each time relaxing a bit more and allowing it to slide further into her mouth. She worked with vigor, polishing each inch of his prick with her tongue. Up and back, in and out. From the corner of her mind, she heard him begin to moan, so she switched to a new tactic, not wanting him to come so soon.
Sliding her mouth off his dick, she kissed the tops of his thighs, tonguing and teasing every hair on his crotch. At last she descended to his balls, licking them, too. Then she took each one into her mouth, licking, teasing, and slipping it in and out. Soon the area was wet from her mouth. The penis still bobbed before her; and she reluctantly left his balls alone while she returned to his dick. As she worked, she became increasingly stimulated herself. Her towel fell unheeded to the floor around her, exposing her swelling breasts, each topped with a hardening nipple, but demurely covering her hot, wet sex.
Mike grabbed her head more firmly with one hand, and used the other to pull a chair in place behind him. He sat down heavily, his legs flung wide apart, and Constance struggled to maintain her contact as she adjusted to his new position. She was more directly above him now, and under his guidance, came down deeply and forcefully on his dick. He tapped her cheeks, and she accordingly increased the sucking action of her mouth. Now, as she made her way up and down his shaft, she could feel every ridge, every vein. She worked them from within with her tongue, driving him to move her head faster.
Then he began to groan in earth shattering moans capable of raising the dead. The cum rose in spurts from his depths, Old Faithful erupting, and she eagerly gobbled each drop. The salty cream felt good against her now raw throat. Her tired lips wanted to relax their hold, but would not, could not, as long as his hands held her head in place. And the fire which had left him had only intensified in her body. She moved slightly and draped her clit across his foot, polishing his shoe as she sought release for herself.
After a few moments, Mike noticed that Constance was actually humping his shoe, and released her head to take hold of her shoulders and raise her up.
"Thank you, Precious, for a delightful, how shall we say it, experience. I've never had that done before. It certainly is everything its reported to be. But what are you doing? Why are you rubbing against my shoe?" His voice was even, level, inquisitive.
Constance longed to scream out her frustration. 'Why was he so cruel? Why must she explain herself, her needs to him? But to refuse to explain was the same as disobeying. If he was so cruel when he was pleased, heaven save her from him when he was angry.'
"I'm hot," she began, hating herself for revealing her need so openly. "I want you. I want your dick inside me. I need you to release me from my need."
"Well, maybe a little later, Precious, after Mr. Big here recovers. You pretty well wore him out. But don't you worry, you'll get your chance later."
Constance began to sob aloud with anger and frustration.
Mike made comforting noises, but made no move to touch her, to release her. Finally, Constance could stand it no longer, and rage boiled to the surface.
"I sucked you. I did a good job, too. I liked doing it. But now, I need you to release me. Don't you understand?" He shook his head, no. Constance continued, trying to explain the depth and urgency of her need. "It's like blue balls, only for a woman. I've got to have relief soon, or I'll have to make myself come." His look was still blank. "Masturbate, you dumb ass. I'll have to masturbate if it gets too bad." Immediately she regretted the words she had spoken in anger. But his face remained neutral. 'Was there no way to get this man angry?' she wondered.
"Ok, why don't you do that? I obviously can't help you, so go ahead and do whatever you have to."
Shame flooded Constance's face. He had called her bluff and now she was to suffer the consequences. He was indeed a cruel man. She reached down, hardly knowing where to begin, the need in her belly to urgent to resist, but frightened at the prospect of satisfying herself in front of a Master.
"Go ahead," he prodded.
And so, kneeling before her Master, aware of his eyes following her every move, she reached again for her clit. She began rubbing it, sliding the wetness already present over and around her throbbing little knob. She concentrated more fully on it, gliding her index finger over and around the clit, her hips moving to the rhythm of their own accord.
"Is that all there is too it? Can't you do something else while you do that? Why don't you play with your boobs or put your fingers up your cunt?"
His words sunk in like claws on her neck. Her head snapped up from where it had fallen forward onto her chest and she looked into eyes filled with almost a clinical interest. Unwillingly, one hand moved to finger and pull at her breasts. She felt clumsy, awkward. 'This should be done by a Master. Why was she forced to spend her passion by herself, providing just a show for this man?' Her need pressed her back into the world of her clit. She rubbed harder, faster, eager for this charade to be over.
"How about this?" Mike asked, and with one motion moved his hand under her cunt and stabbed his fingers upward into her. The unexpected penetration broke her concentration and released her need. Juices sloshed over his hand as he thrust upward again and again. She rode his hand hard, willing every ounce of sexual drive to be spent at once, never to return again and embarrass her. Gradually, the intensity of her orgasm subsided, and she was left, exhausted, still suspended on his hand. With as much dignity as she could manage, she collected herself and lifted upwards, freeing him. He stared at his hand, so freshly wet with her juices, unable to comprehend what had happened.
"Do you want me to lick it?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"How's that?"
"Do you want me to lick that clean for you?" 'Why did he make everything so difficult?'
"Uh, no," he responded distractedly. He reached for a handkerchief and dried his hand carefully, still marveling at its ability to produce such a response from her. "Is it always going to be like this?" he asked, looking directly into her eyes, searching for answers.
"Listen, Mike, maybe you and I had better talk," she said, taking a seat directly across from him, on his level. "Have you ever owned a slave before?"
"Well, uh, actually, no. When Max called, he asked me if I thought I could handle you. The way he described you, I just assumed all you wanted was a safe place to live and an occasional romp in the sheets. But I guess I was wrong, eh?"
Constance thought fast. Here was definitely a unique opportunity. If she could keep this guy thinking he was doing all the right stuff, keep him thinking he was getting his way, she could get anything she wanted with a little time and patience. And best of all, she was safe from everyone who had hurt her. This was too good to be true.
"No, Mike," Constance answered, keeping her inner secret smile to herself, "It's just that's its been so long. What I really enjoyed was sucking you off. Please, don't send me away. I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want."
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