A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 05

Several weeks went by as mistress and slave grew more and more comfortable and attuned to their roles. Laurel found herself becoming extremely content. Even the most arduous workdays ceased to bother her; knowing what awaited her at home, the ways her slave could remove her tension, actually prevented the tension from developing in the first place. She was more productive, more relaxed, better rested, and quicker to smile or laugh than she had ever been.

Jared, too, was greatly enjoying his servitude. He had always disliked housework; now, given the context in which he performed it, it was actually fun, a game. In his eagerness to please his mistress, he found himself going to great lengths to ensure things were not just clean but spotless, that his meals were not just ready on time, but were expertly seasoned and served with careful presentation. Making the bed, folding clothes, ironing, all things which he had previously done begrudgingly and with no real attention to detail, he now took great pride in.

He'd given her no reason for punishment since those first days, although, as good as her word, she still gave him floggings or whippings from time to time, for the simple fact that she legitimately got aroused from inflicting pain. As Jared was equally aroused by receiving it (or, more accurately, by knowing that inflicting it aroused Laurel), it was a good match. She allowed him two or three orgasms a week. These were sometimes the result of a rough handjob from her, or, on rare occasions when she genuinely wanted his cum in her mouth, from a quick blowjob, always when he was bound severely and always with a time constraint applied. More commonly, though, she allowed him release by having him masturbate to orgasm, invariably into a glass from which afterwards she would command him to drink. She had not yet allowed him to penetrate her except when wearing the hard acrylic sheath over his cock, nor to place his mouth on her pussy or breasts. These were treats she was not yet ready to yield.

Laurel knew that time would come, and she found herself longing for it more and more as the days went by. But a fear persisted in her mind, the fear that once she allowed him that intimacy, his attitude toward servitude would somehow change, that his performance outside the sexual realm would diminish in quality. When she examined her feelings, she realized that she loved him—not as a person, for she didn't really know him as a person. She had not engaged in any deep conversation with her slave, hadn't asked him his likes and dislikes, his personal history beyond the little she already knew, his politics, his religion (if any). No, she loved him simply as a slave—loved the fact that he kept the house spotless, that her laundry was immaculate, that her meals were delicious, that she was pampered, massaged, and otherwise physically satisfied in every way she could think of. She loved every moment of it, and she recognized that had her slave been someone other than Jared, her experiences would, she thought, not be quite as satisfying as they presently were. Perhaps most of all she loved that she did not have to care about this man at all. His needs and wants were utterly immaterial to her; she could use him to her own ends and give nothing in return, at least nothing in terms of emotional energy.

But there was one problem—she was starting to care. She found herself wondering if her slave was as happy with their arrangement as she was. He'd given her no reason to think otherwise, but she was beginning to realize how devastated she would be if he decided he wanted out. She knew she didn't have to meet his needs or desires in terms of a traditional relationship, but she wasn't so naïve as to think he didn't have needs and desires that had driven him to seek such a situation to begin with. Part of those, she knew, revolved around his desire to avoid personal responsibility for his life. But she worried that was a reaction to his divorce, that as he healed from those emotional scars, he would grow out of that phase. Such thoughts only troubled her vaguely at first, but in recent weeks they had been occupying more and more of her mind. The annoyance this caused her, though, gave her sadism a renewed force, particularly in light of the fact that her slave's exceptional performance had not otherwise allowed her many opportunities for punishment.

Jared, for his part, was head over heels in love with Laurel, although he knew as little about who she really was as she did of him. But he was keenly aware that serving her brought him a contentment—happiness, too, but more importantly a contentment—that he had never experienced. Apart from this, he had come to think of her as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And while the constraints on his sexual pleasure were demanding, the nearly constant state of arousal in which he found himself made the orgasms he was allowed of a quality and intensity far beyond those he'd enjoyed in his previous life of pornography, masturbation, and less-than-satisfying sex with his former wife. Still, he longed to be inside his mistress, to deepen their connection (he hoped it was their connection, and not just his), and he often wondered what her feelings toward him really were.

One evening at dinner (her latest whim was to have him lay on the table and stroke himself while she ate), Laurel had almost decided to ask him to speak candidly about his thoughts on their mutual arrangement. Just then her phone rang. It was her older sister, Lydia.

After the usual pleasantries, Lydia said, "Well, I'm sorry for the short notice, but this just came up. I'm flying in tomorrow for a meeting, but I figured I might as well stay for a few days and we can catch up. Since you didn't make it for Christmas last year, it's been almost a year and half."

Laurel loved her sister, but wasn't sure a houseguest would be a good idea. Still, she couldn't very well say no.

"I can't really take much time off from work, but...how long were you thinking?"

"Well tomorrow's Wednesday. I figured I could stay through the weekend and fly back Monday, so at least we'll have the weekend."

"Sure, it'll be great to see you. Do you need a ride from the airport?"

"No," said Lydia. "I'll be picked up for the meeting and I can have them drop me at the house afterward. We'll probably be done by 3."

"Ooh, I've got some late meetings tomorrow so I won't be able to get home before six."

"Well, just put a key under the mat for me."

Shit, Laurel thought to herself. "Yeah, sure, of course."

"Great! See you tomorrow, Sis. We'll hit the town."

Laurel put the phone down and tapped her fingers absentmindedly on the table. She watched Jared's prone body, his hand sliding up and down his rigid pole.

"Slave, you may stop." She indicated with her hand that he was to sit on the floor beside her chair, a position she reserved for him whenever she didn't want to send him away and yet didn't require any particular services from him.

"My sister is coming to visit for a few days. Obviously, this presents us with something of a problem. I see three solutions. The first is that we put you in a hotel during that time. This is the most secure of the three, but I am not partial to it for the simple reason that during that time you will be beyond my control, and that does not appeal to me. Second, we continue our arrangement. This will be incredibly awkward for all of us. I am not eager for my sister to be aware of my...proclivities. Finally, and I think this is the best, though not a perfect, solution, you can pose as my boyfriend, and our interactions will have to assume all the trappings that would entail. Will that be a problem for you?"

"No, Mistress."

"Good. You'll be clothed, of course, and call me by name, as I will you. You'll continue your domestic duties. Under no circumstances will you kiss me or otherwise touch me, say, by holding my hand. I may hold yours, if I see fit; if that happens, you may reciprocate, but do not reach for my hand first, or do anything else that would compromise your true standing as my slave. You'll share my bed during her stay, but will not touch me while there either. We'll say you are a freelance writer. Otherwise, if the need arises, provide accurate details of your own life. We don't need a bunch of clumsy lies floating around. She'll arrive sometime after three tomorrow. Please let her in, get her settled, etc. I'll be home at the usual time. We can dispense with the bath. She and I will go out for dinner tomorrow, from which you will excuse yourself on the grounds that you have work to do. You'll be in bed before our return. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good. Now clean up and retire to your room. I'll have no further need of you this evening."

"Thank you, Mistress."

Laurel was annoyed by the impending visit, annoyed at the lengths she would have to go to in order to hide the true nature of her relationship with Jared, annoyed mostly because of the disruption of her routine. It would be good to see her sister, she admitted. It had been too long. But would it be worth it?

The next day at a quarter to four, Jared nervously opened the door to reveal a rather petite and attractive blonde. She was heavily made-up, though attractively. Her clothes and hairstyle expressed none of the alternative, slightly Gothic appearance that Laurel embraced. She looked, in fact, perfectly ready to present the evening news.

As the door opened, Lydia startled; she had just started to bend down to look for a key under the mat.

"Sorry," said Jared sheepishly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm Laurel's boyfriend, Jared."

"Oh. Boyfriend? I didn't know...she didn't tell me. I'm Lydia."

"I assumed. Come in. Can I get your bags?"

"Please. How long you two been together?"

"Not long. A couple of months."

"You live here?"

"Um...yeah," said Jared, realizing he'd fallen into a bit of a trap.

"She's not usually so quick," said Lydia, teasing.

"Let me show you to your room," said Jared, hefting a bag over his shoulder and picking up a suitcase with his other hand.

"I meant I've been living here a couple of months."

"But that's not what I asked."

"Yeah, um, like eight. Eight months. We've been together."

"She hasn't mentioned you," said Lydia, sitting on the edge of the bed in the spare bedroom.

"Yeah, you said that," said Jared, trying to regain his composure.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a writer. Freelance...writer."

"What kind of writing?"

"Bowling," Jared said, without realizing quite why.

"Bowling?"

"Uh, yeah, you know. Articles about bowling."

"There a lot of bowling writing?"

"There's a couple, you know...bowling magazines. There's uh, well, Bowling. And, uh, Gutters and Strikes. I mean, I don't just do bowling. Just had a couple of bowling articles out recently. I kinda...kinda do...you know, whatever."

"You seem young. She's always dated older guys, generally."

"Well, I guess I'm just...her type. Where are you from?" he asked, desperate the change the subject.

"I live in New York. I'm from Denver, obviously, same as Laurel."

"Right," said Jared, not having had any idea where Laurel was from. "Well, make yourself at home...I have to, uh, you know. Write. I'm writing an article."

"On bowling?"

"No. Something else. Make yourself at home. I'll, uh...Laurel should be home around six, usually."

Fucking hell, thought Jared to himself as he ducked out of the room and into his own. What the fuck was that? It had been nearly two months since he had spoken with anyone other than his mistress, beyond a few words to grocery checkers. He hoped he hadn't made Lydia too suspicious, although he relaxed when he realized that she had no idea there was anything to be suspicious about. She probably just thinks I'm incredibly awkward, he told himself.

The rest of the afternoon and evening went more smoothly, once Laurel arrived home. The two sisters seemed excited to see each other, and Lydia didn't ask anything about Jared. The girls put on evening clothes and prepared to go out to dinner. Jared made his excuses.

"Well, don't wait up, Jared, we might be out late," Laurel said as they left.

"Have fun, you two!" Jared replied, trying to sound like a sincere boyfriend but coming across, he thought, as far too enthusiastic. His relief when he heard the garage door close was palpable.

At dinner, Lydia began to ask Laurel about her boyfriend.

"He seems a little...goofy," Lydia said. "Is that why you haven't mentioned him?"

"He's very sweet. And a hell of a cook. I just...I didn't know how serious it was."

"He's living with you. That's pretty serious, isn't it?"

"Well, it was just more convenient that way."

"You're not gonna marry him, are you?"

"Haven't thought about it," said Laurel. "What about you? How's Tom?"

"Oh, same old same old. Going on eight years now. Not that you've ever been in a relationship that long, let alone married. But you know...it sort of alternates between boring and comfortable, and every once in a while you realize you're pretty happy."

"I guess that's as good as it gets, huh?"

"I guess," said Lydia.

Laurel kept the conversation away from Jared for the rest of the night. When they got home, both women were fairly tipsy, and it was already nearly midnight. Laurel found Jared in her bed, in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. He was curled up well to one side.

"Slave," she whispered, not thinking at all about what she was doing but merely letting happen what felt natural at that moment.

Jared turned his body and said, "Yes, Mistress?"

Laurel didn't know if it was the wine, or the fact that her sister's words about her lack of successful relationships had stung her more than she was willing to admit, but she suddenly wanted this man to make love to her, and she wanted to be very, very audible about it.

"Strip," she said, simultaneously taking off her own clothes. Once naked, she clambered heavily onto the bed and kissed Jared deeply on the mouth. She felt his body stiffen for a moment, taken aback by her display of affection, but after a second he was eagerly reciprocating. She'd almost forgotten how good it felt to kiss, to have another person's warm tongue entwined with hers. She reached down and wrapped her hand around his rock-hard cock, squeezing and stroking it. She could feel how ready her cunt was for it, but she didn't want to stop kissing. It was like her first kiss all over again, she thought, when it seems like the most wondrous thing one will ever experience. She found herself smiling down at Jared as their lips finally parted.

She swung around, her ass toward his face, and took him into her mouth while lowering herself onto his face. The sweet-salty taste of her pussy on his tongue, the taste he had longed for all these weeks, was like water to a man dying of thirst. He thrust his tongue deep inside her, and then began to lick back and forth from her vulva up to her clit, flattening his tongue and pressing up into her as hard as he good, occasionally taking the time to suck her clit into his mouth. Meanwhile, he could feel her saliva dripping off his cock on either side of his balls and trickling down along his thighs. Her mouth moved effortlessly up and down his shaft, her moans mingling with the slurping sounds she was making. Given that she usually gave him very strict time limits in which to come, he was used to ejaculating as quickly as possible. He knew he could not do so now, besides which she had not yet given him permission. It took every bit of his willpower to keep himself from climaxing.

Laurel must have realized the predicament he was in, and reluctantly let his cock fall from her mouth. She sat up straight, pressing her cunt and ass down onto his face. Arching her back, she began to grind down onto him, the pressure of his tongue on her clit immensely pleasurable. She could feel a climax building inside her, and in a few seconds she was moaning loudly as a wave of pleasure swept over her. She squeezed her tits tightly with her hands as she came, waggling her ass over his face as her orgasm subsided.

In one steady, graceful movement, she reversed herself and, now facing him, slid her cunt over his cock. Almost before either knew it was happening, he was fully inside her. Even when she had allowed him to fuck her with the sheath over his dick, he had never had the pleasure of doing so without the hood on, blinding him. To see her in all her glory, her perfect breasts dangling over him, the look in her eyes, was for him more rewarding than actually feeling the walls of her pussy around his cock. The two together were more than he could bear, and he felt his cum begin to rise toward the end of his cock. Reflexively and without thinking he grabbed Laurel's hips to hold her still. Her cunt felt so unbelievably hot, he thought, not metaphorically hot but physically, almost burning.

She realized what he was trying to do and kept herself very still. Delirious with passion, she locked eyes with him, smiling but deadly serious at the same time. "I swear to God, Jared, if you fucking come before I tell you to I am going to hurt you so bad." They both realized it was the first time she had called him anything other than "slave." He nodded as his cum retreated back up his urethra, and she began to slowly rock up and down, varying the depth of her strokes, sometimes just taking in the tip of his cock, sometimes burying it deep inside her. Jared made only the slightest of movements, flexing his buttocks and arching his hips slightly upward, trying to match her rhythm but mostly letting her ride him as she saw fit. Despite the fact that she had not let him inside her without the plastic sheath on in their two months together, it was Laurel who had been deprived of such intimate contact the longest. She realized it had been over a year since she had felt the pleasure of an actual warm, living cock inside her.

She began to moan loudly as she increased the pace of her movements, and as she started to slam down onto him, her moans turned to guttural cries of a volume that would have been impossible for her sister, two rooms down, to ignore. She slapped Jared hard across the face, partly to distract him and she hoped (for both their sakes) to keep him from coming, and partly because of the erotic charge she got from it. Every few seconds she would issue another blow, not too hard, but enough to hurt. They had the desired effect. Jared wasn't sure how long he could hold out, but the slaps directed his attention away from the sensation of her cunt sliding up and down his cock. Still, he was right at the edge.

Laurel's grunts grew in intensity as she felt her orgasm building. "Fuck me!" she yelled, thrilled with Jared's immediate response as he began to thrust upward. She fell forward, her tits pressed into his chest, and then lifted her pussy slightly up off of him to allow him more room to maneuver his cock. "Faster!" she cried, ceasing her own movements and making her cries louder as he began to jackhammer into her.

The only thing that kept Jared from coming was the fact that, as he watched Laurel's face contort with the sweet agony of her climax, he suddenly felt as one with her. Her pleasure was his own. Physically, he felt nothing now squeezing his cock. It was as if his body was utterly numb, and yet the sensations his brain was processing were still immensely pleasurable. They were, literally, he felt, her sensations, her pleasure, her orgasm. It was not something he could have ever accurately described—it was something spiritual, other-worldly, something beyond the physical realm—but nevertheless something very real. He almost didn't hear her as she cried, "Come for me! Come for me!" She wanted to feel his orgasm even as hers was still going.