Room to Think

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The ticking clock and her own shallow breaths were the only noises in the hot attic room. Motes of dust played in the bright light behind her where the sun shone in through the skylight. She could watch the dust drifting and tumbling in the mirror that had been placed in front of her. Her mind drifted past them, beyond the skylight and into the city beyond. How many people out there, under the unnaturally blue London sky, she wondered, had experienced what she was feeling now? Not enough to fill this tiny room, she speculated. The balls of her feet and the muscles in the calves were burning, but this was preferable to relaxing them and having her weight drive her further onto the conical wooden device below her.

She had shivered in anticipation when she'd been lead into the room by the D-ring on her collar and seen it for the first time. It had appeared to be a piece of odd church furniture or a medieval torture device, beautifully carved from ancient dark oak. A carved spiral of wood had been rotated, literally screwing the brutal plug into her virgin arse. He had stopped when she begged him too. Was that a sign of weakness or compassion? Had he left her here, balancing on her toes, out of an altruistic desire to help her walk in heels? She knew she needed the help. Was this fat chunk of lubricated wood in her tender arse only there to help her enjoy the anal sex he was so fond of? He had often commented that she needed to be stretched to accommodate his cock after fingering her there.

The slam of a car door in the road below brought her back to the room. She adjusted her hands behind her back, accompanied by a tinkle of steel upon steel. She's been in the corset for a little over two hours and was no longer finding it painful. It was just there, holding her waist in a shape fashionable a hundred years before her birth. The seamed stockings that made her legs ornamental were perhaps a product of the 50's. She almost laughed at the idea of being so eclectically retro, but the gag in her ruby-lipped mouth stopped her. Instead her half chuckles made the weights hanging from her other lips swing and bump, sending fresh shivers into her pussy.

She relaxed her feet for a moment and sank a millimetre or two further onto the post buried in her previously so puckered arse. She tried to take the pain without tensing; it hurt less that way. She swallowed, feeling the mixture of saliva and cum slide down her throat. Opening her eyes again, she looked back at the face in the mirror. She decided she looked like something from the porn film she'd seen when she was 16. The round glossy rubber ball blocking her mouth and the deep leather collar around her neck made her stand with her head tilted backwards, looking at herself over her cheeks, through half closed eyes. They followed the fine tube that pierced the rubber ball up as far as she could, but whatever was feeding her cum (and she was sure she recognised her Masters taste) was beyond her limited field of vision. Perhaps it was a bag, like hospitals used to –

There was a noise somewhere in the house below her. A creek. It might have just been a floorboard expanding in the heat, or a bit of Victorian plumbing settling, but it made her hold her breath and strain her ears for a full thirty seconds. The noise didn't come again. When she finally exhaled she felt a moment cool breeze on her breasts. The corset had left her with a Moll Flanders cleavage, an effect only spoilt by the slick of sweat that now coated her proud flesh. She took another breath through her nose as quietly as she could, still desperate to hear something, anything from the room three floors below where she'd been clamped and corseted. As she thought of the word 'clamped' her nipples gave a throb from inside the corset. She relaxed her feet again, and another jolt of pain spasmed in her arse. She moaned uselessly against the gag.

The clock gave a little extra click, and she knew another hour had passed. A moment later it gave a lonely ting, telling her that it was now perhaps three or four in the afternoon. She swallowed again, taking what seemed like the last of the cum into her stomach, along with a mouth full of her own drool. She'd been aware of the dribble escaping from the corners of her mouth for half an hour now, the two threads of saliva joining below her chin and tricking down to form a puddle below her breasts, a hidden reservoir of her own spit. She found herself hoping it wasn't spoiling the red silk lining of the leather corset. Not just because of the punishment she might receive for damaging the beautiful garment, but because she loved it and didn't want it marked. She'd picked it out herself, a few short hours ago, in a shop tucked away down a side street in Camden. She'd accompanied her Master in and had felt like a child in a toyshop. Catching herself reaching for the items, despite the instructions she'd been given before they'd entered the shop, was a strange feeling. Did she want to be punished for failing to follow his orders? Was her subconscious mind playing some crude trick, just waiting for a moment's lapse in concentration to stab her? As she stood, she regretted the unguarded impulse that had raised a red nailed fingertip to touch the so-soft leather. The heat of her body now drove the smell of that leather up to her nose, bring memories of the craftsman's shop and the sudden cold look that had appeared in the green eyes of the man she'd chosen to submit to.

Something landed on the dusty floorboard below her. She wasn't sure what. It had been a little wet noise, like a tear could have made falling there. Her cheeks felt wet, so perhaps she had been crying. Perhaps a drip of her drool had found a path of escape from the bottom of the corset. Maybe a drip of sweat had dropped from her nose. She knew her cunt was very wet and that seemed a likely candidate, and it was certainly favourable to imagining what the plug had done to her bottom. She felt stretched, but had it really torn her? She didn't want to think about blood dripping from her arse and closed her eyes, smothering the thought with something, anything. Her mind came to rest on the video she'd seen while baby-sitting, only a few years before. It had been in the machine. Had Mr and/or Mrs White deliberately left it there for her to discover on purpose? Had fat ugly Mr White been watching it earlier in the day, tugging at himself while a German girl eased two double ended dildos into herself. Had he pawed at his flesh while the same girl mounted her strapped-down friend, feeding the red jelly latex into her baby-oiled pussy and recently fisted arse. The memory of that gaping, angry hole brought her back to the room, this stuffy attic torture chamber, where her own arse must be two inches wide by now.

It was an itch several minutes later which dragged her imagination away from her KY'd anus. It began just above her clit, on her recently shaved mound and within seconds she was tugging at her handcuffs again, desperate to free herself and scratch this burning, creeping itch which threatened to make her shriek, at last, into the gag. Fighting the urge to hurl herself backwards, to roll and to thrust her self against the suddenly far too smooth lacquer on the floorboards, she gasped and shuddered, making the pussy-lip weights clank together violently. She slipped again, lowering her heels to the floor at last, and driving the last centimetre of the plug into her bowels. The explosion of pain made her feel suddenly light headed and she almost fell forward. Only her corset and red-trimmed neck collar stopped her head slumping and hitting the mirror. She opened her baby blue eyes and watched the sweat appear from below her dark mane of hair. It was beading on her forehead too, glistening in her arched eyebrows like tiny jewels. She was gasping against the gag again, her chest suddenly feeling very restricted, her lungs crushed.

The clock gave a little stutter and a ting. It was four or five, she was sure. The light behind her was at a more acute angle, the pool of light on the dark stained floor now reaching her heels. Perhaps it was six. The sunlight had taken on an evening quality, but dusk was still three or more hours away and it was still strong enough to make her heels, ankles, calves, backs of her knees feel warm. She didn't really feel the passage of time now. She was being tortured at the hands of a dentist, who inflicted pain by making his patients wait for hours in a swelteringly hot waiting room. He'd dress them like the Dutch (or had they been German? Or Danish? She couldn't remember now. It didn't seem important any more) porn sluts she'd watched in a darkened room when she was just a kid, fucking herself vigorously with the video remote. She'd panicked and almost ran it under a tap afterwards. In the end, she licked it clean, dreaming of being filled by a Heidi look-alike with two red snakes where her naughty holes should be. The sick dentist wanted to fill her up too, and the shiny black latex stockings would make it easier to clean her afterwards, he said. He would have a couch for her to lie on, gas for her to suck on, and cold stainless steel equipment with which to probe her, thoroughly. Her legs would be held apart in stirrups. What a dentist needed with stirrups was irrelevant. All that mattered would be the oversized syringe he'd grease before pressing into her, and the warm oil it contained, filling her to capacity as he squeezed it empty.

A dog barked somewhere behind the tall, narrow house. There was a park back there, where she'd first met her Master. They'd spoken for weeks on the 'net, and when he suggested an ice cream in the summer sun, she was so pleased to dress in a nice cotton dress she thought he'd like. He had. Looking up with a smile from a deckchair beside the bandstand, while the theme to Last of the Summer Wine was belted out by the brass band, he'd complimented her on her choice. They were playing something by Glen Miller when she first pressed her unworthy lips against his, felt a strong arm around her waist. When he made good on his promise and bought her an ice cream. He noted the irony as he handed it over. It was vanilla.

That was only four weeks ago. His easy manner has sapped the fear she'd felt that first day out of her, leaving only anticipation and excitement, but when his hand had snapped around her arm in the little shop like a bear trap, and she'd seen the look in his eyes, the fear had come back, crashing over her. He trusted him not to harm her, but she knew that the limits of her submission would be tested. He had promised as much over breakfast one day.

"Slut?" He lifted the coffee cup to his lips.

"Yes Sir?" She'd replied, the informality of the situation not fooling her into dropping the protocol. The only time she could do that without fear of punishment was during orgasm.

He lowered his mug. "I'll be taking you shopping at the weekend. If you're to really feel like my slut, I think you'd be happier being dressed as a slut".

"Thank you Sir", she said automatically, her mind already trying possible outfits on. She'd seen a maid's uniform in PVC in a sex shop in Soho and pointed it out to him. Perhaps that was what he had in mind.

"I will expect you to be on your best behaviour when we're out together. This is a formal occasion and I will not be happy if you speak without reason, or touch any of the clothes without obtaining my permission first. Do you understand me?"

"Yes Sir", she'd replied, sure that she could bite her tongue when a question gathered on the end of it, and clasp her hands behind her when tempted by the tactile properties of rubber and leather.

"You already know my displeasure hurts. Your training is important to me and I expect you to understand that if you fail any simple instruction, you will learn to regret it."

It sounded a little practiced, but he had stabled a few other submissives before her, she knew. Perhaps several girls had sat at this pine kitchen table, wearing short skirts and tight t-shirts, and had received the same speech. It didn't matter to her. " I'll do all I can to please you Sir." She kept eye contact at all times, willing her eyes to show her commitment.

He nodded; seemingly satisfied that she'd understood his expectations.

And now she was skewered in a room he'd shown her that first summer's day almost a month previously. Her arse utterly violated, pussy twitching and throbbing, nipples which seemed to jump in their clamps with every heartbeat. Mouth full of her saliva and the taste of warm Indian rubber, the last tang of his sperm long since swallowed. Her hair brushed her shoulders (It had been much longer, but following his wishes, she'd had it cut shorter for the first time in memory. She liked the result, not least because of the hot weather) as she shook sweat away from her eyes. Her seams wouldn't be straight, she felt sure. She'd been moving her feet around to get some life back into them. Massaging her legs by flexing them. Her wrists ached and the cuffs made her imagine her hands must be white and numb. She carefully moved her fingers in turn to check they felt ok. Apart from the tingle of pins and needles, they seemed fine. She looked at herself in the mirror again. Her makeup, which had been so perfect for the shopping trip, was now a red and black slick on her chin and cheeks. She sucked on the gag again and huffed her breath out through her nose. Her body felt limp and used. A rag doll, loved and played with, then abandoned. Left forever forgotten in the attic.

The clock gave another click and he appeared at her elbow before she'd been aware of him in the room. He lovingly prised the heavy school bell she'd been holding, supporting it with the rudely jutting buttocks the corset gave her, from her fingers and let it fall to the floor with the same clatter which would have brought him running to her at any moment. It rolled in a circle with a series of tired little clanks.

As he pulled the dripping gag from her mouth she thanked him. When he carried her to the bathroom next door to undress and clean her she caught a glimpse of the clock in the corner. It was only four o'clock. As he cradled her head later she realised it must chime the quarter hours and she suddenly felt very silly as well as beautifully relaxed. She snuggled into his arms again, grinning. He was stroking her hair, kissing her forehead and telling her how much she'd pleased him.

She was his little princess, and in her tower room, she lived happily ever after.

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