The Rise of AzkovalChapter 7 A New Caliph
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Communications Skills 4: Lip Service free porn video
Communication Skills, Part IV: Lip Service
(Sequel to Communications Skills, Fitting Treatment and Dressed and Redressed)
The slave girls who had emerged from the shadows upon Grahame's command fittedme with black leather wrist cuffs to match my ankle cuffs and collar. Whatthe well-dressed slave is wearing this year, I mused. Then I watched him walkover to Ms. Catsuit and whisper something into her ear, gently grazing hercheek with the back of his hand, as if to remind her of a tenderness that hadexisted between them long ago. I yearned for that warmth to exist between thehe and I, but based on his recent reaction to my oral skills, I knew that itwould be a long time in coming. He glanced over and saw me observing him. Helooked almost amused.
"Eyes down!" he ordered.
I lowered my gaze, but still felt the flush of anger and yearning in my cheeks.Why wasn't I enough for him?
Ms. Catsuit snapped her fingers twice and the three slave girls started tolead me away, for whatever "preparations" Grahame had pre-ordered. I felt asudden chill, unsure if it was because I was nervous of what lay ahead or becauseI was wearing nothing other than a corset, cuffs, a collar and my own pairof stiletto heels.
"Wait!" he commanded.
My eyes still cast downwards, I felt the tug on my leash slacken as my "escorts" haltedour departure from the room where I had just been displayed and humiliatedfor Grahame's amusement and apparently, for my own edification. He walked upand bent slightly to whisper in my ear, his warm breath sending shivers downmy spine. I ached to reach out and wrap my arms around his neck, kiss him deeply,beg him to take me somewhere private where we could be alone, to play and totalk. But his business-like tone of voice warned me that this would not bethe time.
"Dana, I've got some things that I have to take care of at work. I'm goingto leave you here, under the care of these lovely ladies. Just do exactly asyou're told and you'll be fine. Disobey and they've been given detailed instructionson how to handle your insurrections, as I might if we were alone. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Grahame," I answered.
"It's Sir, always Sir," he corrected softly. "First names are for equals,dear." And then there were just footsteps and the click of the door. I feltmy heart sink.
"Come," one of the women said. "We're going to get you ready."
"Ready for what?" I shot back.
The girls giggled and then pulled on the leash. There were four in our little'slave pack'--Marcelle, the Caucasian girl in the lead, myself, Kiana, theAsian girl to my left and the Nigerian, who introduced herself as Katura, bringingup the rear, so to speak. They opened a door and led me into a much brighterspace, white tiles, mirrors, showers, a large whirlpool bath--just like thetype of locker room you'd expect at an upscale spa. Marcelle started to unbucklemy collar as the other two girls each bent down at my sides, removing my wristand ankle cuffs and my shoes. Last to go was my corset. I felt strange withoutthem, as if they somehow belonged on me now.
There was silence other than the gurgle of water as they filled the whirlpool,adding bath salts and rosebuds to the mix. The room smelled divine. "Get in," Marcelleinvited, her words betraying the hint of a French accent. I climbed into thetub, eager to feel the warm water comforting my newly bruised and welted skin.A moment of pure luxury, perfect until I noticed Marcelle taking off the little she waswearing, revealing one of the most exquisite bodies I'd ever seen. I stared,silently cursing myself for all the times I'd broken my diet and exercise routine.Then I noticed that she was joining me in the bath, soft soap in one hand,and washcloth in the other.
"What are you doing?" I asked, noticeably uncomfortable.
"You relax. You've been through a lot this morning. I'm going to wash you."
"That's okay, I can do that myself," I protested. I wasn't used to all thisattention, especially from another woman. I didn't 'do' women, even thoughI'd been approached in the past, especially online.
"Miss Dana, it's my job. If I don't fulfill my assignments, the Mistresswill beat me. Please allow me to do as I've been told," she implored.
I relented. I didn't want to see her receive the treatment I'd just suffered,especially for doing nothing more than her job. I closed my eyes and pretendedI was royalty, Cleopatra perhaps, and that I thought nothing of having a beautifulslave girl caress each of my limbs, my torso, my most private crevices, aspart of her everyday chores. I felt myself slip into an almost trancelike stateas she did her duty. As the washcloth traced each welt, I relived the momentI had received it, and felt a deep desire for Grahame to touch me there, thetwo of us finally alone.
After completing the bath and shampooing my hair, the other slaves assistedMarcelle in toweling me dry, fitting me with terrycloth robe and slippers andleading me into a second room, more of a beauty parlor, where the they blewout my hair, reapplied my makeup and gave me a foot massage and pedicure. ThenKatura and Kiana left, leaving me alone with Marcelle, who proceeded to giveme a manicure.
"I'd never wear that color," I said, referring to a garish red she had onthe table, along with the emery boards, soaking dish and other manicure tools. "Doyou have something a little less…bright?" I meant less whorish but Ididn't want to offend, since I noticed that Marcelle herself was wearing asimilar color on her nails.
"I'm sorry, Master's orders," she answered and continued on with her duties.That was that, apparently.
I studied her as she soaked my fingers and shaped my nails. So beautiful,apparently well spoken, seemingly smart. What was someone like that be doinghere, using her brain for nothing more than obeying the orders of various Mastersand Mistresses? My imagination hijacked my thoughts; I pictured the whole scene—anaïve, teen-age Marcelle, lured from her native France by some seeminglysophisticated American businessman who promised her fame and fortune modelingin America. Once here though, she found herself forced into slavery, washingdungeon floors until she came of age, at which time she became a sexual slaveas well. And here she sat before me, alone, frightened, and worst of all, unawareof the opportunities that existed for women in the real world, outside thisfetish shop-cum-dungeon-cum-spa.
Here was my chance to make a difference in her world!
"So, Marcelle…" I started, almost whispering so I didn't risk puttingher in danger. "Have you ever thought about leaving this place?"
"Oh, no, Ma'am."
"But you're so beautiful, I'm sure you could get a real job," I continued,my voice still low. "I'm a journalist so I have connections in a number offields. If you were interested, I'm sure I could help."
"You are funny," She laughed loudly, splitting herattention between cutting my cuticles and answering my question. "You're actuallythe first to try and liberate me! Most who come here just accept that a woman'sposition is that of her Master's or Mistress' making. Why do you not see thisas a real job?"
"Do you get paid for it?" I asked.
"There are rewards greater than money, you know. You're new to this, it'sclear. You don't understand yet."
" I don't understand? Understand what?" I asked, abit taken back that she wasn't eager to jump ship.
"You think that because you read Ms. Magazine and belonged to NOW growingup, that a woman always wants to be treated as an equal by a man. It's notthat way for all women though. Certainly not that way for us."
"Us?" I repeated, trying to fathom why anyone would want to be kept underfoot.A sex game was one thing but this was real life.
"Us. The women in the 'life'. What the Women's Rights Movement gave us wasthe ability to make our own choices. Fine. My choice is to be the propertyof my Master, to do as he commands. The truth is, I normally work uptown. Butmy schedule is flexible and my Master requires me to work here twice or threetimes a week. He says that it reminds me of where I belong. And of course,he's right."
"Are you a secretary there? Or a receptionist?" I asked, figuring that perhapsworking here appealed since it was a break from the doldrums of typing andmaking coffee.
"No, actually I teach biochemistry at Columbia," she answered.
She acknowledged my look of incredulity with an air of amusement but didn'tcomment.
"You teach science at an Ivy League college and yet you choose to be here,constantly at someone else's beck and call?" I asked, stunned.
"Yes. It soothes my soul," she answered dryly as she walked me to a seatin front of a contraption that heated my fingertips with ultraviolet lightand fanned them to a glossy finish. "Perhaps one day, if you meet each of yourMaster's requirements with acceptance rather than protest, your soul will alsobe soothed and you will understand. I wish that for you. Truly." And with that,she walked away.
A few minutes later, the bell rang, indicating that my nails were dry. Asif summoned by the sound, all three girls reappeared and led me, clean, coiffedand confused by my encounter with Marcelle, to a third room, this one evensmaller, dimly lit, with classical music playing softly in the background.I stood for a moment studying my new surroundings. The room was mirrored onall sides as well as on the ceiling and the only piece of furniture was a massagetable, set up in the middle of the floor. This massage table was differentthan any I'd ever seen; it was larger than most and had eyehooks all aroundthe edges of the mattress as well as around the padded opening toward the top,apparently set up so you could rest your head comfortably without restrictingyour breath. The girls tried to lead me to the table but I held back.
"What now?" I wavered, fear of the unknown creeping into my voice again.
"Nothing bad," assured Kiana in a whisper, pushing me forward. "Just somemassaging, some kneading, some stretching. Just as Master Gaines ordered. Relax!"
As they lay me down, face down, they pulled my arms forward past my headand clipped them into place and spread my legs about 18 inches apart and wherethe girls' hands held them into place. My head went over the padded openingand my collar was secured as well. Unable to even turn my head from side toside, I could see nothing but the floor, and that left me very uneasy. ThoughI was comfortable, it was also clear that I had no choice but to stay put until they decidedotherwise.
The massage began. To my surprise and relief, it was like any other massageI'd ever had, except that five pairs of hands were working me at once, oneon each leg, one on each arm, and one covering my shoulders and back. Any areathat wasn't hidden under a collar or restraint was kneading and soothed withwarm oil, easing out the kinks. After about five minutes, I relaxed and gavemyself up to the pleasure of it all.
After about 15 minutes, I heard Ms. Catsuit enter the room, her stilettosgiving her identity away, and simultaneously bringing an end to my massage.Hands were repositioned to my thighs and ankles, again restraining me and forcingmy legs apart.
"Well, Dana, how do you feel now? Properly relaxed for your Master, are we?" sheasked in her Dutch accent.
"Yes, Ma'am." I'd almost forgotten about the wrist restraints. I pulled atthem now, testing them. There was no give. The same was true with my legs;the girls' grip was stronger than I had imagined.
"Ah good. Time for some stretching then," she said wryly.
Working with the girls' assistance, I felt her brusquely attach some strapsaround my hips and then ran something that felt like a hard piece of plasticthrough my crotch, opening up my labial lips, so that it was positioned righton my clit. It pinched my lips a little, prompting me to try and wriggle toreposition it but my efforts were useless. Then I felt something much biggerslowly being pushed up into my cunt. I instantly tensed, making its path evenmore narrow and painful, as I bucked against the girls' hold on me.
"Stop, oh God, stop!" I begged, unaccustomed to the feeling of a dildo insideme, no matter how lubed it might be. My words were ignored. I tried desperatelyto jerk away and force it out but I felt her attach something else throughmy crotch and over my hips that secured it into place; I assume it was a harnessof sorts. Apparently, there was to be escape from the dildo tearing my cuntopen or the plastic apparatus covering my clit.
"Oh, I wouldn't bother about that, Dana," the Mistress said, acknowledgingmy attempts to escape the intrusion. "That's going to provide you with thepleasant part of this exercise.
Then the girls attached my ankle restraints to the eyeholes on the table.I tested the hold, and sighed with relief when I realized they hadn't attachedmy legs too tightly. There was definitely some give there, some wriggle room.But I had sighed too soon. Ms. Catsuit snapped her fingers and I heard oneslave walk to my left side. Together they lifted me up by my hips while thethird slipped what felt like a large bolster underneath, lifting my ass upand outwards. Not only was the position awkward, but also any slack my legshad once had was gone. My body strained uncomfortably against the bolster asI heard the slaves leave the room.
"Now, down to business," continued Ms. Catsuit. "Master Grahame has askedme to ask you something. Truth only, do you understand? For your own sake."
"Yes, Ma'am," I grunted, the dildo in my cunt causing me considerable agony.
"Have you ever been sodomized, Dana?"
My body automatically tried to lurch in response to the image that questionevoked, but the bolster and restraints kept it securely in place. I suddenlyrealized that my back and cunt were not the only exceptionally vulnerable partsof my body. My ass was totally exposed, offered up in sacrifice, in fact, andI couldn't do anything to defend it.
"I asked you a question. Answer!" she demanded.
"Y-Y-Yes, Ma'am. If you're asking if I've had anal sex, then yes. But itwas a long time ago and…"
"How big was he, Dana?" she interrupted, uninterested in my explanations.
"I-I-I don't remember. Average size, I guess…but I really didn't enj…"
"Quiet!" she barked. I obeyed.
"Hit the table three times Dana, with your left hand."
Confused, I did as she asked.
"That's your safe signal. If you want things to end, that's what you needto do. Remember though, safe signaling will have the same ramifications assafwording. Everything will stop and you'll be free to go. But Master Grahamewanted me to remind you that safe signaling will also mean that once you leavethis place, you will never see or hear from him again. Understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am," I answered, tears starting to well in my eyes. I had a feelingI knew what was coming.
Sure enough, Marcelle suddenly came into my vision, a leather phallic gagin her hand. "Shhh," she whispered, warning me against crying or resisting. "Thiscan go so much easier for you if you just relax. Believe me, I've been there!Now open wide. She'll cane the both of us for any delays, you know."
I considered my choice: either the radiating anguish of the cane that I hadendured only about an hour earlier, or a revisiting of the terror of beingtotally out of control, now losing my voice as well as the use of my arms,legs and vision. Then I realized that there wasn't a choice. I could take thegag or I would take both. Reluctantly, I opened my mouth and she pushed theleather penis inside, pushing the straps up either side of my head so theycould be attached from above. As my eyes filled with tears and resignation,she gave me a wink and disappeared from sight.
"Two holes filled, time for a third," chirped Ms. Catsuit. It wasthe happiest I'd heard her this entire morning. "You must be stretched foryour Master's pleasure, Dana. Nothing must impede his pleasure of your body,least of all an unaccommodating cunt or asshole. We'll use a dildo one sizelarger than an average cock. Understood?"
I grunted in agreement, my mouth stretched and filled with the acrid tasteof leather.
"Here's what's going to happen, Dana," she continued. "I will strap on a7" cock, lube it up and give you 100 strokes. As I'm raping your ass, I'llalso remotely switch on the vibrator that's resting on your clit. That way,you'll have some pleasure mixed with your pain, an important association foryou to experience. Now, if the pain becomes too much to take, you can signalme to stop your rape. To do that, you must hit the table once. Do that nowfor me, please."
I did as she asked, at least relieved that I had some power in this exercise.
"Very good. When you hit the table, I will take a one-minute break, but thevibrator will also stop, and won't be turned on again until after the nextfive strokes when I resume. Pure intrusion, no pleasure. Your penalty for thedelay. Understood?"
Again, I grunted in the affirmative.
"The amount of your discomfort will be directly tied to how hard you resistthe cock. Accept its path, accept that you must endure this to better pleasureyour Master and you'll fare much better."
I heard her move around a bit and I pictured her putting on the strap-onand lubing it up. I'd had even less experience with this than I'd had witha dildo but I kept trying to force my sphincter muscles to relax. I heard herclimb onto the table and felt the leather member at the tip of my anus as shemounted me. I wanted to grit my teeth to brace myself but even that privilegehad been stripped from me by the gag. I dug my nails into the mattress instead.
She turned the vibrator on low. Ripples of pleasure began to invade my cuntbut before I could focus on it, she plunged her cock into my asshole, no gentleintroduction to my torture as I felt it rip me apart. "One." The voice wasfamiliar; I realized that Grahame must have returned and was watching my ordealfrom behind what must have been one-way mirrors, counting my torture througha microphone. Ms. Catsuit's plunges were savage and deep, becoming faster andfaster as the encounter continued. Grahame counted each stroke, every numbercoming out as an unimpressed monotone.
I didn't know where to concentrate first. I was torn between the pleasureon my clit and the relentless invasion of my ass, the pinching in my cunt fromthe dildo there, the tight restriction of my limbs from my restraints, thesmell and taste of the leather, the sound of Grahame's voice. I was a massof pain and pleasure and sensation, an entity outside of my own body.
At around number 25, I could take no more. I banged the table once and boththe strap-on and the vibrator ceased. There was silence in the room for abouta minute as I tried to recapture some sense of reality. But there was nowhereto go, no reprieve from this lesson in humiliation unless I banged out my safewordand in doing so, giving up my dream of having Grahame to myself, ever.
After a minute, the cock resumed its drilling into my ass and I heard Grahame'svoice again. But I hadn't realized how the vibrator had lessened some of thepain I had been enduring. I groaned with each of the next five strokes, feelingthem split me in half, like a fish being gutted, its entrails being pulledfrom its body. My fingertips and toenails bore into the mattress so deeply,I'm sure I tore the sheet covering it.
When the vibrator resumed again after stroke 30, I renewed my determinationto focus the best I could on the pleasure. At about number 45, the pain suddenlydissipated and all I felt was the warmth of the room, the fullness of my orifices,and the ecstasy mounting between my labial lips. I was confused…wherewas the pain? Why had I been spared? I was almost afraid to surrender to whatI was feeling…utter calm, a total lack of tension, just floating alongas if part of the entire universe, with no separation between the body andthe air around it.
At number 60, the orgasms started to rip through my body, one after another,unabated, just adding to the euphoria I was experiencing, building a stepladderto paradise. I felt each contraction flow from deep inside me to the ends ofmy toes and my fingertips, and then released into the world, surrounding me,swathing me in peace and pleasure. The orgasms continued until I heard Grahameintone, "One hundred." And everything ceased except for the floating feelingI was enjoying, something I'd never known before. "This must be what heroinfeels like" I thought to myself, lost in what I hoped would never be takenfrom me.
"She's bleeding," I heard Ms. Catsuit say, though she could have been a thousandmiles away. I heard footsteps, followed by the ministration of aftercare—theswabbing of cotton and antiseptic, the release of the restraints, the massagingof the muscles in my arms and legs. They sat me up and removed my gag, mademe drink a glass of water. I felt it all and yet, it was like I was outsidemy body, looking down and watching what was happening to me. "Where did thepain go?" I asked, my voice raspy from both the gag and the ordeal I'd beenthrough. "Welcome to Endorphin Land," I heard Grahame's voice say, in almosta tender way. Ah, I thought. Endorphin rush. I'd heard of this. Now I knowwhat they meant and why people found it so addictive.
"Lie her down," ordered Ms. Catsuit and I felt myself being lowered and reattachedto the table at the ankles and wrists, this time face up. "Let her sleep." Theneverything went black.
I don't know how long they let me sleep but when I awoke, I felt somewhatdisoriented. It took me a moment to focus and then realize that Ms. Catsuitwas by my side, slowly stroking my hair. Then I noticed something else. Shewas naked. I looked up at her quizzically but had learned enough to refrainfrom speaking without being spoken to first.
"Did you enjoy your exercise, Dana?" I heard Grahame ask from behind themirrors. Ms. Catsuit twirled my hair around her fingers, entertaining herself.
Like they say about mothers who have experienced labor and childbirth, Icouldn't remember the pain I had endured; all I could remember was the pleasurethat followed it. "Oh Sir…the endorphins…they're amazing. I neverknew anything could feel like that!" I gushed, my unattached collar allowingme to turn my head right and left, searching for him in the semi-darkness ofthe room. No success.
"So what do you say to the Mistress, Dana?" he asked, as a father would aska five-year-old.
"Thank you Mistress," I said, looking her in the eye and trying to soundas sincere as I could. While she had been the source of great humiliation tome, I felt I could afford to be gracious and obedient. Anything to relive thosemoments of absolute pleasure and to please the Master who had orchestratedit.
"Don't you think she deserves a tip, Dana?" he continued.
"What do you mean, Sir?" I asked.
"She worked hard, don't you think?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Hard work deserves to be rewarded, Dana. Don't you agree?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well then, since we're in agreement, I think at the very least, she deservesthe tip of your tongue."
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"You heard me. Reward her."
Before I could launch into a long reminder of how I was "hopelessly het",the naked Ms. Catsuit had straddled me, her knees by my ears and her butt betweenmy neck and my breasts. She poised herself just a few inches from my face,pushing her proffered shaved cunt in the direction of my mouth. My nostrilsfilled with her musky scent as she lowered herself even further, holding herlips open with her fingers, waiting.
"I don't know how to do this," I called out in panic, wondering if her pussywould muffle my cry.
Grahame wasn't giving me any slack. "Better learn quickly, Dana. After all,you have the same equipment and you know how you like to be pleasured. Believeme, you'd better do your best because if she doesn't enjoy it, I'm going tomake sure the beating she gives you will make you sorry you were ever born."
Left with little other choice, I sighed deeply and stuck my tongue out, takinga short, exploratory lick by running my tongue from back to front, trying toseek out her clit. I felt the bump and heard a soft moan, telling me I wasn'ttoo far from Ground Zero. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be—thetaste was fairly innocuous, the smell familiar, and I did havea fairly good idea of what I would want if I were in the same position.
I tried to block out what was happening, that I was giving head to a strangersquatting above me, as I watched the entire scene in the ceiling mirror aboveus. Instead, I pictured Grahame, sitting behind the one-way mirror watching,perhaps stroking himself as he witnessed my denouement, my forced entry intobisexuality. Encouraged by what I imagined to be his pleasure at this image,I narrowed my explorations to the area surrounding the bump, causing her togrind her crotch deeper into my face. Her moans grew in both frequency andvolume.
My confidence in my cunnilingual abilities growing, my licks evolved intoquick flicks, and then into lapping, sucking and nibbling as I tried to matchmy own pace with the rhythmic motion of her hips. She kept thrusting againstme as I went faster and faster, listening to her moan, "That's it, don't stopnow, no, don't stop, don't stop, that's it, right there, faster…that'sIT….uhhhhh" And I felt her body shudder above mine, her crotch pressedagainst my mouth as closely as it could as I devoured the last of her orgasmfrom her. She panted, caught her breath and realizing I'd slowed down, yelled, "Keepgoing, bitch." I resumed orally servicing her cunt, pulling her through anotherthree orgasms, coming in rapid succession. As the contractions died down, sheleaned back on her haunches and stroked my cheek gently. " Not bad for a debut,my sweet cunt-sucking bitch" she said as she ran her forefinger against mylips and chin to wipe off her juices, and then dipped it in my mouth. She smiledwith praise as she watched me suck it completely clean.
"Was it satisfactory, Mistress?" called Grahame from his vantage point.
"Quite," answered Ms. Catsuit. "I believe you'll find her quite able to pleasureyou, Grahame…with all of her holes." And with that, she was off thetable and out of the room, presumably to change back into her namesake outfit.
I heard some shuffling and the door reopened. I watched Grahame approachme, poker-faced as usual. He stood above me, our eyes locked together. A momentlost in time.
"You've pleased me today, Dana," he said as I beamed with pride. "You endureda lot and didn't use your safeword. There may be hope for you yet."
"Thank you, Sir." I wanted him to touch me, to kiss me, to use me for hispleasure. But there he stayed, fully dressed, looking down at my naked, sweating,restrained body, frustratingly out of reach both physically and emotionally.
"I'd like to see you again, Dana. I'd like to start your training in earnest.But I cannot. Not until you tell me if you figured out what it is that willbind you to me, once these cuffs are removed and you are free to leave thisplace. Do you know it now? It's an important question…take a momentand think before answering."
It was an important task, I realized, because if I got it wrong, it couldpotentially be the last thing I'd ever get the opportunity to say to him. SoI quickly relived the day in my mind's eye…the nipple torture in cabride, being thrust against the storefront, my being dressed to his tastes,being displayed and caned to pay for my insolence. I remembered how I'd wonthe right to suck him, the discussion with the slave Marcelle, the sodomy,the endorphin rush, and finally how I had sucked off the Mistress on his command.I considered what he had mentioned repeatedly, my need to learn how to communicateappropriately. And I reveled in how I felt now…spent, exhausted, fulfilled,proud. Owned.
"Sir, I'm ready now."
"Go on, Dana. Tell me. What binds you to me?"
"It is my need to know and experience who I am and what I am, Sir. I needyou to show me and remind me. Only you can teach me how to control myself soI am the best I can be for you. Your hold over me will mean nothing if I amunable to control my own will, to subjugate it to your interests. I can onlybe a slave to your needs once I've made those needs mine. Is that it, Sir?"
He grazed my cheek with the back of his hand, as tenderly as I'd seen himdo earlier with the Mistress. A genuine smile spread across his face, confirminghis agreement with my answer. I felt consumed by the warmth of his touch, wantingdesperately to climb inside him and wrap his body around me like a quilt, keepingthe world from ever intruding on what we were sharing together.
"Let's get you dressed, Dana," he said. "It's time to take you home."
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