To Love and Honor
“Very interesting reading,” I said to Danny, who knelt at my feet at the dining room table. I put the leather volume down on the table. The room was hushed; I heard my father’s clock ticking in the living room. Dust motes swirled by the window, riding invisible currents of a sunny Sunday morning. I watched them spin, thinking about how to respond to the moving narrative I had just read. “You write very well, slave,” I said, caressing Danny’s neck. “You’ve never written before, have you?”
“No, Mistress. Just some stuff in high school. I spent most my time in the machine shop.”
“Well, you have a talent.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
The ticking of the antique wall clock made me think of my father, always a gruff, stern disciplinarian. Being the first child, I suffered the brunt of his childrearing errors. In time learned to please him, to read his moods. Before long, all it took was a glance. Being the eldest, it fell to me to help care for my three baby brothers. I was tough but fair, like Dad, but with a feminine touch, leveraging the intimacy of being a fellow prison inmate. My brothers adored me. The boys of the neighborhood families that I babysat for adored me, too. I learned I could get them to do almost anything I wanted. Mistress training.
I had never wanted a slave, but now a slave crouched on the hardwood floor at my feet, a man who would give up everything, even his manhood, for the privilege. The remark Danny made about boot camp stuck in my mind. Having never been in the military, never been in boy scouts, he had missed all those coming-of-age, manly tests. Racing in a pool was something girls did, too. I wondered how much of all of this was his way of experiencing something that tested his masculine being to the limit, a vision quest of sorts, a way to fill the gaps in his soul.
There were obvious gaps in his upbringing, the biggest gap being forever lost to time, the four years he spent bouncing around foster homes in Missouri before an older couple adopted him, took him to Florida and a new life. I had quizzed Danny about that period of his life when I learned in his first diary entry that he had been adopted. He knew almost nothing. The birth record had been lost to a flood; all he knew was that he had been born in a small town named Clarksville on the Mississippi River.
I looked down on Danny’s prostrate form, mentally wincing at the welts on his back and shoulders. His ass was crisscrossed with fine red lines. Rebecca had come just short of making him bleed. We had three more months in our contract; I wondered if he could survive them, survive the extreme physicality of Rebecca, who was committed to pushing him to the limit, more for her sake than mine, to make sure he was worthy of being my slave, to make sure he wouldn’t bail out on me when things got difficult.
It seemed to me Danny had been tested to the limit yesterday afternoon. By his own admission, he had returned home a slave, his manhood stripped away, not knowing that I had no intention of getting pregnant by artificial insemination, or that when our contract ended in April, and if we decided to get married, we would resume being lovers again. That it, unless Rebecca’s fears were realized and he ran for the hills. I loved Rebecca, but I knew my Danny. I didn’t think he would run. She said fine, but he didn’t need to know any of this for now, not while he was being tested.
I loved and trusted her, and I wanted her in my life, hopefully forever. I told her about my love for Danny, his childhood, his adoration for me, the love in his heart . . . he wasn’t some guy I found in a bar who wanted to be dominated, he was the man I had fallen in love with before I knew anything about the world of domination and submission. He had introduced it to me, not the other way around. I didn’t think I needed to test his devotion, and while I now thought of myself as a Mistress, the truth was, if it wasn’t with Danny, I didn’t know that I would ever take another slave. Maybe, but not likely.
All I Need
Rebecca listened to all this as we lay in my bed yesterday afternoon, slated with our lovemaking, spooned against my back as I rattled on, not saying a word, just listening. Oh, how I love the feeling of her body pressed against mine, more than Danny’s. How interesting that with him, I love to be the one spooned against his back. The quirky power dynamics of spooning, I suppose. When I was done, Rebecca devised the plan which unfolded at her house yesterday, including milking Danny of his sperm. Dumb bunny, he had no idea that sperm banks won’t take frozen sperm; he’d have to go to clinic and sign a release, masturbate in a sterile room and hand his cum in a paper cup to a nurse.
Rebecca had explained all this to me. When she was in her twenties, she had been a nurse; in fact, she had been a nurse supervisor at the local hospital for years before switching careers and getting a degree in finance. She still had contacts at the local fertility clinic, and could easily arrange for Danny and I to make an appointment, even if it was only to save his sperm for posterity, for the unlikely event of his death, or if I had problems getting pregnant. Then she explained about milking the prostrate, that she did it to Hamilton when she wanted to punish him, deny him an orgasm, and that it was much more erotic than masturbating at a fertility clinic.
As first I was skeptical, but eventually I agreed to Rebecca’s plan. She said he should prove himself over the long run, that I should strip everything from him and establish a total slave identity, one that would endure after he was given more freedom. She said it was what she had done with Hamilton, only with him it was stripping away his substantial financial holdings, the accumulated wealth of a lifetime. He had been married and divorced, his kids were fully grown, so wealth and property were the things most integral to his manhood. When he gave that up, he gave up his manhood in favor of slavery to her. Danny had debt, not wealth, so it was his fertility that defined his manhood. Rebecca said that we had three months left and he should emerge having made his choice, trading his manhood for slavery to me.
I knew from Dad that Army boot camp was three months long. How ironic (or maybe serendipity) that Danny had written in his diary that being at Rebecca’s felt like boot camp. So maybe she was right. No—she was right, once again. The next three months would be Danny’s slave boot camp, orchestrated by two women, one who loved him dearly, the other who loved the one who loved him, and wanted to protect her. Together, we would train him to be an obedient slave, train him so well that like my dad and the army, when he finished boot camp, his identity as a slave would be engrained in his bones.
I looked down at Danny’s stainless steel dog bowl. He had scarfed down his oatmeal like someone who hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours, which was exactly the case; I had led him up to his cage last night and locked him in without feeding him, leaving him with his pee bottle, the diary and a flashlight and instructions to have his account ready by morning. My pet had been ravenous after a long, eventful day of cleaning and sexual torment, then fasting and writing. I was proud of him. He wrote well.
“Slave, even though I had Mistress Rebecca milk you yesterday, I’m going to reward you for the fine job you did in your diary, and let you masturbate this morning. Would you like that?”
A moment of silence. The clock ticked on. I wondered if Danny was calculating whether he had anything left in him, if he would embarrass himself and not be able to get it up.
“Yes, Mistress, I would like to try.”
“Good, only this morning I’m going to give you a special treat. Stay, pet. I’ll be right back.”
I got up and went to the bathroom, took the Vaseline from the medicine cabinet. Then to the closet, where I opened my Mistress’s valise and took out our contract. Back to the dining room, where Danny crouched, waiting. I set the contract on the table, signature page up, then opened the Vaseline and scooped a generous portion into my hand. I positioned myself behind him. “Up on your knees, slave.”
On Your Knees Slave!
Danny rose on his knees, his flaccid cock positioned over the steel bowl. I moved close behind him, dropped down to my knees, straddling his legs, my chest pressed against his back. I reached around his waist and took his cock in my hands, spread the lubricant around, began to stroke him. “Poor slave, you had such a hard day yesterday, didn’t you, it felt like the first day of boot camp, didn’t it?”
A sigh escaped his lungs. “Yes, Mistress.”
I pressed my crotch against the welt-laced cheeks of his masculine ass. “And Mistress Rebecca fucked you so hard, didn’t she, my poor baby is very sore in the ass now, isn’t he?”
Another sigh. “Yes, Mistress.”
“But I told her whip your ass, slave. I told her to fuck you hard. She did it for me.”
Danny’s cock perked, growing ever so firmer in my hands. Oh, the power of words. I remembered that night with Rebecca, the way she seduced me, the spanking and her expert fingers in my vagina, but more than that, it was her words, her voice in my head . . . that was the power.
Danny was breathing deeply now. I kept stroking him. “You were glad to suffer for your Mistress, weren’t you slave? You took Mistress Rebecca’s cane and her cock in devotion to me, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Danny groaned, his cock growing erect. I loved how he responded to my voice.
“And she milked all your cum, didn’t she? Were you afraid I’d be mad at you, slave?”
“Unghh,” Danny moaned, a hesitation in his breath. Then a tortured, “Yes, Mistress.”
“It’s okay, slave, I’m not mad. I told her to do that; it wasn’t really an orgasm, was it?”
“No, Mistress . . .” he said, almost sobbed, his voice tapering off into a sorrowful hiss.
“I told her to collect your sperm, slave. After all, it belongs to me, doesn’t it?”
He replied in a stronger voice, “Yes, Mistress.” His cock was fully rigid now, the shaft arched up, extending well past my hands. I missed having it inside me.
“And you understand why I can never let you fuck me again, don’t you slave?”
Silence. Pre-cum dribbled out the opening of Danny’s glans. I held his shaft in my left hand and slapped my hand hard across his member. He flinched. But still no reply.
“It’s because you are less than a man now, Danny, you are a slave, and I simply can’t have a slave fucking me, it wouldn’t be right. You’re lucky I took a woman for my lover, it could’ve been a man. Do you realize how lucky you are I found a woman to satisfy me?”
The reply was almost immediate. “Yes, Mistress.”
“And you know I love you. I read what you said about wanting to take care of our children, how you want to be a good father. I love that you wrote that, it was very sweet.”
“I meant it, Mistress,” Danny gasped between breaths.
“I know you do, and I appreciate it. But you understand I can’t have this slave’s cock—” I squeezed down hard on his shaft and stopped my stroking, “—I can’t have a slave’s cock inside me. That honor is reserved for my lover, for an equal, for a Mistress. Mistress Rebecca. You understand, don’t you?”
We were motionless for a moment, my body pressed hard against Danny’s, hands gripping his cock, his breathing subsiding. It was like the universe went on pause for a moment. “But I want your sperm, slave, I want my children to come from you. That’s a great honor, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mistress.” The earth started spinning again. I resumed stroking his shaft.
“Slave, our contract goes another three months, and during those months we’re going to collect as much of your sperm as we can, to make sure I can get inseminated when I decide I want to have a baby. That wasn’t in our contract, but you agree to it now, don’t you?”
I felt Danny’s knees growing weak. “Yes, Mistress,” he said in surrender.
The contract was on the table directly in front of us. I reached out and snatched it up, placed it on top of Danny’s bowl. “Good. I have your word, but we’ll seal it with your cum. I want you to squirt some on our contract.” I resumed stroking Danny’s engorged member, which now quivered in my hands, on the cusp of an ejaculation. “If you disagree, tell me to stop now, slave.”
I knew Danny was deep into subspace, and maybe I was taking advantage of him, but he was the captain of his own soul. When Rebecca had done this to me, I had found the will to stop, because deep down inside, I am a Mistress, born to lead. If Danny was a slave, born to follow, he would cum.
“Speak now or forever be my slave, Danny,” I purred into his ear, stroking him faster. “If you cum, it means you know you can never fuck me again, that your sperm belongs to me. If you cum, it means you submit yourself to Mistress Rebecca, you accept her as my lover, that you will love and honor us both.”
Danny’s knees buckled.
“Beg me to let you cum because you agree to those terms, slave.”
“Yes, please, Mistress . . . I beg you, oh god, please let me cum.”
That was what I needed to hear. Three strokes later Danny came, an impressive squirt that made up with velocity what it lacked in volume. The cum shot out and arced down to the contract, landing below our signatures, spreading out into a half-dollar sized stain, the perfect mark to seal my slave’s fate.
Later, I asked Rebecca to come over. After we made love, I explained everything to her, and she was pleased, which made me happy. I gave Rebecca one of Danny’s faded blue work shirts, of which I have several and love to wear around the house, comfort clothing. Naked except for the shirts, and with the contract and pen in hand, we padded barefoot down to the dungeon, where I had suspended Danny.
He looked magnificent, his hands cuffed to the overhead hanging bar, ankles cuffed to the spreader bar, balanced on his toes, back arched, body straining, suffering while his Mistresses made love upstairs, directly above his head (oh, serendipity!), so that he could hear just enough to imagine.
Such sweet suffering.
Mistress Rebecca took his balls in her left hand and held his beautifully erect shaft in her right hand, and I listened with pleasure as my slave made a vow to love and honor her as his Mistress and my lover. And then, as Danny watched, she held the contract against his chest and signed below his cum stain.
I put the contract between his teeth while Rebecca and I sealed our new arrangement with a long, passionate kiss. We were now officially a threesome, two Mistresses and a slave.
A somewhat (okay, very) unconventional arrangement, but I had a feeling, call it woman’s intuition, that it was all going to work out just fine.
Next: Daddy’s Girl