She braced her foot on the tub edge again and complied, spreading her thighs as wide as she could, and aligning her fingers on either side of her clitoris, pinching it to increase the pouting, flushed look. Just that pressure made her catch her lip in her teeth as the throbbing increased.
Wet your finger in your mouth and put it up your ass.
She hadn't gotten really comfortable with the anal stuff yet, but with that cursor blinking, she moved to obey. Staying in that position, one foot up on the tub edge, she wet her finger in her mouth, slowly, sucking on it until the knuckle was glistening. She rocked herself back and forth as she did it, the playful naughty girl with a lollipop, and then let the finger come free. Lowering her gaze, knowing how hard her soldier would get from the contrast, naughty girl and obedient slave, she reached back and worked the finger into her rectum. Her hips jerked at the sensation, and she had to reach out and steady herself against the wall as she did it, her thighs still in their spread position, so now her breasts were also thrust out and tilted up.
Roll your hips. Show him how much you wish to please him.
She made it a slow, circular motion, lifting up so he had a clear view of her wet, soapy pussy, arching her back so her breasts were even more on display. It pushed her finger in deeper and she let out a moan. Her pussy rippled. She could come, just from the stimulus of exhibiting herself for him.
Stop.
She came to a halt, dizzy, throbbing.
Continue your preparations as instructed. Do not remove any evidence of arousal from now until the auction. The screen went dark again.
She sat down on the tub edge, made sure she was steady enough to step out of it. There'd been two energy bars in the box and a postscript to her instructions that had said she was allowed to eat either or both of those and drink a cup of juice if she became light-headed, but she knew this feeling wasn't from hunger. Plus, she wanted to be light-headed, floating in a euphoria, where she had to focus on simple things really hard, keep anything more complicated out of her head.
Powders, lotions. Drying her hair, brushing it out until it shone and fell past her shoulder blades. She wanted to keep it that way for him, but the directions were clear. She put the sculpting clay in her hair, worked it into a braided topknot, every piece held in place by the style and the clay, leaving her neck fully exposed and her face with nothing to curtain any vulnerability.
At last, she lifted the collar and put it around her throat. When she threaded the buckle, her fingers shook. She pulled it too tight at first, wanting to feel that hold, the brief constriction of her air. Then she buckled it at the proper fit, still savoring the restraint, what it meant. That act alone inspired a contraction between her legs, and more slippery honey slid from her pussy. As it trickled down her leg, she reached for a tissue, then remembered. She wasn't to remove any of it.
Pausing, she straightened, put the tissue back. Then, feeling wicked, she ran her finger up the inside of her leg, collecting some of the fluid. Putting it in her mouth, she lifted her lashes to give the webcam a sultry, come-punish-me-for-it look. He'd bust her ass for that one, wouldn't he? She hoped so. She was caught between a giddy, slightly hysterical laugh and a throbbing need to pant like a sex-starved nymphomaniac. She was losing her mind.
The acceleration of her heart told her how close to six o'clock it was getting. Still, she verified it was five-thirty on the dot when she stood in front of the webcam and seated the well-lubricated plug in her rectum, holding it in place with the ring in the back of the thong. The bullet in the crotch pressed against her clit, especially when she altered the ties of the side straps to hold both stimulants in place. The pressure made her sway, the stimulation in her ass only adding to it. She caught the edge of the counter, had to sit down on the commode lid, which only made the desire to rock against the two pieces almost overwhelming. Her clit was so swollen, even more swollen than it had been in the tub. She thought if she rubbed it at all, she might go off, so she locked her legs together, tried to think of broccoli, cigarette smoke, roadkill--the least sexually appealing things possible--until the feeling passed.
She fixed the chains to the collar, attached the nipple clamps, pinching each nipple as she screwed the clamp in place. The sensation made her hum in her throat, made her want to play with them. She closed her eyes, imagining her so
ldier tugging on that chain.
Ten minutes before she was scheduled to be picked up, she laced the blindfold in place and knelt by her door. She'd placed the webcam by it, so she could still be viewed. As she thought of the picture she made, she was trembling, gooseflesh on her arms, her mind blank. She was a sex slave, waiting to be sold, waiting to find out whom she would spend the rest of her life serving.
She was ready. Please, let it be him.
She heard a car turn into her driveway, two doors opening and closing, footsteps. As they reached her porch, and the screen door latch turned, one quick, Madison-near-hysteria thought invaded. She visualized a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses about to confront a kneeling, blindfolded and collared naked woman.
Instead, the door opened, no knock. The air around her moved as someone stood before her, looking at her. It wasn't him. She could tell, but it still made her quiver harder, a stranger seeing her like this. Then the person squatted and a finger caught the edge of her collar, tugging on it. That pressure, as well as how the chains twitched against her nipples, brought forth a needy sigh. She recognized his touch, his scent.
Troy.
He snapped a lead to the collar. "Stand up."
His tone wasn't unkind, but it wasn't injected with the warmth or subtle gentle note always there when he spoke to women, even his Mistress. Did women speak differently to men than they did among themselves as well, as if dealing with another gender required a different tonal language, a different form of music? Just as it had on movie night, the blindfold had her noticing a lot of things.
The firm tension on the lead, Troy's hand at her elbow, had her rising to her feet. Were they going to parade her naked down her front stoop?
"You disobeyed your instructions, slave." Shale's voice was devoid of the friendly tone she'd had the night she and Madison had danced and teased their men together. "You took pleasure for yourself."
Madison's stomach did a nervous somersault. Shale meant the kisses she'd sought from Logan. Or maybe the orgasm she'd experienced at his hands on the couch, an orgasm she'd been helpless to resist.
"Yes, ma'am."
Shale made a disapproving noise. "I told the directors you should be pulled from the auction and forced to repeat the full training regimen, but they disagreed. They said a severe punishment would teach you the necessary lesson. The marks you bear as evidence of your disobedience will drive up your price for those bidders who relish an excuse to punish a slave."
Her voice sharpened. "Now ask for the punishment you deserve."
Madison wet dry lips. She'd known it was coming, hadn't she? It was part of what she could give to her Master, the pleasure of being punished. She thought of the webcam, still focused on her.
"I want to please my Master," she said in a near whisper. "I want to prove I'll . . . incur any punishment that pleases him."