bigail woke up later than usual the following day. She was exhausted. Her legs felt like theyâd ran a 5K marathon. Her back felt like it had been run over by a truck. Her stomach felt like it housed a lion. Her pussy felt like Niagara Falls.
Her right hand slid down her stomach and between her thighs. She saw as they shook with want. She was so wet she was dripping. She was sure sheâd find a pool of lust beneath her when she rose.
Her master was cruel and sexy and perfect.
Heâd done everything sheâd ever wanted to be done to her and more.
He treated her like a queen even if he thought she was a slave. He was wrong. If he only knew how much she loved it when he hit her and called her names, heâd stop just to get to her.
She ran her tongue over her top teeth and gave a soft groan. She could still taste him in her mouthâtangy, warm, salty, like the Caribbean Sea. Her chest smelled like her master as if heâd nuzzled it before he left for his morning workout.
Once again, she woke with the comforter around her shoulders even though she hadnât reached for it at night.
She stood from the ground, folded the comforter, and followed what was soon becoming her morning routine: brush her teeth, tend to her wounds, and comb her hair with her fingers.
Hearing her stomach complain, she made her way to the kitchen. Just as the living room, this room was white with freckles of stainless steel. The kitchen faced a frigid New York that with a simple glance, made Abigail shiver. She warmed her shoulders with her hands and looked for her master .
With Trice nowhere in sight, she took a moment to admire the chefâs paradise. A double-door fridge. A commercial stove with a griddle and a large exhaust touched the ceiling.
It was a tedious process she worried sheâd never accomplish but she enjoyed the snippets of information sheâd gathered about Master Trice. So far, sheâd found out he had an interest in Greece. He liked to draw. And loved to cook. Maybe he painted Greek cuisine?
It felt like she was completing a jigsaw puzzle, finding small pieces that connected together to show the broader image that was Preston Trice. Where would her piece fit? Was she a border piece or a piece with no edges?
On the massive island that curved in the shape of a crescent moon, Abigail found a note addressed to her.
Whore.
She rolled her eyes and smiled, remembering Master Triceâs voice when he called her that. That word alone did more for her than the cliché love, honey, or sweetie. In her eyes, whore, slut, and cunt were endearments that showed just how much her master appreciated her.
Whore, In the envelope, youâll find a form. You are to fill it out sincerely. Donât hold anything back. This is how weâll communicate every Sunday. This is how you will tell me what you liked and didnât like about what we did. This is how you set your limits.
When you finish, you will close the envelope and leave it here. Then, youâll dress. Kenneth will be waiting for you downstairs. Heâs not keen on waiting so, donât take long.
Heâll take you home.
You will not touch yourself. I left you dripping. I expect to find you dripping on Friday.
If I find you dry, Iâll know you didnât follow my orders.
PS: Take the stairs.
Youâre welcome, Master Trice.
If Master Trice thought sheâd hate the task heâd given her, he was wrong. Taking the stairs wasnât a punishment in her eyes. It was a reward. Not touching herself, however, was beginning to get on her nerves.
With her pussy waxed, she could feel everything. The slightest of air tickled her clit. The touch of her thighs pushed her labia together. She would have to walk with her legs far apart, so she didnât orgasm by mistake. But she was sure when she was allowed to come itâd be explosive and thatâs the thought she held onto the most.
Tearing open the envelope, she found two papers. The first was a copy of his medical records stating he was clean of all STDs.
Shit. Sheâd completely forgotten about his sexual history. The thought this man didnât take care of his body didnât cross her mind for a second. Of course, he was clean.
In the records, she read his age, blood type, weight, his age, his age, his freaking age.
âHeâs thirty-four?â she questioned aloud. Her voice echoed in the empty space.
That was ten years her senior. He looked younger than thirty-four. She thought Master Trice was at least twenty-nine. Sheâd never gone out with anyone older than her. All her ex-boyfriends had been the same age.
And look how that turned out.
A man Master Triceâs age was at a point in his life where he knew his place. He knew what he wanted. He knew how to get it. He told it straight as it was because he knew no other opinion mattered in the world but his own.
Abigail was still trying to find herself. She didnât know what she wanted. She didnât know how to get it. She told it as curved as it was because she knew otherâs feelings mattered as much as their opinions did.
Trying to find herself and what she desired had led her to Master Trice. She was just now figuring out her wants and how to go about getting them.
Did this insight change her feelings toward him? What feelings was she thinking about?
She dismissed the thought with a shake of her hair and unfolded the next paper. Upon seeing the form, which only had a few questions, she couldnât help but scoff.
This was so him.
A sterile paper with questions and answer choices like she was in school taking a standardized exam. Why couldnât they have a normal conversation like normal people? What was he scared of?
She gripped the black pen that heâd left for her to write with and began answering the questions. As heâd suggested, she held nothing back.
1. Of the following done to the submissive thus far, which is the submissive willing to try again? (check all that apply; unchecked boxes indicate the submissive will NOT like to try again)
âflogging âcanin g âbondage âcuffed âgagging âchosen food âchoking âexhibitionism âhair pulling âhumiliation (private)
âhumiliation (public)
âforced nudity (private)
âforced nudity (public)
2. Where is it okay for the dominant to leave marks on the submissiveâs body?
Anywhere Master Trice likes.
3. Describe the submissiveâs sexual fantasies/fetishes that the submissive would like to play?
I have fantasized about being stripped and bounded to be completely exposed in a room full of men. In my fantasies, they take me from all holes at the same time.
Additional comments/questions:Â As I said when you fucked me against the wall, I love what we did. Thank you for an unforgettable weekend, Master Trice. Now, just as you commanded, Iâm being sincere when I say: what is this? What is this piece of paper? Why canât we talk like normal people do in a D/s relationship? Why canât you care after me? Am I really not allowed to speak without your permission other than to say âYes, Master Triceâ? I had a few questions of my own this week but was afraid to speak out of turn. Is that allowed? In the middle of a scene, if I have a question, can I ask it without fear of chastisement?
PS: I see you didnât have denied orgasm or starvation on the checklist. Or was denied orgasm under âhumiliation (private)â and starvation under âchosen food?â
My pleasure, Your whore .
She placed the pen down and read over her answers, editing a few commas. Working in a publishing company, Abigail knew it was much easier to express oneâs thoughts in writing than dialogue.
She wondered if that was his reason too.
She hadnât been too blunt or too reserved, but she had never been this honest with anyone before.
Her fantasies made her skin glow all the more knowing theyâd one day come true. Abigail knew her master would deliver in such a way itâd feel real.
Once more the lion housed in her stomach roared. She took a tentative glance at her surroundings, making sure her master wasnât hiding behind the walls. When she saw it was clear, she walked to the fridge to find a chain and padlock around the handles. She gave it an annoying rattle.
Fine. She could still eat some crackers from the pantry. Walking to the upper cabinets she noticed they werenât only too high but padlocked as well.
The fucking bastard!
How much protein did he think his semen produced? She needed to eat, sooner rather than later.
With angry steps, she walked to the foyer and took out her clothes from the closet. She decided to leave her feet bare as she needed to go down all eighty-seven floors.
Before pushing open the door, she searched for the camera she knew he was watching from. Finding one on the corner, she mouthed, Fuck you, and with the sweetest smile gave him the bird.
She was going to start bringing her own food inside the pockets of her clothes to have something to snack on while she went down the steps. Abigail could faint any second. She could really get herself injured and the bastard didnât give a shit.
Was this what she signed up for?
She was okay with demeaning herself to the lowest degree possible as long as her master didnât really think she was shit. She was okay with humiliating herself as long as her master took care of her.
Trice hadnât done that.
She was more sexually frustrated now than when she first walked into his club. She was more confused about her wants than before. She was food-deprived, dammit!
She hadnât eaten in more than twenty-four hours. Sheâd been beaten and had no energy to go down eighty-seven floors. She hated the fact she was a bit claustrophobic when it came to tight spaces. The elevator wasnât the problem. She could handle the elevator as long as it didnât take five minutes to reach a floor. A minute, even two was fine .
âSixty-seven,â she read the number painted on the wall. Her body was already sweating. Her sore limbs threw their complaints.
Feeling a wave of vibrations coming from the inside pocket of her pants, she pulled out her phone to see Mikeâs picture on the screen. It was just what she needed to get her mind off the labor her master had put her to do.
âHey! Whatâs up? I saw you called me twenty times. Is everything okay?â
âAbbs! Everything is great! I have great, great news!â She giggled. Mike always had a tendency to make everything ten times what it wasnât.
When he was ten, he came home crying because heâd broken his knees after falling in his PE class. Turned out it was just a scrape. When Mike fell in loveâ¦oh, boy. He fell hard. Every guy was âthe one.â Mrs. Sinclair and Abigail soon gave up caring for Mikeâs partners after countless âonesâ. She wondered what he had in his mind now.
âBefore you say anything, how about we get some lunch? Iâm starving. Plus, I havenât seen you in weeks. We need some sibling bonding time.â
âAlright. Alright. Iâm in the mood for Italian. Meet me at Alfonsoâs in thirty?â
Her mouth watered. âDeal.â