Chapter Two

Natural Life

 

Paul was a strong believer in enforced nudity and required all three of his slaves to be naked whenever they were home. They all liked it that way. Since Kat had started her training with her Master, she had dressed only when she had to go out. Clothes began to feel confining and uncomfortable. She was glad to be rid of their burden. Courtney came to feel the same way. She and Kat took care of the house, so they would go for days—sometimes weeks—on end without ever having to dress.

Paul was home with Kat and Courtney many days. When he was, he was naked, too, and the three of them really lived a 24/7 Master/slave relationship. Of course, he had to go out sometimes to shop, take care of his business interests, or go see clients at his practice in New York. He also went out of town periodically on business, particularly to Star Fall. When he was there, Kat knew he was with Claire and Tom, but she didn’t let it bother her. Jealousy was not part of their polyamorous deal. Besides she liked Claire, and she liked being with her, as well. She really became like another sister to Meg, Courtney, and her.

Kat felt sorry for Meg. She was a lawyer at a high-powered New York firm. So she had to get dressed every weekday at least to go to work. Some days she had to be in so early or work so late that she would spend the night in the bedroom at Paul’s office. Plus, she had to be in control and in charge in the office and with clients, when all she really wanted to do was submit. She stripped, of course, the minute she arrived at home, and she shed her control even as she shed her garments. Off came the panties, and she was free. She was her Master’s slave.

Paul was very concerned that his slaves remain healthy and fit. When he was home, he did most of the cooking. He was very good at it and enjoyed it. Women always love men who can cook, right? Kat was a pretty fair cook, too, and she liked cooking with him. Courtney, just out of college, really couldn’t cook at all, and Meg came home from the office most days too late. They ate extremely well and very healthily. Master also insisted that each work out for half an hour daily on the elliptical down in his basement “dungeon,” and Kat led Courtney and Meg in naked yoga.

One day, Paul announced that he wanted his three slaves to start doing Kegel exercises. Kat was confused As far as she knew these exercises to strengthen the pelvic floor muscles were for pregnant women or those with an incontinence issue. Neither of those applied to any of them. Nor were they Thai hookers who could use their vaginal muscles to open beer bottles—a truly gruesome “trick”—or strippers who “drank” the beer down there and then peed it back into a mug—also not Kat’s idea of a fun spectacle.

She asked her Master why he wanted them to do Kegels. He did not answer her directly. Instead he had all three of them stand. He inspected them and then, starting with Courtney and ending with Kat, he put them through the ritual of ownership, as he did every morning. Standing behind Courtney and placing his hands on her buttocks, he asked, “Whose ass is this, slave?”

“It’s your ass, Master,” she intoned.

Reaching around her and cupping her breasts, he asked, “Whose tits are these?”

“They’re your tits, Master.”

Walking around her to the front, he placed a hand between Courtney’s legs, cupping her smooth mound. “Whose cunt is this, slave?”

“It’s your cunt, Master.”

Kat saw where this was going. He proceeded on to Meg and repeated the litany. Then it was Kat’s turn. After each question, she gave the required response, and she meant it.

“It’s your ass, Master.”

“They’re your tits, Master.”

Master stood in front of Kat and placed his hand between her legs. “And whose cunt is this, slave?”

“It’s your cunt, Master,” she replied. He caressed her and fingered her labia. Then, without moving his hand, he did something she had never seen him do before. He repeated the question.

“And whose cunt is it, slave?”

“It’s your cunt, Master,” she answered again.

“Very good, slave,” was all he said.

OK, lesson learned. It was Paul’s equivalent of a parental “because I said so.”

So, the three of them began exercising their vaginal muscles. Paul directed them to the Mayo Clinic’s website for instructions, and they followed the regimen recommended there. Three times a day, they practiced tightening the muscle and holding the contraction for five seconds. At first, they did it five times per session, with five seconds between contractions. Gradually, they built up to ten reps a session, holding them for ten seconds with ten seconds of rest in between. All three of them did the exercises together in the morning and the evening. Courtney and Kat did them together in the afternoon when Meg was at work. Meg had to do them in the office. Kat never asked her, but she imagined her doing them while checking her email and struggling to focus on both. They all joined in together for every session on the weekends.

They continued on with the Kegels as part of their daily routine for three or four months without any comment or explanation from Paul. Then one day he led Kat to his bed on her leash. Lying down on his back, he instructed her to mount him. She did as commanded and began to rock back and forth upon his hard shaft, expecting him to reciprocate her thrusts. Instead, he put his hands on her hips and steadied her, holding her tight on his thighs.

“No,” he said firmly. “I want you to sit there absolutely still.”

“Huh?” she asked.

“Do your Kegels,” he ordered.

“Excuse me, Master?” she questioned, though she sat there on his cock, absolutely still.

“I’ve had you all do the exercises these months not because any of you were insufficiently tight. You all are wonderful, especially for me. You each fit me like a glove. It’s about grip. Do you remember during one of our early sessions when I told you that I thought that women couldn’t really give men wholly satisfactory hand jobs?”

“Yes, Master, I remember. You said they were either hesitant to be rough enough or lacked the strength in their hands.” More of Master’s theories about the mechanics and science of sex, she thought. She was still skeptical, but, in her experience, he had not failed to be correct yet.

“That’s right, slave,” he replied. “I’m glad you recall. Well, this is a wonderful substitute. When you repeatedly contract the muscle strengthened by the Kegels, it feels just like a great hand job. Since you exist as a slave only for my pleasure, I am telling you to do your Kegels until I come, and because you are not permitted to move one iota the only pleasure you will get from it is the pleasure of knowing you satisfied me. Do you understand, slave?”

“Yes, Master,” she said as she smiled down at him.

“Then do as I told you, slave.”

“Yes, Master.” Kat sat perfectly still, impaled on his gorgeous erection. She began methodically to contract her lower pelvic muscle. It was tiring. It took more than the ten repetitions that the slave sisters had practiced, and she did not want to leave ten seconds in between because she wanted to please him and mimic the rhythm of jerking him off.

Finally his face scrunched, and he declared, “I’m coming.” He, however, was wrong about one thing. As he shot his warm cum deep inside her, although she did not come herself, Kat received pleasure beyond just knowing she had pleased him. His ejaculation inside her sheath always felt wonderful.

Mercifully, Paul did not inflict this motionless torture on all three of them in one day. He still wanted to have different kinds of fun with them, so he only used the Kegel maneuver with one of them each day.

Four days later, he began to “repay” them. The scenario began much as it had before. He led Kat on the leash up to his bedroom and instructed her to mount him and lean forward. Once again he ordered her to remain motionless. He tugged on her hips until his huge erection was deep inside her, pressed hard against her G-spot. “Now reach down and massage your clit,” he ordered—as if she needed an order. As Kat rubbed her swollen clit, Paul used his muscles down there to move his cock back and forth.

“You’re stroking me without even moving!”

He grinned and said, “Keep going.” He just lay motionless and kept stroking her inside.

“Please, Master, may I come for you?”

“No, slave, not yet.” Kat immediately stopped clitting off, and the sensation subsided. He just continued what he was doing. “Now start again, slave.” Her hand flew back to her crotch. By this time, she was getting close to a G-spot orgasm, too.

“Please, Master, may I come for you?” She was desperate.

“Yes, come for me, bitch,” he said. And at that instant she experienced the most amazing blended orgasm, clitoris and G-spot together. The muscles of her pussy clamped down hard on his cock, forcing him to come, too, exploding deep inside her.

“Oh, my god! That was fan-fucking-tastic! Thank you, Master! Thank you!”

He laughed out loud. “Now you see what those exercises were all about.”

“I should never have questioned you, Master. I never will again. I promise!” Kat said with him still inside her.

He laughed again. “Yes, you will, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.” Paul was the only man Kat had ever been with who had the composure to use words like “sentiment” and “nonetheless” right after coming, while he was still inside a woman. She smiled back down at him.

“Have you shown this little trick to Meg or Courtney yet?”

“No, I thought I’d initiate you first,” he said.

“Courtney will go absolutely nuts! Do it when it’s her night in our rotation, so Meg and I can hear, or you could just do it in front of us and let us watch the fun,” Kat giggled.

“I’m sure something can be arranged, slave.” He lifted her off him and ordered her to clean him up with her mouth. She hungrily complied.

“Thank you, Master.”

It was not that the thanks were premature. As incredible as that motionless fuck had been, however, it would prove to be merely the “appetizer.” The “entrée” and “dessert” would come later.

About a month later, Kat, Meg and Courtney were all snuggling on the couch, watching a DVD of The Wicker Man, the original, not the silly Nicolas Cage remake. As they enjoyed looping the beautiful Britt Ekland’s wild, nude “fertility” dance, trying to decide if she looked like Courtney, Kat told Courtney to get on her knees on the floor and perform cunnilingus on her. Paul had given her authority over both her sisters. She tried not to abuse the privilege, but it was wonderful when she got especially horny looking at or petting the naked forms of Courtney or Meg to make them go down on her.

Paul was in his study doing some work when the doorbell rang. As they always did on such occasions, they retreated into another room. Paul came out and grabbed the robe he always kept handy. After they heard him close the door, they re-entered to see him carrying a large box. He looked like a little kid on Christmas Day. Putting the package down, he grinned and rubbed his hands. Kat swore she almost saw him do a little jig.

“What is it, Master?” Meg asked.

“Ahh, slave, patience. You’ll find out in due time.”

He picked up the box and carried it down to the dungeon, closing the door behind him. Meg and Courtney wanted to follow, but Kat stopped them. They hadn’t been invited, and the closed door looked like an instruction on its own. “We’ll be in on it when Master’s ready to show us, not before,” she said. Meg and Courtney could only shrug. Kat took their hands and walked them back to the sofa to continue their languid nuzzling.

An hour or so later, Paul came upstairs. “Come, slaves. Now I’ll satisfy your curiosity, Meg.” The truth was, of course, that they were all curious. Meg had just been quickest in asking the question. He attached leashes to all their collars and led them to his study.

The women were confused. Whatever had arrived in the parcel was in the basement. Why was their Master leading them to his study?

Paul turned his desktop monitor around so that it faced into the room rather than at his desk chair. Then he brought the keyboard and mouse around, as well. “Gather round, you horny bitches,” he instructed. As they watched, he called up the voyeur chat website where Kat had originally found Courtney. After logging in, from the various “tombstones,” he selected one for someone called “Princess Ondine.”

When that “room” came up, it was headed, “OhMiBod panties vibrate at the sound of tips.”

What they saw was an attractive brunette wearing only a collar, white lace boy shorts, and an opera mask, seated on a sofa over which a red sheet had been draped. Her arms rested on the back of the couch on either side of her body. Around her wrists were soft cuffs connected to chains which were secured to the wall behind her. Alongside her picture, there scrolled an ongoing conversation among her viewers. It said that 4,100 users were watching her.

“You brought us in here to watch a cam whore?” Kat asked, incredulous.

“Watch your mouth, slave,” Paul replied sternly. “Just watch. The OhMiBod—pronounced ‘oh my bod’—is a sound activated vibrator. It was designed to be worn inside a woman’s panties at dance clubs to vibrate in sync with the music. It therefore delivers a variable sensation instead of the steady one of most vibrators. There is one in Princess Ondine’s panties right now. It’s not an OhMiBod, but on this site that name is used as a generic term for any device of that type. Watch.”

As the women watched, a yellow message appeared in the dialogue box, stating that one of those watching had tipped one token. The clank of a coin was heard, and the woman wiggled. More tips of one token followed, each time causing her to squirm. Then someone tipped fifteen, and the “princess” pulled and strained on her chains, and her bounteous tits jiggled and bounced seductively.

Paul was logged on as “Dominotion,” the nick he used among the BDSM community. “Are you beginning to see how it works?” he asked his slave girls. “The higher the tip, the more powerful and sustained the vibration,” Paul continued. More tips of varying amounts began to pour in with increasing frequency. In reaction to each, Ondine would squirm and writhe, her response depending on the amount. “Now watch this, bitches.”

Paul typed at the keyboard and a yellow message, reading, “Dominotion tips 100 tokens,” appeared on the screen, and a longer jingle of coins. The woman thrashed about, headbanging and tugging on her restraints like a chained animal.

When the vibration ceased, the woman calmed and smiled. “Thank you, Dominotion,” she said.

No sooner had the woman regain her composure than Paul tipped one hundred again, causing a similar reaction. Twice more, he hit her with one-hundred-token tips. Then suddenly he tipped one thousand. A sustained jingle of coins sounded and the woman on-screen thrashed and struggled with such violence that it seemed she might pull her chains out of the wall, while she moaned uncontrollably. As she regained herself, she smiled broadly. “Thank you, Dominotion. You always make me come,” she said.

Paul typed, and the message “Dominotion: And I always will, Princess” appeared.

Courtney was transfixed. “Look at her coloring and her tits. That could be Kat,” she said in wonderment. And it was true that there was a striking resemblance.

“Would you like to meet her, Courtney?” Paul asked.

“You know her?” Kat asked. “Was she another one of you clients?”

“No, slave,” he replied, laughing. “This one never needed my help. I just know her through BDSM circles.”

“I see the collar, Master,” said Meg. “Is she your slave, too?”

Once again Paul chuckled. “No, slave. Nor is she collared by anyone. It’s just part of her performance. She is genuinely submissive, though.”

Meg, the lawyer, followed up. “You just ‘spent’ fourteen hundred ‘tokens’—whatever those are. How much did you really spend?”

“A little over a hundred dollars, I think. I’m not quite sure. A token is about the equivalent of a dime, but you get discounts for buying in bulk. But you didn’t answer my question, would you like to meet her?”

“Yes!” Meg and Courtney chimed in unison.

“Who is she?” Kat demanded. “Is this her ‘job?’” she asked, using her fingers to mark air quotes.

“Settle down, slave,” Paul said, laughing once more and stroking Kat’s cheek. “No, this is just a hobby for her—a kind of performance art, you might say, though it is a nice supplement to income. She makes about four thousand dollars for several hours on the weekend. On weekdays, he real name is Charlotte, and she is an advertising executive in the city—one of the best.

“I’ll make a reservation for five for lunch next Saturday at the Gilded Cage,” said Paul, referring to an upscale café in the city that catered to a BDSM clientele. “I think you’ll like her. She really is a delightful person.”

Courtney clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “Thank you, Master,” she squealed.

“That, however, is next week. Before then, you have work to do. The box that arrived contained the same kind of vibrator that Ondine was using. You are going to get to experience it. Right now.” Then picking up their leashes, he led his trio of slaves to the basement.

In the basement, Paul had arranged three sets of cushions in a row. He instructed them to recline. “You’re going to experience what I’ll generically refer to as the OhMiBod. I purchased one for each of you.” He produced three of what looked like a computer mouse, one in white, one in black, and pink. He nested the white one between Kat’s labia, a small nodule on the underside rested on her clitoris. He then repeated the task, giving Meg the black one and Courtney the pink.

“You’re going to have to do this without the benefit of the panties Ondine had to hold it in place. I’ve positioned the cushions widely enough apart so that you won’t hurt each other in your frenzy. If you start to writhe and wiggle, you’ll have to hold it with you hand. Whatever happens, you must keep it held in place. Do you understand?” Each of the three women answered in the affirmative. “Good, then let’s get started.”

Paul went to a cabinet and extracted two brass bells of the type a church bell choir would use. At least that was how they looked to Kat. He put one aside on a table. Taking the other, he extended his arm and rang it once. A loud, rich, vibrant tone issued forth, and as it did, the women felt a jolt from their vibrators, causing them to jump. None, however, had to reach for crotch. He then repeated the move several times in succession.

The women thought of the single clink when a one-token tip was bestowed. It felt good, but nothing to write home about. Then he made it ring five times quickly before silencing it. Almost in unison, they squirmed and had to reach to hold their vibrators. Paul took that as a cue to go further in the torture that he used the way he used the Sybian. “You need not ask permission to come, slaves,” he said.

That should have been a warning of what was to come. Paul loosed a long and sustained series of tones. Except that they were not chained, the women threw their bodies around, bouncing with pleasure. Then, as the effect of that barrage subsided, Paul picked up the other bell in his left hand and began to ring them both, first the right hand, then the left, in rapid succession.