Slave
Girl
by Laura Bryannan
We only play it when Jin's not
around. I couldn't bear him knowing I want Mugen like this, for I'm
sure he'd be disgusted and I'd never get over the humiliation. I
believe the desire stems from one of my stays in a brothel,
witnessing a lineup of girls—a few even younger than me—being
ogled and fondled as the men made their choices. I felt awful for
them, so horrified and ashamed, and yet when I look back at that
experience now that I'm all safe and sound it turns me on like
nothing else.
And so I stand in the middle of the room in only
my juban, hands tied behind my back, eyes cast downward. He's left me
here for long enough that my heart leaps when I hear him return, my
skin prickling as he draws near. His feet come into view and I
breathe in his scent, which makes my guts do flip flops.
“She
might do,” he says to the imaginary madam. “Lemmie take a
closer look.”
He cups one breast in his hand, swirling
his thumb over the nipple, causing me to gasp. Chuckling, he unties
the belt of my juban and it falls to the floor. My face is burning
now, I just know it, but I'm starting to warm up in other places that
make it all worthwhile. A gentle finger touches my temple, traces my
ear, then ghosts along my neck down to my shoulder. It pulls my juban
to the side, exposing my breast and leg, and the shivers that began
above travel across my body all the way down to my toes.
His
eyes bore into me—it's almost like I can feel the heat of them
as they look me over—and I try not to figit. “Not bad,”
he says. “You suck cock, girl?”
I nod.
“Speak!”
he commands.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, meekly.
“You
do it good?”
I think I do. He tells me I do, so I answer
proudly. “Yes, sir!”
He leans near, voice dark and
husky, and I break out in goosebumps. “You like to do it?”
My face goes up in flames again. Why is this question so
embarrassing? “Y-Yes,” I whisper. “I like it.”
He traces my lips, tugging at the lower one, so I open my
mouth obediently and a finger slips inside. Mugen's hands are rarely
clean. They either taste of dirt, of life—all the gunk he's
accumulated that day—or they taste of his crotch. Sometimes
both. Today I note the evidence of his morning ritual, as Jin calls
it, and it makes my knees weak.
“Show me how you do
it,” he commands, as another finger enters. I lap and suck,
teasing my tongue along the seam between them, tickling and swirling.
He slides them slowly in and out of my mouth, pushing against the
back of my throat sometimes, stroking my tongue. I want to devour
them, pamper them, send loving messages to the creature in his pants,
so I practically faint when I hear him grunt in satisfaction. I
resist as he pulls them out, using tongue and teeth playfully, but he
withdraws in spite of my efforts. I moan in frustration until those
fingers make a wet line down my belly and I tremble in anticipation.
A warm hand palms my curls, waiting for my decision. I'm
aching with need—so embarrassed, I want it over soon, and
aroused enough to never want it to stop—so I shift my stance,
shamelessly parting my thighs to give him access. My torturer is
merciless, however. I feel fingers between my legs, pressing against
my outer lips but making no further movement. I try to remain still,
but my muscles clench of their own accord, and he chuckles again as I
squirm against his hand.
“You're a frisky one,”
he notes, a smile in his voice. “I think I'll keep you.”
The flattery mushes me out, even though it's just a crazy game. I
keep waiting for him to touch and tease me, but it doesn't happen.
His hand comes back to my mouth and two fingers seek entrance again,
so I allow it. Now I taste myself too, as I clearly lubed up his hand
while it was visiting, and I find these new flavors just as arousing.
I love his fingers a little more, smiling to myself as he lets a moan
escape before commanding, “Kneel.”
I try to lower
myself gracefully, ready for what comes next. He tugs at the tie of
his shorts and there's no hips to keep them from falling on the
floor. He removes his fingers from my mouth and traces along his
length, leaving a shiny trail, then grabs himself and pumps
sensuously. A drop of clear liquid emerges from the tip and I yearn
to lick it off, but he's out of my reach.
“You want
it?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
His fingers graze along himself and when he gasps at the sensations I
gasp too.
“Yes please, sir.” I'm actually
salivating. I can't believe it!
“That's better.”
He cards his hand into my hair, takes a step forward, and it finally
touches my face. Warm and musky, I nuzzle like it's my favorite pet,
which it is, in a way. “Open up,” he says, and I do. The
immense monster enters and I work to keep my teeth from scraping him,
grateful he's being gentle and not making me gag. Even with my hands
tied behind my back, I still feel all-powerful when I have my mouth
on Mugen. He loves it so much, he's ever enthusiastic, and I think I
could do it all day just to listen to him make those joyous sounds.
So we're both getting into it when the door slides open. My
blood runs cold and I turn to stone as I watch a scowling Jin take in
the scene, looking back and forth between us, unsure what to make of
my bound wrists. Mugen doesn't hesitate. “Faster, slave!”
he demands loudly, and I catch a glimpse of Jin's eyebrows arching
before I'm grabbed by the ears and my face is taken for a ride. The
experience absorbs so much of my concentration I don't have the
wherewithal to feel embarrassed, but suddenly there are hands sliding
up my thighs, and I'm so incredulous I skip a beat and mess up the
rhythm.
“Pay attention, slave!” my master intones,
and I do, I do, to the skillful touch exploring where I've been
craving it all afternoon.
“Yes!” comes a deeper,
beloved voice. “Pay attention, slave.”
My whole
body flushes with heat, and it's a good thing they're holding me up
because my spine's suddenly become as bendy as a willow branch. Mugen
pulls me off himself and allows me to answer. Forcing me to look into
his face for the first time, I meet gray eyes smoky with lust and my
heart melts as I promise, “I will...sirs.”
end