Chapter 7

... I felt my Queen hug against my back. “Lover,” she said, I have a gift for you.”

I turned, knowing that gift was Ciara, collared and cuffed. I was right.

Ciara knelt at our feet, still dressed, with a aura of peacefulness, I’d never seen upon her, before.

“Are you sure, Hon? I asked. “Can we, can YOU, trust her?”

“We’ll just have to find out, Lover,” she replied.

“Now, before anything else happens, you have to take her.” My wife handed me a blue, diamond shaped pill. “You have to take her control, and you MUST,”she emphasized, “discipline her for her past digressions.”

My Queen was staring into my eyes, letting me know just how important this was.

“What are her limits?” I asked

“Don’t kill her. Don’t break anything important. Her kids take precedence.”

I looked at my wife, fear actually striking me.

My wife continued, “She wants 24/7. There’s no way to do that, if for no other reason, than her kids. This is our compromise. She’s yours, any time you call. When her kids are at their Dad’s, she is to be your body slave.

“You are going to strip her, right here, right now, and flog her, 100 strokes. Then, you are going to use her,” my wife paused, meaningfully. “ALL of her.” Well, that explained the Viagra.

I looked at Ciara. There was that peacefulness, that ... Serenity, about her. Not just acceptance, but, like she’d finally found where she belonged.

I do wish my Queen hadn’t sent me away, as the two of them conversed.

“Her safe word?” I inquired.

“She doesn’t have one, for now.” My wife moved to my side. “She needs this. I know it, she knows it, and so do you.

“She’s ready. She was ready, the 4th, but that cunt, over there, talked her out of it. Her fear wasn’t of you, Dear. She was afraid of me. If she’d not listened to that cunt, you and I would have gone to her house, the 5th, and worked all this out, then. She’d already be of our Household.

“Now, stop putting this off. It’s just feeding her fear of rejection. As you love her,” her hand caressed my face,” as you love me, give her what she needs.”

I looked again, to Ciara, kneeling at my feet, serene, and calm.

I was reminded of a quote from one of the old Gor books, “The paradox of the collar is the freedom which a woman experiences in at last finding herself, and becoming herself, within the collar.”

Now that she wore a collar, Ciara was free.

I’m not saying she was happy, far from that. But, she rather obviously wasn’t afraid, any more.

I, on the other hand, was now terrified. I had to beat a woman I loved, with a hundred strokes.

I had worked so hard, and so long, to keep Ciara OUT of this life style, because I was afraid that, as fragile, as brittle, as she is, she’d shatter into so many shards as to be beyond any repair.

That choice had now been taken away from me.

Now, all I could do, was make damn sure I didn’t show any thing that could be warped into rejection of her, in her mind.

Whelp ... Sooner started, sooner done.

I stepped beside her, and grabbed a handful of Ciara’s hair, pulling her to her feet, then, roughly started taking her clothes off. I did have to remove her cuffs, to get her shirt off, but her plain white bra, and turquoise granny panties, I cut off, with my Kershaw Onion knife.

I took a moment, to admire what I’d never thought to see. Ciara has small A cup breasts, and a flat ass, and not a great swell, to her hips. She looks out of proportion, because her legs are short, almost exactly the same length as her torso. Her nipples, though, are almost an inch long, and half an inch in diameter. Oh, I could spend days, just sucking on those...

People had been busy, and ropes had somehow been secured to the ceiling, near where my Queen and I had been sitting. When this was pointed out to me, I dragged Ciara, still gripping her hair, over to them.

I tied a rope, to each of her wrists, using a double loop bowline, that wouldn’t tighten down on her, cutting off circulation. I called for a broom or mop handle, and one was located in the kitchen and brought to me.

I had Ciara hold it, her hands just shoulder width apart.

“If this gets to be too much, just let go, Little Sister, and everything will stop.”

For the first time, this evening, she met my eyes without fear.”Sion, I love you. I need this. I need you, the only one here, I trust at all, to help me make things right.” She kissed me. On the cheek, but a kiss, none the less. The first she’d ever given me.

My heart was aching. I didn’t want to do this.

This all comes down to me, fucking up. Royally.

I’d known, from the start, that Ciara was a submissive type person. She hadn’t known much, about the fetish or kink scene, that is my House’s life style. She was vanilla. A mundane. Just a normal woman, trying to live a normal life, leaving her needs unmet.

Her ex-husband’s abuse, both the physical, and the mental abuse, filled those needs, but not satisfactorily. Mainly, because he was abusing her out of anger, not love.

Ciara was seventeen, when she became pregnant, with Kayleigh. I’m not certain, her ass hole ex-husband is even Kayleigh’s father. Yet, he’d married Ciara, and supported her and Kayleigh. He’d stepped up. For that, alone, I respected him.

But, from the start, I don’t think there was ever love, in that relationship. Lust? Oh yeah. Sex? sure. Maybe even friendship.

Love? From all I’ve seen, which admittedly is very little, and all from Ciara’s point of view, neither of them has even learned what love is.

Where I’d fucked up, was, I stepped outside my world, where I am strong, and into her world, the vanilla world, were I was weak. I never understood the rules, in that world, so, of course, I fucked it all up.

But, now, we were both in MY world.

I leaned in and whispered into Ciara’s ear, “Did your Dad ever tell you, right before he spanked you, that it would hurt him, more than it was going to hurt you?”

Ciara nodded, and rubbed the side of her face against mine.

“He told you the truth,” I stated. “And this is going to hurt you, a lot. If I didn’t love you, Ciara...” I left the thought dangling.

I nodded, and two of the House slaves pulled on their ends of the rope, until Ciara was up on her toes, arms held extended above her. The broom handle clenched in her hands.

“Where’s that fucking cunt, Jamaica?” I asked.

Spotting her, still huddled against the wall, I pointed at her, and said, “Bring her ass over here. She’s a major cause of this, so she can call the count.”

Several subs went and dragged her, struggling all the way, to a spot near Ciara.

“You can count to one hundred, can’t you, stoner cunt?” I asked.

“Because if you fuck up the count, I have to start over. Ciara wouldn’t be getting this whipping, if it weren’t for you, whispering your evil crap into her ear.”

Jamaica was still reacting with anger. There wasn’t a single sign, on her face, of sympathy, for Ciara’s plight. “Fuck you, count it, yourself,” she said.

“If you don’t count her strokes, I’ll get a quirt, and start beating you. Bet a nickel, you’ll count those strokes.”

After a moment of staring at me, Jamaica’s eyes dropped, and she nodded her acquiescence to my demand she call he count.

I held out my hand, and Crystal placed the rope flogger into my grasp.

I inspected it. I’d tied this flogger, out of 3/8ths nylon boat rope. Over all, it was three feet long, with the first foot being the handle. With five looped falls, made for ten strands, but no ends that could cut. The rope is soft, so there was very little chance of breaking the skin of my victim, but it had enough weight to be very “thuddy,” rather than “stingy.”

Ciara might not have a lot of welts, when we were done, but she was going to have a great many bruises.

I started, on her left calf, pausing about ten to fifteen seconds, between blows. 45 on her back, 45 on her front, nine, directly in her tits, and the last, an under arm swing, landed directly on her pussy.

I’m not going to give any more a description that that, because it still makes me sick, to even think about it.

Even sicker, to my mind, was seeing Jamaica have several orgasms, watching Ciara be beaten, and hearing Ciara’s screams. She never did falter in the count, though.

I threw the flogger, aside, and went to receive my whipped girl, as the subs lowered her. The broom handle bounced off my head, as Ciara’s grip finally failed.

I was already speaking softly, telling Ciara that her punishment was over, that I was so proud of her, as the was lowered into my arms. Her legs wouldn’t support her, so I held her in my arms, and waited as the suspension ropes were removed from her wrists.

If it weren’t for the Viagra, I never would have been able to perform the next part.

As I carried Ciara the few steps to the table Crystal had been whipped on, I whispered encouragements to Ciara. I told her, again, that her punishment was over, and now came her reward.

Ciara just kept saying, “Thank you, thank you,” over and over.

Having a Household of kinky people, was a boon. Subs were helping me arrange Ciara on the table, while one or two removed my shoes, and pants.

My wife did the honors, of skinning a rubber onto my penis, then guiding me into Ciara’s surprisingly wet and dripping pussy.

The subs were still busy, though. I could feel fingers spreading lube into Ciara’s ass, through her partition.

Ciara came. I felt the flood of her fluids soak my pubes.

Well, I thought. She told the truth, when she said she was a squirter.

I pulled out, and walked around to her head.

Ciara has told us, at the shop, that she hates oral sex. Giving or receiving. I always thought that was bullshit.

But this wasn’t about sex, or likes. This was me taking Ciara as mine. So, I forced myself into her mouth, and basically fucked her throat like it was her pussy. I ignored her gagging.

At least she didn’t throw up. I hate that.

I started getting close, so I pulled out, and retraced my steps to her nether region.

Along the way, someone slathered my dick with lube.

I pushed Ciara’s legs up, folding her in half. Then, I positioned my dick, at her ass hole, and pushed.

It took over a minute, for me to work all the way into her depth, but I finally got there, and stopped.

Ciara was crying, and flinching, but she was still saying “thank you,” so I just held my position.

After a few moments, I could feel her rectum start to loosen, slightly, and she started to hunch herself against me.

Soon, Ciara was fucking her ass against me, as best she could. Her strokes were rather restrained, because of our position.

I started drilling for oil, and soon found it. I filled the rubber, after two more soakings from Ciara’s squirting pussy.

As soon as I pulled out, my wife started gently wiping up the mess Ciara had made, with bar towels and warm water. She was telling Ciara, that she’d much rather be using her tongue, and one day, would, if Ciara’s Master would permit, and after she’d been given a clean bill of health.

Crystal, and Keisha, meanwhile, removed the rubber from me, and took turns sucking and licking me clean, while making happy noises.

I picked Ciara up into my arms, again, and settled us into a chair.

Remember that dream, I told you about, earlier?

Yeah...

Someone had retrieved blankets from who knows where, and one was draped around Ciara and I. This is one of the things so great, about living this kind of lifestyle. All the willing and unobtrusive help.

Bringing Ciara back from whatever place she’d gone, took a while. How long? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It took the time it took.

Her big sigh, as she wiggled into me, told me she was back.

“How are you feeling, Pet?” I asked.

“I hurt, so good, Master.”

I felt her smile, against my neck. “Pet,” she said. “Hmmm ... I like being your Pet.

She kissed my neck.

I wove my fingers into her hair, gripping firmly, and said, “You need to understand something, Pet.

“No matter what happens, no matter who might be in your bed, from now on, you are mine.

“MINE.” I shook her head, lightly.

“Yours,” she sighed, and melted into me.

The party continued on, around our little bubble of peace.

Finally, Ciara started paying attention to what was going on around us. She tried to move away, but I held her close, for another moment, enjoying the warmth of her body, under the blanket.

When I did release her, she took the blanket and folded it neatly, to set on the table, before kneeling at my feet, with a sigh of contentment.

“You need to tell me what’s going on, in your head, Pet,” I stated.

“Nothing,” she sighed. “And it’s so nice.”

“You know this is just a first step,” I said, “on a long, long journey.”

“Master, It isn’t a first step. I’m an infant, just beginning to crawl.”

“Ciara, look at me,” I said.

When she’d met my eyes, I asked, “Why? Why now?”

As I searched her eyes, she was searching mine. Hesitantly, she said, “Sometimes what seems like surrender isn’t surrender at all. It’s about what’s going on in our hearts.”

“I’ve been running from what was going on in my heart, from almost the day you walked into the shop.

“You were always so sure of yourself. Almost always right, when you said something. And, when you were wrong, you didn’t dither. You came right out and said, you were wrong.

“You set such a high standard. For safety, in the shop, the way we did things, how we inspected, the standards we used to reject parts, all of it. You were always calling us out, for doing things sloppy.”

She struggled, a moment, then continued, “You were always professional, even in the personal parts.”

Ciara barked a shot laugh. “You weren’t there 20 minutes, before you called Jimmy out, for smoking at his station.

“You set an example the rest of us couldn’t meet, without working hard, at it. None of us liked it, but you just kept urging us to do better. To be better.