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Master Damon shifted so he was fully facing her. “Today I plan to explore just how far I can take you into erotic humiliation and sexual debasement. From what I’ve observed of you so far, I think you’ll respond well. But this kind of play can be tough to handle, even for a deeply masochistic submissive like you.”
In spite of herself, Ellen flashed back once more to poor Lia. But Master Damon was nothing like Master Lawrence. And this wasn’t to be a punishment, but rather a deepening of her role as Master Damon’s erotic slave.
“I want this experience to be fully immersive,” he continued. “If you can surrender yourself to the process, I think you’ll find it very freeing. But along the way, it’s quite possible we’ll trigger some very intense negative emotions.”
He fixed her with a knowing look. “I’m aware you regard using your safeword as a weakness.”
She couldn’t deny this and so said nothing.
“So, in lieu of that, you can use the standard club slow-down phrase of yellow light if things are getting too intense, and I’ll ease up.”
Reaching down, he cupped her cheek in his hand. She leaned into his touch as he stared down at her with those cool winter-sea eyes.
“Ellen,” he said, his voice deep and sexy. “Are you willing to allow me to use you in ways I haven’t before? To treat you as a sex object, a cunt, a dirty little whore whose sole purpose is to be used for her Master’s pleasure and amusement? Are you willing to allow yourself to be degraded and humiliated in whatever way amuses me? I may choose to invite others to share in your debasement.”
Others?
While Ellen had grown accustomed to serving all of the Doms at The Enclave, she hadn’t expected Master Damon to share her during their brief time together. She wasn’t sure if she was hurt or excited by the idea.
She decided not to overthink it. Master Damon would determine what was right for her. All she had to do was submit.
“Do you agree to surrender yourself fully to the process?” Master Damon continued.
Was he genuinely asking for her permission? Was he giving her the option to refuse? A part of her rebelled. Don’t ask me, she wanted to cry. Tell me. Order me. If I have no choice, I have no culpability.
But that was part of the point, wasn’t it? To make her complicit in her own sexual degradation. Because, despite her having given herself to this man for this week, she did ultimately have a choice. The exchange of power between them was nearly absolute per the terms of their contract. But it was, at its core, consensual.
By giving her the choice, he was forcing her to recognize, and to verbalize, what she really wanted, above and beyond simply submitting to his will. And, despite her nerves, her clit was pulsing, her cunt throbbing. Something dark and urgent deep in her soul had responded to his words. She didn’t simply want to submit for its sake. Despite her real trepidation about what was in store, she wanted to experience what he offered.
She realized she was holding her breath. She let it out in a rush of air, feeling suddenly dizzy but also wildly, desperately alive. Gathering her courage and wrapping it around herself, she lifted her chin and met Master Damon’s intense, encompassing gaze.
“Yes, Sir,” she said in a clear, strong voice. “I agree.”
≈
Damon got to his feet. He was eager to get started—eager to discover just how far he could bend this willing, obedient slave girl without breaking her. Reaching down, he grabbed the dog collar and leash he’d placed on the other chair alongside a single tail whip while Ellen had been in the shower.
“Lift your hair so I can put on your collar.”
Ellen’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open. It suddenly occurred to Damon she might think this was a slave collar—a symbol of his claiming her for his own. As if she’d spoken aloud, he said brusquely, “No, it’s not a slave collar, slut. Why would I want to own a worthless cunt like you? This is just your dog collar.”
She blinked rapidly, the hurt in her eyes momentarily startling him. Surely, she couldn’t think he’d actually planned to collar her for real? She knew going into this adventure what the terms were.
Pushing aside his concern, he buckled the collar into place and attached the chain leash. “Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered. Once she was in position, he led her to the wardrobe, jerking the chain as she crawled behind him along the hardwood.
He opened the wardrobe and pulled the black leather corset from its hanger. Turning back to her, he unclipped the leash and draped it over the bars of the domed slave cage.
“Stand up,” he said. “Put your arms on your head and keep them there while I lace you into this thing.”
The corset was designed to keep the breasts exposed, which suited his purpose. It zipped in front and laced in back. Damon wrapped it around Ellen’s torso and zipped it up. He adjusted her breasts, settling them into the quarter cups and tweaking her nipples in the process. Moving to stand behind her, he pulled the laces tight, accentuating her hourglass figure.
Returning to stand in front of her, he admired the swell of her breasts spilling over the top of the corset, the delicate line of her collarbone, the curve of her waist. Her erect nipples looked like ripe cherries.
“Can you breathe okay?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” she managed, though she did sound a bit breathless.
“You may lower your arms to your sides.”
