A game

Nikki crawled over to the desk, and struggled to bring Charles back his briefcase on her knees, just one hand on the floor. Her breasts hanging down in her dress, her knees getting caught in the skirt. Her stockings smooth against the carpet. They were going to run, rubbing against the wool fibers of the carpet, Nikki struggled not to worry about that. Charles must know what he was doing. She struggled to be graceful, to hold her stomach in, to keep her shoulder blades engaged, to hold her head up, neck long, all the things she had been taught.

She finally reached him and he took the case from her hand. She kneeled up, hoping that was expected, her legs spread, aware of her naked pussy and ass, and feeling a run traveling up the front of the left stocking, just as she had expected. She could feel it crawling up her leg, the silk of the stocking spreading, and the spreading sensation moving higher and higher. It stopped at the tight band at the top of the stocking, but she felt it, thinner, different, along the front of her leg.

“Good girl.” Charles’ voice was crisp and firm. Still more business like than he had been even half an hour before. This was a test. She was being evaluated, and she was not to forget it. Nikki centered herself. Thought of her slavery. Thought of Mark, the report he was going to get, what he was going to read about her. She hoped to make him proud.

Charles opened the case. Nikki couldn’t see what was in there. Charles reached his right hand in, holding it steady with his left. Nikki struggled to keep her gaze down, as she had been taught, and not follow his every motion, not try to anticipate his next move. He would tell her what was expected. He had assured her of as much at dinner. All she needed to do was be in the moment. She felt the carpet under her knees, felt her heels pressing up into her ass, felt the straps of her dress, which had fallen down off her shoulders. She was extremely aware of her status. She thought again of Mark.

“Ok, my dear. Look at me.” Charles was going to give her instruction now. Nikki snapped to attention. Pushed all the other thoughts out of her head and focused exclusively on Charles. He had a white golf ball in his hand. The surface shiny, the light reflecting off of each indentation.

“We are going to play a little game of fetch.” Charles paused for this to sink in. Nikki looked at him, trying to keep her gaze steady even as the reality of it sunk in. They had just had an intensely personal few hours; conversation, disclosure, dancing, even sex. He had treated her respectfully, gently, tenderly. He had probed her psyche, but with a sensitivity. It had almost been like a date. But now he was reaching into her training. He was going to treat her like the slave she was.

“That’s right, girl. Think about it.” Charles paused again. “You are going to be my little dog girl, my bitch. We’re going to have some fun.”

Charles reached over, and stroked Nikki’s head, pushing a few tendrils of hair back behind her left ear. “That’s right my dear. My little pet, my bitch.” He repeated the word, this time, softly, tenderly, almost as if it were a term of endearment.

Nikki shuddered. Feeling the submission of it. Feeling her position. She wasn’t just a woman, she was a sex slave. He was just reminding her.

“I want you to say it. Tell me what you are.” Now Charles was insistent.

Nikki hesitated. She wanted her voice to be strong and proud. She was proud, deep down. She was not ashamed of being a slave. This was what she was. But it was hard. She knew her voice was going to crack. She swallowed.

“I am your bitch, Sir.” Not too bad, a little higher pitched than she would have liked, but at least she had been able to do it. She had said it. “I am your pet, your toy, whatever you want me to be, Sir. I am a sex slave.”

“Ok, bitch.” It was matter-of-fact now, not said with venom or hostility, but just as a statement of fact. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to toss the ball, and I want you to go get it. On your hands and knees. Pick it up with your mouth. And bring it back to me, deposit it in my lap.”

Nikki nodded her head. She’d played this game, or some variation of it, with her trainer, with other slaves, with other trainers. She felt comfortable with it. But there was something about how she felt now that was different. She felt more … something. More aware, maybe. She felt her slavery with an intensity. It must have been the contrast to how Charles had been treating her. It was like worlds colliding, her old self and her new self hitting into each other. A sensation she had had repeatedly over the last weeks, but always shocking.

Charles had the ball in his right hand. She watched him as he threw it in a sort of sideways underhand toss. It went straight across the room, rolling to the floor in front of the entertainment center, bouncing off the furniture, and then rolling towards the entrance foyer.

Nikki waited until she saw it stop, and then set off as gracefully as possible. Her dress was annoying, the skirt getting caught up between her legs, under her knees, She pulled against it as she moved her legs. She figured out that by taking shorter strides, she could avoid the skirt.

Finally she was in front of the ball. She leaned down, bending her elbows, until her face was almost on the floor. The golf ball was cool against her lips, the plastic hard. She opened her mouth wide, pushed the ball against the floor and got it all the way into her mouth, behind her teeth. The golf ball filled her mouth, holding her jaw open, her lips not totally touching. Her tongue was held flat against the bottom of her mouth. She could feel the uneven surface, moved her tongue against it.

Nikki turned and headed back towards Charles. She was trying to be graceful. But even with the careful stride, she kept pulling the dress. She could feel her breasts swinging. She felt like she looked ridiculous. She felt ridiculous. Her mouth was full, her lips not closing over the ball, she could feel her saliva pooling, knew that if she didn’t get there soon, she’d drip drool on the floor. She could feel new runs forming in her tights. Her feet were still constrained in the tight shoes, now the tops of them were rubbing on the carpet. She felt almost sub-human.

“Come on, girl. Come to me.” Charles slapped his thigh twice, rapidly, the way you would to call a dog. Even his voice had that sing song quality people use with dogs or babies. “Come on.”

She moved her legs, her arms. Felt almost like a machine. She looked up as she reached him, knowing that her face was completely distorted, her mouth filled by the golf ball. She tried to maneuver around to deposit the ball in Charles’ lap, but his arm was in the way, so she backed up and moved around the chair to get a better angle. Charles shifted his legs further away from her. She backed up again and moved around in the other direction, and again he shifted in the chair again to make it harder. She looked up at him, and a whimper escaped from behind the ball.

Nikki knew this was part of the game, That he was making it harder for her, on purpose, to frustrate her. To make her work for it. To make her feel it. It was working. She was having trouble breathing behind the ball, she was trying to hold her mouth closed so drool didn’t escape, so she was only breathing from her nose, and she was out of breath. She wanted to spit the ball out.

“You want to give me the ball, girl? You want to give it to me?” Charles’ voice was wheedling again, talking like he would to an animal or a child.

Nikki looked up at him and just groaned behind the ball.

“Ok, girl. Here. Here you go.” He held out his hand. Nikki pushed the ball with her tongue and her cheeks and let it pop into his hand.

“Did I tell you to put it in my hand? Or in my lap?” Ohhh. It was a trick question! Surely holding out his hand was an invitation to put the ball into it, but he had said to put it in his lap.

“Sir. You said your lap, Sir. Please excuse me.” Nikki was genuinely contrite. She should have known better than to fall into a trap like that. Should have at least hesitated before putting it into his hand. Looked at him. Gotten him to confirm that it was what he wanted.

“Shall I give you another chance?”

“Oh, please, Sir. Please. I’ll do better, really I will.” Nikki was eager to show him what she could do.

He threw the ball again. And she moved off as fast as she could on hands and knees. Her stockings were in shreds now, runs all over the front of her thighs and down her calves. The right one had a huge hole at the knee. Her feet were aching from being held back in such an awkward position. One of the straps on the dress had snapped from being pulled when she caught her knee on the skirt, and her breast was hanging down. The other one was off her shoulder. But she didn’t care, she was focused on being the best slave Charles had ever seen. She wanted to do an amazing job. Wanted him to be impressed and thrilled. She wanted to excel.

She slid the golf ball into her mouth, tasting her own dried saliva and the little bits of carpet fluff that had stuck to it. She turned and struggled to move back toward him. Not caring this time how ridiculous she looked.

Charles let her deposit the ball directly onto his lap. “Good job.” His voice was approving. “Much better.” He patted her on the head. “Let’s see it again.”

Charles threw the ball half a dozen more times, urging her to go faster, bring it to him faster. Once the ball got stuck under the sofa and he had to give her permission to reach her hand in and retrieve it. Her jaw ached from carrying it. She ripped her skirt in a particularly difficult tangle. She was sweating. Her hair matted to her head.

“Such a good girl you are.” He rewarded her each time she brought the ball back. Made her feel special, approved of. Made her feel that she deserved his attention and affection. Made her feel good. Motivated her to keep going, through her sore knees, her sweat, her ripped clothes. She could keep going as long as she was making him happy.

She hurried to find the ball tucked into corners, behind furniture, across the rough wool carpet. She worked so hard. All the while feeling her submission. Feeling that she was doing this for this man, this man her trainer had given her to. This was part of her slavery, part of her condition, it was what made her what she was. It made her more of a woman, more of a slave.

Finally, after a particularly challenging throw, he lifted her chin to look him in the face. “You would keep going for me, wouldn’t you?”

Nikki blinked, looked him right in the face, and said “Yes, Sir, as you wish Sir.”

“That’s ok. I think we’re done.” Charles cupped her face. “But I want to see what this does to you, I want to feel how it makes you feel.” He took his hand from her face. “Turn around, and put your head on the ground.”

Nikki turned. What was he going to do to her? She hesitated to imagine. Such a vulnerable position, head down, ass in the air, pussy hanging down, feeling the air against her naked skin. But it didn’t matter. She had to follow his directions. He could do whatever he wanted.

Charles reached his hand down, ran it up the inside of her thigh, over the tatters of her stocking. Nikki moaned, quivering, as she felt him get closer. And then his hand was inside her. Touching her sex, Testing her. Gliding over the moisture, across the engorged tissues, and into her hot wet center. She was so wet. The desire had been there, right below the surface even as she did this ridiculous game. It had been there. And now it was even more present.

Nikki felt the arousal surge as Charles slid his fingers across her sex, into her more deeply. She barely had time to feel it intensify, and it had crested, carrying her up and over, the orgasm gripping her, spasms wracking her body, her cunt contracting around Charles hand. She gasped. It had been a surprise.

“Mmmm.” His voice was approving. “Such pretty submission. So beautiful to see it arouse you like that.” He pulled his fingers from inside her, but continued to cup her pussy.

He pulled his hand away. “Turn back to me.” His voice was more commanding, but he was obviously taken with her. She could hear how he had enjoyed that, could hear how she had pleased him. She felt warm, flushed with pleasure. She felt proud. Proud of her own skill, proud of her submission.

Charles cupped her face in his hands, gazed into her eyes. “Oh, my dear. Such submission. Such beauty. I’m quite impressed.” He reached over to her left hand, capturing it in his right. “Do you see what you’ve done to me?” He brought her hand to his crotch. She could feel his erect member straining through his trousers. “At my age, that is pretty impressive. Not many girls have that effect.” Charles raised his eyebrow at her. “You can reach down and open my fly. I want you to take it out.”