His Belonging - An Erotic Tale
His Belonging
An Erotic Tale
Text copyright © 2012, Amy Morrel
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – The Rescue
Chapter 2 – The Introduction
Chapter 3 – Her History
Chapter 4 – Home Again, Home Again
Chapter 5 – The Test
Chapter 6 – Living in 'Interesting Times'
Chapter 7 – Losing Control
Chapter 8 – Surprise
* * *
Chapter 1 – The Rescue
Blake was sitting in the food court at the mall when he overheard the one-sided, heated, conversation at the table next to him.
“You're not getting anything from me bitch! Free pussy, my ass. You've cost me more than most of the girlfriends I've had, needing me to give you everything. I can't even sell you to make up the rest of my debt. Now they're gonna knee-cap my ass.”
A resounding smack followed the vehement statement and Blake spun to see the man at the next table lowering his hand. A red hand-print was blooming on the face of the brunette sitting at the table with him. As Blake looked, she removed her gaze from the man's face and cast it downward towards the floor.
No-one else in the food court appeared to notice, or maybe they just didn't care, that the man had struck her. As Blake watched, the man raised his hand in a closed fist to just below the level of the table and appeared to get ready to strike the girl again, this time in her stomach.
Blake reached over, stretching slightly to reach the man's elbow. As he grasped the joint, he squeezed it firmly enough to hurt:
“I don't think you want to be doing that. Someone might think you enjoyed violence and decide to perpetrate some of it on you yourself.”
“What the fuck do you think you're doing asshole?”
“Trying to stop you from making a mistake. You don't hit a woman.”
“That's no woman, she's just a cheap slut. Can't even sell the bitch to pay off my bookie. All she does is eat and sleep, don't do a damn thing to pay for her keep. I might as well get some frustrations out on her this way.”
Blake's training as a bouncer came in handy at this point. He had kept sight of the man's hands in his peripheral vision and when one came out with a shiny object in it, he reacted. The man's gasp of pain preceded the clatter of the knife falling to the floor by a brief moment. The quickly snatched back wrist was either sprained or broken. Blake's move had been rushed so he hadn't had the control he normally would've and couldn't be sure if he'd broken it or not. The quick reaction drew as little notice as the earlier slap had from the other people in the food court.
“Fine, you be worrying about this slut? She's yours, you deal with her. You hear that slut? You belong to him now, get the fuck out of my life.”
The man got up from the table and as he began to leave he tossed back over his shoulder:
“She's broken in all sorts of different ways. Have fun asshole!”
* * *
Chapter 2 – The Introduction
Blake switched tables:
“Hello miss, I'm Blake. Are you okay?”
“Yes sir, I'm fine.”
“Sir? I can't be more than three or four years older than you. Please, call me Blake.”
Blake was twenty-six and the brunette appeared to be in her low twenties.
“Yes sir, I mean Blake, sorry.”
“So what was that all about?”
“Well, I told Raymond that I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning and that I was hungry. I asked if I could have something to eat. He told me that he was broke and blamed it on me. He got upset because he owes a lot of money to someone by tonight and if he doesn't get it to them he's liable to end up dead. He'd finally given up on trying to sell me to some people he knew, they wouldn't believe him that I was for sale and would stay sold. So he was angry with me because I didn't make him the money he needed. Then I asked him for something to eat and he lost his temper with me.”
Blake shook his head for a moment. Her recitation had sounded matter of fact but the inclusion of things like 'given up on trying to sell me' and 'would stay sold' had his head spinning. He knew that he could take care of one problem though.
“What would you like to eat miss and what should I call you?”
“Whatever you're willing to get for me, and you can call me anything you want, I'm yours.”
“Wait, you're mine? What do you mean you're mine? What's your real name?”
“You heard Raymond, 'You belong to him now' he said. It was a legitimate verbal transfer of ownership according to the rules my first master taught me. My name is Courtney, by the way, but as I said you can call me whatever you want. If you want me to answer to anything other than my name you have to let me know though. I'm also used to responding to Slut very nicely since my first master trained me to it. I'll probably answer to that even if you don't tell me to.”
Blake shook his head again, wondering what exactly had he gotten himself into. He went back to focusing on what he could do something about right now.
“Do you like chicken Courtney? What would you like to drink?”
“Yes I do and water would be fine.”
“Stay here, I'll be right back.”
Blake picked up the knife from the floor and tossed it into a trash can on the way to the food counter. It was a nasty looking shiv, sharp but with streaks of something black on it that would probably get into any wound inflicted and infect it.
Blake came back with a grilled chicken salad and a bottle of water for Courtney. He figured if she hadn't eaten since yesterday that she wouldn't be wanting greasy fried foods and grilled would be better. Blake still had the rest of his own lunch in front of him so, despite it being slightly the worse for wear due to the interruption, he finished it as Courtney ate her food.
Courtney ate slowly and almost daintily. She would take a small bite of the salad and chew it thoroughly before swallowing. Each bite was followed by a small sip of water. The few times she got dressing on her lips her pink tongue would slide out to skillfully dab away the offending material.
Blake finished his food far more quickly than Courtney and sat there, watching her eat. Her brown hair had streaks of lighter colors at the bottom. Blonde, copper, and bronze intertwined with the majority of dark brown strands near the ends of her hair. Farther up, there was a hint of red mingled with the brown, not enough to be called auburn but enough to be noticed. Her skin-tone held hints of brown and yellow, suggesting that there might be some oriental blood somewhere in her ancestry. She was neither thin nor stout although her arms, revealed by the t-shirt she was wearing, suggested that she was in shape since there was muscle visible in both her forearms and firm biceps.
Blake had tried to keep his scrutiny away from the other parts of her body that a man might normally be interested in. He had no clue what was going on here since his brain refused to take her statements at face value. As far as he was concerned, that type of thing just didn't happen in real life. So, until he had a firmer grasp on what was going on, he resolved to not check her out as a woman.
He didn't truly manage that resolve very well. He'd already noticed that she filled her t-shirt without stretching it out and that her legs, visible under the micro-mini she was wearing, were long, fit, and smooth.
Once she finished eating, she looked at Blake expectantly. They just sat there for several minutes. Blake was wondering what she wanted now while Courtney was simply being patient with her new master. Once the silence grew uncomfortable Blake ended it:
“Are you better now, not hungry any more?”
“Yes Blake, thank you.”
“I'm
leaving to head home, are you going to be okay? Do you need a ride home or something?”
“Yes, I could use a ride home Blake.”
“Okay then, come with me.”
* * *
Chapter 3 – Her History
Blake rose and led the way out to the parking lot where he had parked his car. Courtney dutifully followed, carrying a small duffel bag with her. Blake once again failed his recent resolution by noticing that she was wearing four inch heels and knew how to move in them very well.
Once they were in the car he asked her:
“Where should I drop you?”
“Home, of course.”
“Where is that?”
“I don't know, I'm yours now so you can make that call, although I'd prefer it to be your home.”
Blake had managed to convince himself that he had misheard or hallucinated parts of the earlier exchanges and was once more taken aback.
“Where do you keep your stuff? I'll drop you there.”
Courtney hefted the small duffel bag:
“These are all the belongings that are my own.”
Blake nearly exploded:
“Listen, I'm not buying the fact that you are a slave, or a slut, or whatever you want to call yourself. People just don't do that! I'm trying to be nice here but my temper is wearing thin, tell me what the hell is going on or get out of my car!”
Courtney caught Blake's eyes and began to speak slowly, obviously choosing her words with care:
“Well Blake, it's like this. All the way through high school and during the couple of years I went to college I kept getting notations in my file like:
'This student can excel with strict discipline. Without strenuous restrictions, though, this student becomes a distraction to herself and others. She excels in a highly regulated environment but is easily distracted in any other situation.'
Well, when I met a man named Tom three years ago, he offered a way to help me with the problems that kept generating those notes in my file. He told me that if I ever wanted an actual highly regulated environment that he could ensure that my entire life was lived in one but that I would have to ask him outright for it to occur.
After getting put on academic probation in college, I tried to buckle down with my classes but I was simply unable to discipline myself well enough to do so. The end of my next semester had me on academic suspension and a week after the semester ended, and I knew that I had to take a year or more off, I found myself on Tom's doorstep.
I asked Tom to help me with my problems, to help me get my life on track in a highly regulated environment. He did so, but not quite in the manner that I had expected. He trained me as a personal slut. I was so far gone by the time I showed up there that I was grasping at straws and would have jumped at any chance. He explained how my life would be after training and it sounded like heaven at the time. It was simple, all I had to do was whatever my master instructed me to do. I mean, there were the little things in life that I'd still need to take care of on my own but any major decisions I would be instructed in.
I found out much later that what Tom considers 'training' other masters consider 'breaking'. Personal sluts instructed by other trainers are allowed to say 'no', leave the lifestyle whenever they want, or flee a relationship if they feel it is damaging to them. I would never do any of those things though, I don't think I'd be capable of it. It goes contrary to my training and to what I wanted when I asked Tom to train me.
Tom kept me for two years, including my training, until just recently. He frequently used me as a distraction during the twice monthly poker game he holds. He told me once that I was the best student of oral sex he had ever had. He'd had a lot of experience with it as well so I had to trust him on that. He'd send me under the table, while they played poker, to work my way around the circle blowing each guy in turn. He'd take advantage of them while I had them distracted. No-one ever complained about it though since they were getting excellent blow jobs and none of them wanted to admit that a woman could distract them enough to throw their game off.
Well, about a week ago now, Raymond showed up at the poker game. He was a new attendee, sitting in for someone who couldn't make it. I couldn't distract him because he couldn't get it up enough for me to blow him. I found out later that he does way too many drugs and drinks too much alcohol to get a hard-on. Anyway, he walked out of there with a couple of grand in cash and me, Tom had used me to cover a major bet on the final hand of the night.
Raymond expected a miracle out of me. He thought that as a personal slut I could get him over the abuse he kept putting his body through that kept him from getting an erection, but it didn't work. So then his big plan was to sell me for five grand, which would cover the rest of his debt plus a little. Well, he couldn't convince anyone that I was his to sell, or that it wasn't a scam where I'd just walk out on them later or scream rape or something.
That gets me to this point. That's pretty much the encapsulation of my entire life, so you can see how I might prefer the life I'm living now to how I was trapped before. I belong to you now, you can give me away if you like, or sell me if you can find a buyer, or do whatever you like with me. I'm your belonging, your possession to do with as you please.”
With that Courtney cast her eyes towards the floor of the car and resumed her silence.
Blake couldn't believe his eyes and ears. He was a bouncer, he spent hours each shift checking identification and had learned how to spot the tells of someone who was lying. As far as he could tell, everything Courtney had just told him was the truth or at least she believed it was herself. If what she had said was really the truth then he had no idea what he was going to do next.
Blake had sworn off of women a while back, after he caught his third girlfriend in a row cheating on him. They thought that because he was a bouncer he was some sort of super aggressive type. They never stopped to think that you really didn't want your bouncers to be hyper-aggressive. Blake was as aggressive as most other guys, you could certainly push him past his limits, get him angry and aggressive, but it wasn't the way he lived his life on a regular basis. He'd fought a hard battle to bury parts of his aggressive nature years ago and still managed to keep those parts in check. It seemed to him that his ex-girlfriends had all thought that since he wasn't hyper-aggressive he must be a pushover.
It didn't help that he was fairly well off. He only worked because he needed to do something with his time. His grandfather, who had raised him after his parents' died when he was fourteen, had left him a fairly hefty inheritance. Even after taxes it was enough to set up some trusts and annuities that took care of all of his expenses and even a few luxuries as well. So when his ex-girlfriends discovered he was well off and thought he was a pushover, they tried to take advantage of it.
After the third one in a row, Blake had sworn off of women for a while. His internet got more usage from surfing porn sites and his right arm got more exercise but that was less trouble than dealing with dumping gold digger after gold digger that tried to treat him as a pushover.
Now he was presented with a woman, who he would freely admit was attractive to him, with a story that, if true, would solve all the problems he had experienced with prior girlfriends. Although he wasn't sure just how submissive Courtney would be or how submissive he would like her to be. For the moment he was going to take her story at face value but as soon as they got to his place he'd put it to the test.
Blake started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Courtney pulled her gaze up from the floor and out of the corner of his eye he could see a questioning look on her face. When he noticed the look on her face he commented:
“Yes, I'm going to take your story at face value for now. But if you're lying to me, you better run when we get to my place, before we get inside. I'm going to test that story out because it sounds so outrageous to me, that means testing you out so if you're lying and can't back up that story, you better run like hell when I park the car. I've been mistreated by a fe
w too many women recently and wouldn't want to be in the shoes of the next one to do so.”
“Yes Master, I'll be more than happy to provide proof of my story in any way you request of me.”
Blake wondered to himself if she was intentionally ignoring his request to call him Blake or if the 'Master' was a self-defense mechanism. He had probably sounded a little hostile when making his last statement since the multiple betrayals still stung him to his core. It did tell him that she wasn't totally slavish to commands though, assuming her story was true.
* * *
Chapter 4 – Home Again, Home Again
Blake's house was only about a fifteen minute drive from the mall. It wasn't quite suburbia, the building lots were too big, but it also wasn't a super high class area of town. Call it an upper middle class neighborhood that had been developed from a small town which had bordered the suburban sprawl of the big city. He was sure that within a decade or two, suburbia would somehow manage to swallow this area into its ever-devouring maw but for the time being, it was a nice medium-sized house on a full acre that had been landscaped with several fruit trees and an area for a garden. Plenty of room and then some for a single man, but he had never planned on remaining single forever and had made preparations in advance for his plans.
Courtney looked up at the house when she got out of the car. She looked at the driveway and the empty garage, over to Blake, then back to the house.
“Is this place all yours?”
“Yes, it is. I don't have any roommates if that's what you mean.”
“It's beautiful, I don't think I've seen a back yard garden since I was a child. Are those apple trees?”
“There are a couple of apple trees, plus a couple of pear trees, and one old walnut back in the far corner.”
Courtney shook her head dreamily:
“I never did thank you for keeping Raymond from hitting me again. It isn't my place to complain about what my owner does to me but I'm not fond of being beaten. I hope you don't think it impertinent for me to say that.”