Perhaps that was why she kept her own home obsessively clean – some subconscious fear that her stepfather would appear and wrench her from her bed, holding her arm so tightly it left bruises the next day.
That was precisely why Paul didn't allow Tracy to do a thing in his apartment. He knew her history, though he rarely referred to it. In his home, for once in her life, Paul was determined she should be treated like a princess.
It had made her very uncomfortable at first, as she was so used to being sole caretaker of the home and had actually come to believe it was 'women's work.' Paul continued to refuse her, gently removing a dish towel from her hand if she tried to wipe down the counter, whisking the dishes from her hand if she went to clear them.
He did allow her to cook; Tracy was a wonderful cook and Paul had a hearty and appreciative appetite. She loved to make him fancy full course meals while he was at work, complete with appetizer and dessert. It was such fun to go shopping in the little markets near his apartment, getting fruits and vegetables in one stall, breads and baking needs in a tiny little bakery nearby. She was becoming friendly with the old butcher on the corner who saved her select cuts of meat.
She realized with a little shock that she had never been unemployed since she was 16. She had some savings from Kyle's 'buyout', but still she was concerned about finances. Having quit her job, she had no stream of money coming in and no particular prospects.
Paul had convinced her to take just one month. 'Please,' he had entreated her, 'Just spend one month with me here in my apartment. Don't do anything. No housework, no job hunting, no obsessing about the past or the future. Justbe with me.
'Be my total sex slave slut girl. Exist just for us, for you and me. Let's take this unique and amazing opportunity and justbe together.' Of course, she'd allowed herself to be persuaded, and found herself filled with a tremendous energy and deep sense of wellbeing. It wasn't just being in love, and it wasn't being in lust. It wasn't only the fact that she was finally with the man she had dreamed about for so long, the reality of whom was better than the fantasy! It was all these things, but more importantly, she was finally at peace with herself. She was happy to be Tracy, and didn't secretly yearn to be someone more glamorous, or smarter, or more self-assured.
When she tried to tell Paul this, and tried to give him the credit, he would stop her cold. 'Wrong, Tracy. Nothing to do with me. It all was you. Any changes you've made, any changes you feel, they all came from within you. You're pretty terrific, you know.'
She grinned, and almost believed him. Maybe in time, she would fully believe him. At the moment she wasn't thinking about any of that, as she was bent and naked, tied to this wooden beam. She was thinking about how he had ratcheted it up so she was just high enough not to be able to quite balance, which forced her to put her weight on her poor pussy, splayed open against the wood and stuffed with the vibrator he had her pick out.
They were in the Village, and he took her into one of those basement sex boutiques. What a different experience from the dingy little place she'd found in Houston. This one was brightly lit and covered from floor to ceiling with S amp;M paraphernalia. There were whips of all sizes and colors, riding crops, collars, ball gags, full leather face masks, cock and ball cages, violet wands and any number of other items, some of which even Paul didn't know what they were for.
It was late, as they had come after dinner and an off Broadway play, and the place was alive with the 'leather crowd', many in full costume. A gay submissive man was being led around on a leash by his lover, who invited a blushing Tracy to feel his slave boy's stomach. 'Feel those abs. Abs of steel. I make him work out every day. Isn't he justgorgeous!'
Instead of a few old wooden planks serving as shelves, all the smaller items were encased in glass, so a person had to ask to see them. Tracy was mortified when Paul instructed her to ask to see the vibrators and the nipple clamps.
Putting his arm protectively around her, Paul whispered in her ear, 'Remember who you belong to. Go on, I'm right here.' She found the courage to ask, and was presented with a velvet board covered with all sorts of clamps, many of which she had no idea even existed. Not only nipple clamps, but nipple clips, nipple jewelry, pussy clamps and cock clamps.
Paul finally chose for her, a simple three-piece set of clamps, one for each nipple and a single chain that hung down between them. 'What's that one for?' she'd asked, realizing as she spoke, what it was for. Her pussy! No way could she endure the bite of that tightly sprung little clamp on her tender sex!
Paul had laughed at her, his eyes twinkling as he reminded her that she could 'endure' exactly what he decided she could endure. His tone was light, but she knew he meant it. He took her into the shop bathroom, made her unbutton her blouse and remove her bra.
'Get your nipples hard for me, slut,' he commanded, his voice low. Feeling jittery with nerves, terrified it was going to hurt too much to bear, Tracy obediently did as she was told, feeling that wonderful combination of fear and pleasure surge through her as she watched him adjust and open one of the little alligator clips.
It closed down upon her nipple and stung like a bee. She cried out, but just as suddenly the pain was tolerable, and she stilled, waiting for him to attach the other one. She breathed in deeply through her nose, but didn't cry out. Paul had been impressed with her bravery and composure.
'Very good, angel. Very, very good. Let's just leave those on. Close your blouse. Put your bra in your purse and you can close your coat.
'Leave them on?' she had asked tremulously. Her feelings were mixed, as was so often the case when pain and pleasure combined inside her, creating a much heightened sensation that superceded either. Her pussy felt swollen and needy between her legs.
'Don't worry. They don't do any damage. Nothing permanent anyway.'
She became very familiar with those clamps, and learned to tolerate them with barely a sigh – until he took them off, and the blood went rushing and tingling back into her sensitized nipples. It always made her yelp.
Back into the showroom, Tracy was forced to select several vibrators and dildos, with Paul's encouragement and suggestion. She, of course, went straight to the smallest butt plug, but he added two more graduated sizes, playfully squeezing her ass as he did so.
The medium one was now deep in her ass. She could feel it against the dildo shoved up her cunt. The sound of a door opening, then a click and a whir – Paul had turned on the pussy vibrator and, with the direct contact of the wood against her cunt, Tracy began to shudder involuntarily from the vibration.
Paul, dressed in a simple cashmere sweater and his ancient jeans, his feet bare, came around to his captive slave girl. 'You look so incredibly hot, Tracy. Can you feel it? Can you feel that rubber cock fucking your cunt right now?'
Tracy tried to move her head; to nod. With the large red ball pressing her tongue back toward her throat she could only gurgle her response. Paul observed her body, watching the tremors the vibrator was creating inside her, as her clit throbbed against the polished wood.
Kneeling in front of her, Paul carefully attached the nipple clamps to each distended tip of her breasts, which were hanging freely over each side of the narrow wooden beam she was draped over. The permanent chain around her neck glinted in the soft overhead light.
He saw her eyes widen; the only reaction she could make, bound and gagged as she was. 'Are you comfortable, darling? As comfortable as can be, I mean, given your situation.' Paul grinned, running his hand lightly over her smooth back and ass, and then checking her arms and legs for circulation and comfort.
Tracy nodded. Paul was very good about positioning her so that nothing fell asleep or cramped. If they were engaged in extended bondage play, as they were this snowy winter evening, he would check her periodically, to make sure she was comfortable and safe.
'I'll let you down soon, slave. Because I want to fuck that gorgeous ass of yours. But not yet, not yet. I'm gonna whip you first, while that cock's turned on in your cunt, and that plug is shoved up your asshole. And guess what, today's the day you get to get a taste of the cane.'
Tracy jerked, trying to lift her head, struggling briefly, uselessly, against her bonds. The cane. Paul had showed her the set of canes he kept in a little umbrella stand in the corner of the den, which he had converted into their 'playroom'.
Long supple rods of bamboo; some covered in colored leathers, some just varnished and smoothed to a biting luster. All of them were guaranteed to cut the flesh if used improperly, and raise lovely welts if wielded by a master, as Paul certainly was.
Tracy could take a fair amount of pain, Paul had discovered. Not only could she take it; but she was
