The Owned Girl (3 page)

    She was leaning back against Matthew, slightly askew, her head to one side of his, so that he looked down on her, not with as good of view as I had, but able to see pretty much where her hand was and how it moved. She pushed two fingers into her cunt and moved them around then pulled them out. I could see how wet they were with her juices. She spread the lubrication across the lips of her cunt, and then pulled them upwards to expose her clit, and delicately spread the slipperiness over the little bud.

    Every woman has her own method for masturbation. Some use one finger, some two, some the whole hand. Some rub the clit hard, some barely touch it, circling around. Some penetrate themselves, with a finger or with some other object; some do not. Some manipulate a nipple while they rub their clits. Some stick a finger in their ass. Some do it on their backs, some on their fronts, some kneeling. Whatever floats your boat.

    Beth went at it with some seriousness. I watched as she rubbed the middle finger of her right hand against the side of her clit. I thought that maybe she was too sensitive to touch it directly; some women are like that, scarcely able to bear any friction against the clit itself. I saw that her other hand went up under her shirt and bra, pinching the nipple. She was staring at me, but I don't know if she really saw me. Her expression showed rapt concentration. Matthew had a little smile on his face, somewhat quizzical, as if he was waiting for me to do something. And suddenly I knew what it was.

    'Stop!' I said to Beth. 'That's enough.'

    'What?' she said. Her finger continued its work.

    'I said that's enough. Stop immediately.'

    She stared at me sulkily. 'That's not fair,' she said.

    'Fair?' I snapped. I felt a sudden surge of sexual aggression. 'We'll decide what's fair.'

    'Well, I've got my opinion,' she continued.

    'Come here,' I said firmly.

    Reluctantly she got to her feet and shuffled towards me. I grabbed hold of her and half-threw her down over my knee. I held her down with one hand and pulled up her skirt, then started smacking her bottom as hard as I could. Beth let out a wail and struggled. I'm not a muscular girl, and I couldn't hold her. She broke free. Matthew got to his feet and caught her. He pulled her over to the kitchen table and forced her across it face down. He lay across her back, pinning her to the table, and then pulled up her skirt once more.

    'Punish her,' he said to me.

    I went to a drawer and pulled out a wooden spatula. I positioned myself behind Beth, measured the distance and brought the implement down sharply across her bare behind. She squealed. She tried to kick out with her legs, but I easily evaded them.

    I hit her again, then again, continuing until the cheeks of her bottom were flushed pink.

    'She needs something more severe,' Matthew said. 'Take off my belt.'

    I reached underneath him, unbuckled his belt and slid it free. I doubled it, took a firm grip and lashed it smartly across Beth's rump. She cried out.

    'That's more like it,' said Matthew. 'Keep doing it until she shuts up and stops struggling.'

    My blood was up. I'd never spanked anyone before, never had the urge, but now I wanted to break her resistance. I wanted her to acknowledge my authority over her, concede my power. And I also wanted to please Matthew, to be his accomplice in bringing this bratty but pretty girl to heel. The pink flush on her buttocks was now overlaid with a series of red welts, some of which were already starting to turn a dark shade of purple. I continued lashing her with the belt until Beth's cries of protest were replaced by a quiet sobbing, and she had stopped kicking. In those days I didn't know too much about subspace, but that was undoubtedly what she had entered.

    At last I set the belt down. I was breathing hard. I knew that I was wet between my legs and I could see that Beth was too. Her cunt was just visible, and it glistened with moisture. I put my hand to it, pushing my fingers inside her. Then I pulled them out and sought her clit. I started to rub her the way she had rubbed herself, just against the side of the clit. She gasped. I kept doing it.

    'Matthew will tell you when you may come,' I said. I went a little faster. She moaned.

    'Please, oh please, may I come, sir?' she pleaded.

    'Not yet,' Matthew said.

    I continued. Beth was making little whimpering noises.

    'Come now,' Matthew said. 'Come for your owners, little girl.'

    And she did, just like that, her hips shaking and grinding into the table as she went 'oh, oh, oh.'

    Matthew got to his feet. 'Stay there,' he said to Beth.

    She lay across the table, breathing deeply. Matthew went out and came back with his camera. He took several pictures of her beaten bottom.

    'I shall use these pictures to remind you, if I need to, of what happens to disobedient and recalcitrant little girls,' Matthew said. 'Do you understand?'

    'Yes, sir,' she mumbled.

    'You can stand up now,' I said to her kindly.

    She got to her feet. I put my arms around her and hugged her.

    'Please will you make me your good little girl?' she whispered to me.

    'Yes,' I said. 'I promise.'

    Later she told me that in the past she always had a lot of trouble completing an orgasm, but that she never wanted to come so much in her life as when I masturbated her. I said that if she was a good girl, and I was sure she wanted to be, that I was certain she would be allowed more orgasms in future. But, I said, not wanting to relinquish the dominance I had achieved, you may have to work hard for them; or at least deserve them in some other way.

    Matthew and I had frequent conversations about Beth, about what we wanted to do with her, how we each felt about her, and how it was affecting how we felt about each other. I thought the presence of Beth was beneficial for us; certainly the frequency and intensity of our love-making was enhanced. And it was a lot of fun to find out just what we could do with a pretty girl who was willing to let herself be put through her paces. She really did have the mentality of a pet, always eager to please, always demanding attention, ridiculously happy with a pat on the head or on the bottom.

    Matthew was still reeling her in very slowly, all the time testing her patience (which was never very great), and making her wait. It was a couple more weeks before she got the fucking she so sorely craved. Before that time there were a few more lessons in deferred gratification and exercises in discipline. Once she was rather insolent to Matthew and, his face dark, I saw him take from the bottom drawer in the bedroom a riding crop, an implement I knew was there but which had never been used on me. He ordered Beth to kneel naked on the bed, and not to move on any account. He said he would teach her respect.

    He laid the crop on with such calm, deliberate precision that it was a marvel to watch. Even though he was angry with her, he did not let his rage disturb his control. The crop made a series of parallel weals across her rump, little raised ridges, a livid red. She cried out, but he was merciless. Once or twice, it hurt her so much she hopped from one knee to the other, I think quite involuntarily. Matthew waited patiently for her to be still again.

    I am quite a squeamish person when it comes to observing the pain of another, and now and again I looked away. But I forced myself to remain in the room. I needed to take responsibility for this punishment as much as Matthew did. She was our pet; she belonged to both of us and we both needed to be present during her training. When it was over he sat with her head cradled in his lap while she wept; tears of contrition, I think.

    Matthew began to buy things for her: a set of leather wrist and ankle cuffs, to bind her; a heavy leather collar, made for a mastiff, decorated with steel studs, together with a leash; some nipple clamps, and a ball-gag. She hated the gag, not so much for its physical effects but because it made her drool and she thought this was undignified. Matthew laughingly told her that this was the whole point.

    One day, after I had consulted with Matthew, I took her shopping. He had told me that he wasn't greatly enamoured of her underwear. Matthew himself is rather a connoisseur of ladies' things, and was not pleased to find that Beth often wore scruffy old cotton knickers that should have been discarded ages ago, and even, horror of horrors, knickers which did not match her bra. I took her to Calvin Klein and we got her some things I felt were appropriate for her. She wasn't the sort of girl you would normally see in sultry black satin (even though that was what our friend brought her, what she was wearing in the picture that set off this reminiscence). She was a young girl with an athletic build, clean and wholesome, albeit in the process of being debauched by two sophisticated roués, and what I bought her reflected this.

    But I did buy her one exotic item. Matthew said he wanted to see her in a corset, one that pinched her waist in rather severely. I think it had to do with the need for discipline, and with the general sense that her body was there to be modified to our tastes. (Matthew had also arranged for her to visit our hairdresser, so that her hair could be shortened slightly, and styled better.)

    When we got back to our apartment, I made her try on the corset. It was of red silk, stoutly constructed, strapless and cut low across the bosom, pushing her small breasts upwards and outwards. It narrowed her waist, but cut off before it reached her bottom. I made her parade around wearing the corset and nothing else, waiting until Matthew returned. When he did, I made her do several circles of the room for him. Then he called her over to where he was sitting. He put his hand between her legs and felt her for a while. She closed her eyes, wearing a dreamy expression. I wondered if she hoped that maybe this was at last the time for a fucking. If so she was destined to be disappointed once more. Instead, Matthew pushed her down onto her knees, grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, then thrust his cock into her mouth. He pushed it so far in she nearly choked. He fucked her mouth for a while, and then he called me to him.

    'Help me come on her,' he said.

    I took hold of his cock and began to rub it, with just the right pressure and speed. He grunted with pleasure and in no time at all he ejaculated, his semen spurting onto Beth's face. There was a lot; it went on her brow, even a little in her hair, and splattered onto her nose, her eyes, and her cheeks. I squeezed the last drops out of him, onto her lips, and then I pushed his cock back into her mouth, telling her to lick it clean. When she'd done so, I smeared the semen all over her face, then had her lick my fingers clean.

    'I'll let you know when it's OK to wash it off,' I said.

    I think she liked that, wearing the semen on her as if it was a badge of honour, almost as if she were territory that had been marked out, like a dog marks its terrain by peeing on a tree. I think she had a deep urge to be objectified, humiliated, and used as a convenience or a piece of property.

    By the time our relationship with Beth had been going a few weeks, Matthew had formulated a set of rules for her. They weren't many, but they were rigorously applied. Matthew was always of the view, and I am sure he was right, that the worst way to train a submissive girl was to give her rules which you didn't police. How could she learn to obey if she felt her Dom didn't care much if she did or not? So infringements were invariably punished, though the severity of the punishment might vary a lot, depending not only on the nature of the offence but on the mood, either Beth's or ours.

    She was never allowed to sit on the furniture in our sitting room, unless specifically invited to do so. Her place, it was made clear, was on the floor, though she was usually made comfortable with cushions. Each time she entered our flat, she had to kneel in the submissive position just inside the door. This involved stretching her arms out straight in front of her, palms down, with her head pressed to the floor. Her knees had to be six inches apart, her back arched, her bottom raised. She had to hold this position until she was either given permission to stand, or, as was sometimes the case, she was told to crawl into the kitchen.

    Orgasms were strictly controlled, denied unless she was given permission to come, or sometimes imposed. Over time Matthew managed to train her so that she could come virtually on command, with very little if anything in the way of prior preparation or physical stimulation. This was quite an achievement, given the trouble she apparently had of achieving orgasm in the past.

    She wasn't forbidden to wear trousers, and she is a girl who looks good in jeans, but Matthew made it clear he preferred skirts, at least when she was around us. It made her more available, he explained. Often, though, she was completely naked when she was at our place, even if we were simply sitting round the kitchen table eating supper, or watching TV. This of course made her more available still. And there was no doubt that being naked while we were fully clothed made her acutely aware of her position and status. Little puppy dogs don't wear clothes, Matthew would say to her.

    One thing Matthew was very keen on was respect. He hated any kind of brattishness or insolence. He felt that she had an 'attitude' problem, expressed in sulkiness or pouting, and he wouldn't accept that. A cheerful cheekiness might be tolerated, but as soon as she overstepped the mark he was severe on her. She sometimes seemed to have an almost self-destructive urge to challenge him and answer back, which invariably got her into trouble. I was never quite sure whether she genuinely couldn't help herself, or whether in the end she actually enjoyed punishment. I incline to think that this was not the case, because Matthew was well aware of the dangers of letting a submissive girl confuse a pleasurable spanking with a punishment. He often gave her what he called 'maintenance' spankings, designed to keep her on the right track, keep her centred and grounded, feeling our dominance. Such a spanking would usually start slow, even gently, with the use of the hand, only later working up to something harder when she was warmed up. A punishment spanking, on the other hand, started fierce and hard, with a cane or a riding crop, or a leather belt doubled up. It was meant to hurt, and hurt a lot.