The Owned Girl (6 page)

    Sometimes these activities would result in some sexual activity, though by no means always. But if in the mood I'd lie on the sofa and have Beth kneel beside me, and perhaps I'd take off my skirt and knickers and have her kiss me. I'd make her kiss my belly, very slowly, at the same time stroking it with her hand. Then I'd have her go lower, kissing the lips of my cunt, licking them. Although I liked to be fucked really hard, when masturbating, or in this case receiving cunnilingus, I like to take my time over it, lingering, delaying, and taking it gently. Accordingly I trained Beth to do it slowly. And in time she grew highly skilled. I never asked her if she felt desire for other women's bodies. I know that she is the only girl I've ever had sex with. I think, though it may sound odd to say so, that this wasn't strictly a lesbian experience for either of us. It was more of a d/s experience, a dominant being pleasured by a submissive. In this respect her relationship to me as she licked my clit was not so different from her relationship to Matthew when she sucked his cock.

    I've said that Matthew invested in various pieces of equipment. He liked to tie her up. Sometimes he'd merely pinion her hands behind her back with a pair of handcuffs, or the leather wrist-cuffs. He'd make her kneel on the floor at his feet during dinner-time, her hands secured behind her back, and he'd feed her from his plate, a morsel at a time. She found this rather humiliating, as indeed it was meant to be. He'd make her chew her food properly, wipe her lips after each mouthful, and if she was lucky give her occasional sips of wine. Sometimes the binding would be more elaborate. I remember he bought a long length of rope. He stripped her of her clothes and made her lie on her back on the bed. He bound her wrists together, pulled them up over her head, then pulled the rope down under the bed, over to the other side, and tied her ankles together. He gagged her and then left her for an hour or more while we amused ourselves in the next room. While she was tied like this he went into her a couple of times and I could hear him tease and torment her. She was gasping and groaning. Doubtless he was playing with her nipples, alternately sucking and pinching them, and perhaps he also put his hand between her legs. He wanted her to know that she was our possession that she belonged to us and we could do with her exactly as we pleased. What she wanted was of no account.

    Of course in a sense, what she wanted was very much in our minds; or rather, we thought carefully about what she needed. Matthew was always careful to point out the difference. A submissive girl, he would say, always wants something: attention, orgasms, spankings, kisses. But what she wants isn't necessarily what she needs. Her deepest need is to submit by pleasing the one she belongs to, and that means that her wishes for herself will be disregarded if they do not align with his. Pleasure for her is a privilege, not a right; however much she may want to come, her desire is of no account if her Dom chooses to ignore it. But at the same time, we were serious about wanting to make her into a better girl. By that we meant, both a better girl for us, more obedient, more willing to serve us, and a girl who would be better equipped to establish a good relationship with a man, once we deemed her ready.

    It sounds like a harsh doctrine, perhaps, and an arrogant one. Who were we to say what was best for this girl? But I do believe Matthew took it seriously and tried to do his best for her, and so did I. And I could see that, certainly for a long time, Beth thrived on it. Whenever she was with us she seemed happy, and she told me once that she had never had so much sexual excitement, never imagined that life could be such fun.

    I remember once he hog-tied her. He stripped her naked and put the leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles. Her wrists were then clipped together behind her back, and her ankles clipped together too. Her knees were bent back so that her ankles were brought up to her wrists and fastened there. She was completely helpless. He sat beside her and I watched as he turned her on her side and put little steel clamps on her nipples. I could see from her expression that they hurt a lot, but Matthew was merciless, pulling on the clamps and twisting them to make them hurt more. He toyed with her, asking if she wanted the clamps off, then when she said yes laughed at her and twisted them some more. It was cruel, but when he saw me looking rather concerned, he called me to come and sit closer.

    'You think I'm hard on this little slut, don't you?' he said. He twisted the clamps yet again, and Beth moaned.

    I gave half a smile. 'I'm glad it's not me,' I said.

    'It's good for her to feel some real pain now and again. It's character-forming,' he said.

    I knew that he was not entirely serious, that he was enjoying himself, making use of the fact that he had a pretty girl at his mercy.

    'But actually, she loves it,' he said. 'If you don't believe me, put your finger in her cunt and see how wet she is.'

    I did as he suggested. Her cunt was drooling, sopping wet. There was no doubt of her sexual arousal. Beth looked up at him, her eyes pleading for release from the biting pain in her nipples, but Matthew still denied her.

    'Before I take them off,' he said, 'we need to get a few things clear.' He gave the clamps yet another twist. Beth whimpered. 'Who do you belong to?' he asked.

    'You, sir, I belong to you,' she said quickly, anxious for a speedy release. She called him 'sir' when, as now, he was obliging her to avow her obedience out loud.

    'That means I can do as I please with you, isn't that so?'

    'Yes, sir,' she said.

    'Even if what pleases me is to hurt you? And it does please me. I'm doing this because I can; you know that, don't you?'

    'Yes, sir.'

'And you know that I am the one who decides when it stops, not you.'

    'Yes, sir.' She wasn't going to dispute a single word, not till the clamps came off. But Matthew was enjoying dragging it out. He gave the clamps another little twist. Beth squealed. The poor girl was perspiring now, but at the same time I could see her cunt was oozing.

    'And I decide to stop when I think it's good for you, not when you want me to but when I think you've had enough. Right?'

    'Yes, sir. Oh, please?' she pleaded.

    'Please what?'

    'Can they come off soon? Sir?'

    'Not yet,' he said. He got to his feet. 'I feel like a drink,' he said. 'Anyone else?'

    He went into the kitchen and I followed. He opened a bottle of wine, deliberately taking his time as he poured us each a glass. I thought of poor Beth, still lying there, trussed up like a chicken, unable to move an inch, with what must feel like red-hot needles piercing her nipples. Matthew went back into the bedroom and I followed. Beth looked at him imploringly. Matthew sat next to her and sipped his wine.

    'Do you think this is giving you a profound insight into the nature of our relationship, Beth?' he asked, as if embarking on a philosophical discussion.

    'Yes, sir,' she said. She'd accept anything right now. He could have told her the world was flat and she'd have agreed with alacrity.

    'Now, Beth,' he said, after slowly sipping his wine, 'if I do take those clamps off it's going to hurt a lot. Those little teeth have sunk so deep into your skin that they have stuck there, and when I take them away it will be agony.'

    Beth swallowed hard. I really was beginning to feel sorry for her now.

    'So perhaps I'd better leave them on,' said Matthew. He wiped a bead of perspiration from her brow.

    'No, please,' she said quickly. 'I'll be brave.'

    Matthew took another sip of his wine. 'Hmmm,' he said. 'I'm not sure. What do you think, Annabel?'

    He knew I'd say to take them off. Clearly he had decided it was time.

    'I think perhaps she's learned the lesson you wanted to teach her,' I said.

    'Very well,' he said. He put down his glass and reached out for the clamps, removing them in a swift, efficient movement. Even so, Beth screamed with pain, and then began to sob.

    'Poor girl,' said Matthew. 'Are your nipples dreadfully sore? Annabel will kiss them better for you.'

    I bent over her and suckled each of her nipples in turn. They felt almost hot to the touch as the blood rushed in. Beth ceased sobbing. I wiped her tears away. 'You're a good girl,' I said.

    Not long after she became owned, Beth started to write a blog. She said that what was happening to her was so momentous that she needed to write about it, so she could understand it and absorb it all. Looking back, I can see that there was a further motivation. Beth wanted people to know about her, she wanted to get their attention. I saw how eagerly she looked for comments once the blog was begun, how pleased she was when readers praised her insights and her turns of phrase.

    She liked to write, I knew that, and she felt she did it well. Of course it was written anonymously, under the name of Nefertiti. I don't know why she chose that; I think she just liked the sound of it. She knew that Matthew and I would read it. I think anyone who writes a blog under a pseudonym imagines that this will liberate them to write freely and fearlessly. But they soon find that if the blog is read by anyone who knows them, they can't actually write exactly what they please. Their friends or lovers who are reading have feelings, things they are sensitive about, and the blogger has to take account of that. So I am sure that although Beth's blog contained her private thoughts, it was written very much in the knowledge that her owners would read it. In a sense it was for our consumption. I think from time to time she said things on the blog she wanted us to know but didn't feel able to discuss with us directly.

    The blog soon found a readership. Not only was it literate and intelligent, it was sexually arousing to those of a kinky disposition. People liked to read about Beth's training, about her occasional punishments, her difficulties sometimes in accepting her role of an owned girl. Blogs written by submissive girls were becoming common, but Beth's blog was a bit different, since she was submissive not simply to a single Dom but to a married couple. That gave it an extra frisson.

    Eventually, this blog was discontinued (although subsequently Beth started another one, after she left us). I regret that I did not save the text. It would certainly be helpful to me in constructing this memoir if I could read once again what Beth thought about things at the time. But I will try to give the flavour of it by attempting to reproduce an entry or two. One day, I remember, she wrote something that went like this:

    "My
owner texted me today, saying that I still have some resistance, and that this
needs to be addressed.
[She never used our names; Matthew was 'my owner' and I was 'my lady owner'.]
When I read this I was distressed. Why did he not tell me this
last night, when I visited with them? Why could he not explain to my face what the
problem was? Then perhaps I could have understood, and maybe I would have had
some things to say in my defence. But a text is a curt kind of communication, and
there's no real chance for me to respond.

    
"What is the problem? I have done my best. I freely accept their ownership of
me. I obey their commands. They use me as they please, and I always try to be happy
around them. But still it seems they are not satisfied. I have been searching my mind
to try to think why. What am I doing, or not doing, that they interpret as resistance?

    
"I think, after intense self-examination, I may have the answer. When we were all
out together yesterday, there was a boy I saw in the coffee shop. He was very cute
looking, floppy brown hair that drooped over his dark brown eyes. He looked like a
gorgeous puppy dog. I wanted to pet him and take him home. My owner caught me
looking at him. He didn't say anything but perhaps he was annoyed. Ever since I
broke up with Brian I am forbidden to date boys. My owner says I need to have my
sexuality reformatted (he likes to use jargon like this). This sounds like a long,
arduous process, and I confess I am concerned. Right now I wish to be owned; but not
for ever. Eventually I want to have a normal life, like any girl, with a boy of my own.
That is a natural instinct after all, and I can't curb my natural instincts just because
my owner says I must.

    
"Is that resistance? Perhaps. Maybe it would be easier if I was given some sort
of schedule. How long is this to go on? When can I expect to date again? A month?
Six months? A year? I don't feel I'm being consulted about this, although I am told it
is in my own best interests.

    
"I have resolved to have a little discussion. I'm not a whiny
girl;
I'm sweet
natured and co-operative. But I'm passionate too. Of course I love my owner and my
lady-owner too. But I don't think they always see how hard it is for me to obey. Give
me some credit, I sometimes want to say. But I have to be careful. My owner is very
strict on me if he thinks I am less than accepting. I got a hard spanking last week for
being bratty. The marks are still there. I don't want another one just yet."

    I've tried to catch the mixture of querulousness and narcissism, combined with teasing glimpses of kinkiness and genuine psychological insights, which was so distinctive. Clearly, in writing like this Beth was sending us messages. Sometimes Matthew would simply ignore them. He told me it was good for Beth to have somewhere to sound off, but he wasn't going to take notice of every whinge and moan. She had to learn to knuckle under, as he put it. A lot of what she wrote did read like special pleading on her own behalf. I don't remember that she ever admitted any faults. I don't mean to imply it was all complaints. Some of it was entertaining and incisive, but it did often read as though she was rather put-upon.