Part 7 (2/2)

After he left, she stared at the rubber plug for a while. I better start preparing myself today, she said to herself. Dodge likes to bend me over and take me from behind. He might decide to use the other hole today. What's the difference between regular s.e.x and a.n.a.l s.e.x? About two inches.

She had seen the tube of lubricant in the wardrobe. She knew what that it was used for s.e.x but she'd never had a need for it before.

She uncapped the tube and squeezed some out on her hand. It was clear and odorless. It made her fingers slippery.

She lubed the plug from tip to base with a thick coat. Then she squatted, put her hand between her legs, and rubbed lube around her a.s.shole and then inside as far as her fingers could reach.

It felt strange. She had never had her fingers in her own a.s.shole before. Or anyone else's, for that matter. Certainly not her husband's.

With a start, she wondered if James had ever put his fingers in a slave's a.s.shole. Or put his c.o.c.k in there. Was that his preference? If she had offered her a.s.shole to her husband, would they have had s.e.x more than once or twice a year?

She would never know now.

She tried pus.h.i.+ng the blunt tip of the plug into herself.

It wouldn't go. It slipped around and slipped out but wouldn't slip in further than a half inch.

Instead of crouching, she tried kneeling so that she could put the base of the plug on the floor to impale herself.

That worked a little better but it still wouldn't go in. She tried bouncing up and down a little and managed to penetrate herself with most of the point but not more than that.

There was a wooden chair in the kitchen.

She carried the plug out there, put it on the chair, and then sat on it.

She had to force it with her body weight. She slid up and down slowly while holding it with her hand. She could feel that she was stretching a little more and sliding a little lower on every penetration.

Suddenly her body revolted and reflexively tried to s.h.i.+t the object out.

The opposite happened. When the body s.h.i.+ts, the sphincter muscles relax to allow the bolus to pa.s.s. This time, when her sphincters relaxed, the plug slid home.

Flame was sitting on the chair, both cheeks pressed against the wooden seat, with the plug was inserted into her as far as it would go.

The sensation was peculiar. She felt like she was frozen halfway through taking a s.h.i.+t. She was stretched but the plug wasn't pa.s.sing so she had to remain stretched.

It wasn't exactly painful but it was definitely unpleasant.

She badly wanted to stand up and expel the invader but she forced herself to remain seated.

She thought about what would have happened if the invader had not been a rubber plug but a l.u.s.ty man's c.o.c.k; if she had not used lube but had been entered dry; if the invader had been rammed home in one thrust rather than being coaxed inside; if, rather than simply sitting pa.s.sively in her a.s.s, the invader were being thrust in and out while she squirmed in agony.

Barry had done her a great service.

Flame had no watch slaves owned nothing and there was no clock in the kennel so she could not tell when an hour had pa.s.sed. The kennel didn't even have a window so she could see how high the sun had risen. There are three thousand and sixty seconds in an hour so she pa.s.sed the time on the chair by counting slowly to three thousand and sixty.

When she stood up, the plug immediately slid out of her a.s.s. When she wasn't sitting on it, she would only be able to keep it in place if she used her hand to hold it.

She washed it in the bathroom and then put it in the wardrobe, hidden behind the cosmetics, lube, and other toiletries.

Her a.s.shole felt loose and slippery for a good part of the day. It felt funny when she walked around.

As she feared, it was raining outside. Not the downpour of the previous day, but a steady drizzle.

She had her green housedress and slippers but no coat.

She would get drenched walking all the way down the hill to the bookstore, but she had no choice. She couldn't wait for a sunny day to learn to cook. Here by the Western Sea, it sometimes rained for weeks without stopping.

The housedress had no pockets. That was standard for a slave dress. n.o.body wanted his slave to be able to fill her pockets with items stolen from the house. An owner could not keep a slave that he could not trust and it was expensive to lose slaves that way. So Flame had to carry the twenty-plaq note and the electronic gate key in her hands.

By the time she reached the end of the block, her dress was drenched and clung to her like green skin. Pa.s.sers-by could see that she was wearing no bra or underwear.

Young men slowed their cars and shouted lewd comments at her. Old ladies called her shameless when she pa.s.sed their houses.

But no one molested her physically. By definition, a slave could not be raped. She did not own her body so she had no right to decide what anybody else did with it. But property could be mistreated and a man who was wealthy enough to own a slave was powerful enough to exact terrible vengeance on anyone who was foolish enough to mistreat his property.

Commoners knew that molesting a slave was not worth the risk. Certainly not on a public street in broad daylight.

On a dark, empty street after midnight, it would be a different matter. The wise slave would never leave her kennel after dark. And the owner who sent her out would have to expect her to come back well used by anyone who found her.

The walk down the hill was long, cold, and miserable.

She could not touch the books with wet hands so she stood inside the entrance to the bookstore and dripped on the doormat for a long time.

The clerk glared at her in disgust. Female customers ignored her but male customers ogled her openly.

She kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

Her dress did not dry but, eventually, her hands did. As soon as she could touch paper without leaving a mark, she sought out the shelves with cookbooks and perused the t.i.tles. Learning to Cook looked like the best one, but it cost twenty-five plaqs and she had only twenty. Cooking Essentials cost fourteen-ninety-nine so she took that to the cash.

The clerk didn't look at her or speak to her, just took the money, put it in the register, and closed the drawer.

Flame stood there for a moment waiting.

When the clerk signaled for the next customer, Flame said, ”I need the change and a receipt.”

”No change,” the clerk replied.

”Then the receipt will say that the book cost exactly twenty plaqs.”

Flame couldn't believe that anyone would be so petty. When she was a lady, no clerk had ever dared treat her with anything less than servile accommodation. But, lady or slave, she was going to keep standing right here in front of the cash until she got what she was due from this stupid creature.

The clerk stared at her and she stared back.

The waiting customer said, ”I can't wait all day. Get this settled.”

Flame spoke again. ”You do realize that I'm a slave, right? I can't own anything so this is not my money or my book. You aren't trying to cheat me; you're trying to cheat my owner. He will not like that.”

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