Love Slave Part 12 (18+ only)

His hand is still wound in my hair, his lips still dancing against my neck, when I feel his fingers inside the fabric of my knickers. His finger presses between my arse cheeks, and I stifle a kind of grunt. There’s something pressed against my flesh, and it digs into me as his finger works down my crevice and moves in little circles against my anus. I barely breathe. Just make a tiny whimpering sound that feels like it comes out of my nose. The last thing I want to do is draw any further attention to us. So I bite my lip hard when I feel something cool taking the place of his finger. He pushes, slides it forward and pushes it into my entrance. It’s all I can do not to scream out as I cum on the spot.

“Good girl. Your own lubrication. I like that. Saves me difficulties. And you. You know what it is?”

I nod. I’ve seen them. That’s all. But I’ve never held one. And I didn’t ever expect…

“Now, be good, and take this.”

He pulls out the hard object, slathered in my cum, sliding it backwards until it finds the position he is searching for. People are going by with suitcases, and I daren’t make a sound in case they stop looking at their train tickets and eye us with interest.

“Breath, my little love slave. It won’t go in if you hold your breath.”

I open up, to my own shock, as he inserts it into me. My face feels as if it might catch alight. Even I know what it is that he’s done. Here I stand, with a butt plug inside me, in front of everyone. I don’t know if I can move. I’m not sure what I’m able to do. Nothing’s ever been up there before.

“No squealing. I’m impressed.” He kisses the top of my ear, and I could fall into a hole at the sight of people walking by. I must be burgundy, never mind scarlet, because he grins. “What’s the matter, my little love slave?”

“I can’t believe I’ve just let you do that. You can’t just—”

His lips are against my cheek. His tongue runs over it, and down onto my lips, and I feel the wetness pool in my entrance, in spite of my embarrassment.

“Can’t? My little one, you’re mine. I can do anything I choose. You agreed to be my love slave, remember?” My eyes find his, and I can’t help but make a feeble effort at nodding as his palm presses against the strange object in my arse. “—and I’ll fuck this, when I want. In fact, I’ll have whatever I want, whenever and wherever I want. And you’ll be my good girl and do as I tell you to.” He lifts away from my face and stares straight at me. “Won’t you, Kitten?”

I gasp, almost unable to comprehend what he’s just done to me, here, in an alcove in the entrance to the station. But I didn’t say no, did I? Not once have I told him to stop. What does that say about me? My eyes are still fastened to his gaze.

“I hate you calling me Kitten.” I have to say something, because otherwise, after what he’s just done to me, I would have bowed my head in supplication to his words. Because I’m an idiot. And those eyes—they get me every time.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s the name I’ve chosen for you as my sub.” I can’t tell if he’s more vexed that I haven’t answered his question, or that I’ve dared question his taste in names. His irises have gone dark and his stare engulfs me. For a moment I forget the strange, unfamiliar, full feeling caused by the butt plug as I wonder what he might do next. I have this dreadful feeling that he might grab my clothes, and bare my backside to every passing stranger. I’m not sure he cares about anything—being embarrassed, or arrested. Or me. Does he care about me?

“I just find it—a bit…”

His whisper is in my hair, permeating my memories. “Don’t you remember when you used to mew for me? I only had to touch you like this.” His fingertips slip across my shoulder blade and down my side until I writhe at his touch over my ribs. He is up close, so close that every part of him is touching me as his hand slides into my waistband and finds the elastic of my knickers. I let out the noise the moment his finger makes contact with my clit. “See, Kitten? That’s why. You’re going to mew for me. You’re going to make your Master so fucking hard that he’ll give you everything he’s got. And you’ll love it. Aren’t you going to love me inside you, Charlotte?”

“Yes.” I breathe the word into his skin.

The taxi driver at the front of the crescent of black vehicles winds down his window and calls out, “Wanna ride?”

He holds me by the forearm and steers me to the back of the cab. “You have no idea!” he replies to the open window, as he makes me get in and shuffle across the width of the back seat so he can fit in next to me. As I sit down, I see him put his hand through the little open glass hatch and push something into the driver’s hand and mumble something I can’t hear. I feel the scarlet burn my neck and spread up my face as the sharp, squinty little black eyes of this stranger look at me, from my knees, up the length of my thighs, to the top of the hem of my skirt, then flick up to my tits. His head leans back against the window, his face leering, a smirk unfolding across his face.

‘Sir’ sits next to me and, as the taxi pulls away, he puts his palm against my cheek, forcing my hand round to face him. His eyes bore into mine, and I bite my lip. I feel his hand trace its way up the inside of my thigh, until his fingers touch the front of my knickers.

“How’s your arse? Can you feel the butt plug? Is it digging in as you’re sitting, my Kitten?”

I catch the eye of the driver, looking back at us in the mirror, grinning. My throat’s gone dry. What else is he going to hear before we get wherever we’re going?

“I’m all right.” I mumble it into the seat, really, rather than at him, and I feel both hands up my skirt, pushing it right up around my hips, and then his fingers against my knickers. The driver can see the lace, can see the way he moves aside the fabric, can see how his head disappears between my thighs as his tongue runs along the length of my groin. I’ve waited so long to feel it, and now nothing else seems to matter. My pussy takes over, beating my embarrassment to a pulp as I push myself against his mouth. But he withdraws, and I hear myself whimper.

“Lift, Kitten.”

Without even thinking, I do exactly as he says. His fingers grip the top of my knickers and pull. When I look, they’re around my knees, and the driver is pursing his lips at the view between my legs. My skin is burning; he hooks the knickers off my shoes and puts them in his jacket pocket with one hand, pinning my legs open with the other, his finger slipping over my clit and circling it until I sigh against his lapel. I don’t want to know what the driver is doing anymore. As long as he doesn’t crash the car, I’ll be grateful.

My head is against the heat of his cheek, so I don’t see him retrieve an object from wherever he has it secreted. The first I know of it is when I feel something brushing just above my shoulders, and I realise his fingers aren’t against my pussy any longer, but working on something at the back of my neck.

“There, Kitten. My little love slave has her very own collar.”

No knickers, a taxi driver getting off on a view of my pussy, and now a fucking collar. He moves my fingers away from it, as I reach up to feel the fastening.

“No.” His voice is sharp, even though his hands pull mine away and his lips suck my fingertips. It’s staying. Now, up on your knees, and spend the rest of the journey looking out of the back window. Do as you’re told.”

The collar feels weird; it’s not restrictive, but I’ve never been into having things around my neck. More concerned about this than anything else, I get up on my knees, and he flips my skirt up over my back. I just know the driver can see the butt plug…


The taxi begins to slow down, curling into a pathway lined with densely planted trees.

“What’s the matter, my little Kitty?” The back of his finger strokes the side of my face, and I turn from the window to find his amused smile and wide eyes glinting. I feel the heat in my cheeks, and I realise what a total idiot I must look, gawking at the huge Georgian building that comes into view along the pale gravel driveway, littered with Jaguars and Mercedes, and an occasional Audi, with a few more regular saloons in between.

“I thought—well, I just assumed we’d be going to a Travelodge or something. Some cheap hotel not far from the station.”

He turns me back round to him and grabs my chin. I catch the look in his eyes as his lips find mine. I expect to feel him pressing hard, exerting his power, but his touch is soft, long, and I could almost believe that he genuinely feels something for me as he parts my lips with the tip of his tongue and holds me to him. He eases himself away from me, and I sigh. It’s dreadful, pathetic; why do I always give myself away to him? I expect some sarcastic reply, wait for the grin, for the power to return. But he surprises me. Again.

“Why would I want to do anything like that? I want the very best for you.”

“Do you?” I can feel my heart beginning to bang in my chest. That tiny little feeling—hope—even after all this nonsense in the taxi, daring to peek out and risk getting battered.

He smiles at me, and my heart does some kind of unfamiliar surge as his hand squeezes my knee. His fingers begin a spiralling dance up my inner thigh, as he points at the beautiful hotel doorway and lifts my chin up to his face again. “Yes. I want you to be in sumptuous surroundings while I teach you who’s Master. I want soft carpet under your feet as you submit to me. And I want a deep, soft bed to fuck you on. Because I’m going to fuck you, my little love slave, exactly how I want. And you’ll want it again. And again.”

The taxi stops, and I see the driver smirking at him as he opens the door, and at the way I squirm as I stand up with the butt plug inside me. His fingers slide into the collar, and he murmurs as his hand reaches to his tie and undoes it, sliding it out from his shirt neck. With a grin, he pulls me close, until I can feel his breath in my hair as he slips the tie into the collar, tying it with a knot I don’t recognise. I feel the tug.

“Out of the car. You’re coming. In here, with me.”

“What the…? You want to do this, here? In a place like this?”

And there’s that grin again.

But, despite every thought that holds me back, every reservation about what might be in store for me, like a good little slave girl, I ease myself out of the car towards him. As he pulls harder on the tie, a thrill fires its way down from my peaking nipples to my clit. He has no idea how much I want his words to be true. And how close to the truth he already is, as he leads me by my new, and first ever, leash, to the hotel.

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5 thoughts on “Love Slave Part 12 (18+ only)

    • Ina Morata says:

      Pleased you’re happy with it. I wasn’t sure I had the balance right. I think the taxi needs more work, and Charlotte’s emotions need drawing out more. And, as always, I am not sure about the power dynamic of this story. There are three more parts, I feel, to this novella. Do I continue with the relationship between the Master and Charlotte, or do I pursue Charlotte’s story beyond her dealings with him? I’d love to know what readers think of the two main characters, which will definitely influence my decision. Should this trilogy (for that is what I want it to be) promote sex positivity, or does it not matter if this is not the case? If anyone has any thoughts, I’d love to hear them.

      Liked by 1 person

      • lurvspanking says:

        I think I like the option of a cautionary tale and like I said before, a bad ending for you-know-who. Maybe a meat grinder accident of a pack of wild dingoes escaped from a wildlife park. Charlotte is still kinda a cipher to me, it seems she has no will of her own but simply goes along against her better judgement.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Ina Morata says:

        A cautionary tale would work, within the whole. Why DOES C keep doing these things against her better judgement? She can be very frustrating… I’m not sure I know what to do with her. Feminist tract would dictate that she discovers her pathway for herself, yet there is scope for her to discover a real relationship with someone who could develop proper trust with her. This does then lend itself to her being “saved”, rather than taking control herself.

        You really dislike you-know-who, don’t you? Your ways of getting rid of him are getting more and more inventive! 🙂


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