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This takes place in the end of year 5, just after http://addergoole.com/0303.html.

“You’re mine.”

Ofir pressed his lips together and wouldn’t speak. He looked furious, and terrified.

She’d talked this over with Mist… Shahin. It was different, to be doing it. To be the Owner for the first time. “Kneel. We’re going to do this right.” He dropped to his knees, and dropped his head. “Look at me.” His glare didn’t hide the tears. “You are going to serve me until I free you.” He nodded mutely, angrily. “And I will take care of you.”

She cupped his chin in his hand. “And cherish you. This is how we’ll do this. Properly.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/445078.html. You can comment here or there.

Suggest a topic/character here
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This takes place in year 10.

“What did I tell you?” Accalon’s voice was warm against Orlaith’s ear. It didn’t help.

“If I used my power again…” She gulped. “Couldn’t I just have a bikini top or something?”

“If you used your power again what?”

“You would make sure I remembered why I shouldn’t. Sir.” He’d cuffed her hands at the small of her back, so she couldn’t cover herself. “Won’t Luke complain?”

“Eventually. But it’s a Saturday.” He clipped a leash to her collar: that, the cuffs, and the thong panties were all he’d allowed her to wear. “Come.”

“Everybody will stare!”

“That’s the idea.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/444195.html. You can comment here or there.

Suggest a topic/character here
See my card here.
The challenge post here.

Um. This was an attempt to get in all the not-used-yet squares around “enemas,” so: bodies and body parts, rough body play, painplay, mechanical/technological, bodily secretions, and penance/punishement. In 100 words.

“You’ve been bad, haven’t you?”

The mistress tightened the straps.

“Yes’m.” The Machine enveloped Engel, its metal joints whispering threats.

“Why?” She pushed a button, and his feet rose without his volition. The feet. Always the feet.

“I,” he gulped. “I liked her feet, Mistress.”

“Always the feet. Did she cry?” The Machine tilted back, until his feet were above his head.

“She moaned, Mistress.”

“Did she bleed?” The blades of the Machine would not kill him, but they liked his blood. The pain, exquisite, was sill second to the helplessness and the metal embrace.

“No, Mistress.” But he would.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/443861.html. You can comment here or there.