The Sun in Her Sky Ch. 03

Then she collapsed to her knees and put her forehead on the hardwood, panting like mad and visibly shivering. I knelt next to her, collected her in my arms and gave her a tight hug, then guided her to the bedroll and got her under the comforters.

I turned off the lights, stripped off my own clothes and joined her. Truthfully, I was exhausted, and decided that showers and tooth-brushing could wait for the morning. We were both sweaty and Becca smelled like wet pussy, but I could always do a laundry - the place came equipped with a washer and dryer. When I was settled under the comforters, I removed Becca's blindfold, letting her take her first shadowy view of the place she'd spend her next years.

She looked around briefly, but it was too dark to see more than silhouettes. She turned her face toward me again.

"Thank you for my treat, miss Bailey," she whispered.

"You were a good girl for me. You earned it." I couldn't see her smile in the darkness, but somehow I knew it was there.

There was a brief silence. "Um...could I please...have your breast tonight?"

I was tired and smelly, and thought to refuse, or even scold her for asking. But I held back. Our nightly sessions were important for my girl, filling some deep, primal need within her. So I rolled on my side facing her and she shifted down on the bedroll so her face was level with my breasts. She propped her face up on a pillow and took my nipple gently between her lips. We fell asleep just like that, our first night in the next phase of our lives together.

*

A professional income combined with my enthusiasm for putting Becca into bondage led to many changes over the next weeks and months.

My first purchase for her was a pair of tough, black leather wrist cuffs, each one with two stainless steel D-rings attached. They became a permanent part of Becca's "wardrobe", and she wore them all day, taking them off only in the shower or in bed. It was simple to link the cuffs together behind her back when I wanted her restrained, and although the bondage wasn't as inescapable as the rope bindings, Becca wasn't making any serious attempt to escape, anyway. The cuffs did the job, and the black colour matched both her hair and her titanium collar, so I liked the effect a lot better.

I quickly decided that, whereas in our basement apartment Becca had spent most of the time in bed, in this apartment I would keep her in "her spot" in front of the radiator, under the window. She looked so good there - she suited the room and the decor so perfectly. But it seemed cruel to keep her kneeling on a thin foam pad for the entire day while I was at work, so I splurged and purchased an orthopedic dog mattress from a pet store. It was three feet long by four feet wide and made of thick, sturdy, supportive foam and wrapped in a soft, fleecy, washable cover. It was big enough that she could kneel or sit comfortably, or even lie down if she curled up a little.

So Becca spent her days with her neck chain luggage-locked to the radiator, and five feet of slack so she could move modestly on her mattress. Her black blindfold covered her eyes and her wrists were clipped behind her with the cuffs. I know she found the arrangement uncomfortable for the first couple of weeks, but not unbearable. I mean, she was used to spending all day in a soft bed, so practically anything would seem kind of uncomfortable by comparison, right? I did boost the temperature in the room up so at least she wasn't cold. Becca, well-trained as she was, never once complained.

I also left a little plastic bucket next to her mattress - the kind they sell to children for making sand castles. If she had to pee, that's where she went. She quickly learned how to pee, blindfolded and bound, without spilling any. She couldn't wipe herself, but I was washing the mattress cover a lot anyway since her sopping pussy would leave it smelling like stale sex after just a day or two. I came to accept that my apartment would always have a faint pee-and-pussy scent in it when I came home from work, especially in the winter when I couldn't leave the windows open. I didn't find it unpleasant, honestly, and it quickly dissipated after I cleaned up after my girl and started cooking dinner.

I can't do justice to the incredible feeling I got when I opened the door after a long day of work to see my naked slave girl, kneeling properly on her mattress, perfectly centred along the back wall, eager to welcome me and know my wishes.

Some days I'd peel off my panties right inside the door, walk up to her, lift my skirt and guide her mouth to my pussy for a quick, stress-reducing tongue session. What a great way to recover after a busy day! Or if things hadn't gone well at work and I needed some time to myself to decompress, Becca would remain silent and still until I decided I was ready to spend time with her.

If I'd brought work home with me then after dinner I could settle into a comfy chair with my laptop, Becca on her knees in front of me kissing and sucking my toes, or maybe doing her floor exercises quietly while I worked at my desk.

Of course, sometimes my evenings were busy, too. Co-workers often wanted to go out for team-building drinks after work. I had to work late a bunch, especially the first few weeks as I was learning the ropes. Becca was alone a lot of the time but she was used to it by then, after all the time I'd spent in college.

And, of course, I established a dating life as well, and a couple of months after arriving I was again going out on dates once or twice a week. I knew somewhere out there was a woman who would accept Becca and I as a package deal. Either way, I enjoyed the romance, the tenderness and the sex. I made friends that I still have to this day.

But every night, without fail, I slept at home. I made sure Becca was well-fed, exercised, warm and safe. I spent time with her and was free with both compliments and admonishments. I kept her perpetually aroused, and rewarded her for good behaviour with rare but always mind-shattering orgasms. I took time every evening to review and reinforce her conditioning with affirmations, cuddling, affectionate praise and, yes, even a harsh pussy-spanking when it was needed. I like to think I was more attentive to her than a typical spouse would be! And every night she drifted off to sleep tranquil and happy at my breast.

After the first ninety days at my job, my probationary period ended and I was eligible for full benefits. One of those benefits was the option to work from home three days a week, schedule permitting. Since I'd be home all day to supervise, I could bind my girl more securely without having to worry for her safety in an emergency.

So that's what I did for five days in every seven.

Her blindfold was soon replaced by a black, vegan leather hood that laced tightly up the back and completely blocked her eyes and covered her nose, leaving two holes for her nostrils. The mouthpiece was removable and I decided to leave it off - I enjoyed the use of her mouth, after all. There was a hole at the top through which I could pull her long hair, letting it fall in a pony tail from the top of the mask. This was no blindfold - this was hard bondage for her face.

The first time I only left it on for a few hours before removing it and replacing it with her blindfold. I gradually left her hooded for longer periods, and within a week she was hooded from the time I woke up to the time I brought her to bed. She tended to get sweaty while wearing it, so I nudged the temperature down while she had it on, and was sure to thoroughly rinse her face after removing it, as well as wiping down the inside of the hood.

At first I don't think she enjoyed it too much, but she quickly acclimatized to it.

I also invested in ways to restrict her arms and legs.

The leather armbinder monoglove was the next to arrive; a long, black leather sleeve with adjustable laces, three straps with buckles and a shoulder harness to keep it from slipping down. I'd position her arms behind her, then slide the sleeve up her arms to just past her elbows. The shiny leather covered her from just above her elbows down to the tips of her fingers. If I made the laces tight, her elbows and forearms would be pressed together behind her, completely immobilizing her arms. Tied, strapped and buckled it was a lovely, severe-looking restraint. Unlike the wrist cuffs, the armbinder didn't allow elbow or shoulder movement and completely enveloped her hands as well, rendering them useless; it was far more strict and restrictive.

Unfortunately, it was hard on the shoulders if used for too long, and even after more than a week of practice Becca couldn't take more than four hours without a break - it just got too agonizing on her poor shoulder joints and she began to distract me with her fidgeting as the pain became too great. But while she was tightly bound up in it, her arms and hands were pulled back and locked away, making her completely helpless. It also thrust her tiny tits out boldly, her fat nipples practically begging to be touched, pinched, sucked and bitten. She may not have loved the armbinder, but she was very appreciative of all the attention her sensitive nipples received while she wore it.

I also ordered a waist belt and body straps. The waist belt was a stiff leather belt adorned with steel D-rings. I could tighten the belt around her bare waist, then clip her wrist cuffs to the belt, trapping her hands at her midsection. The body straps were just wide leather straps with adjustable buckles. I could use them to bind her legs together at her shins and at mid-thigh and could also belt her forearms and upper arms to her sides.

So while I was home, Becca spent almost all of her waking hours hooded, and either laced tightly into her armbinder and kneeling on her dog mattress, or lying face-up on the floor, immobilized by he waist belt and three or four body straps.

Visually, I enjoyed her most in the armbinder and hood. The black plume of hair that billowed out the top of the hood was majestic, and the armbinder accentuated her nipples and forced her to kneel with her back slightly arched, which naturally drew my eye to the lines and contours of her toned abdomen and thighs, as well as her pale, smooth-shaven and frequently dripping pussy. A big part of her purpose was to beautify my apartment, after all, and the armbinder allowed her to best accomplish that end.

Functionally, the waist belt and body straps allowed me more options for enjoying my girl. Obviously I got a lot of enjoyment squatting or kneeling over her face and allowing her always-eager tongue to service my pussy or asshole. I could also gently rest my feet on her face and enjoy her hot tongue licking the soles and sucking my toes. The straps also kept her nipples uncovered, and my fingers seemed drawn to those thick, pink points, much to Becca's delight.

The straps also left her mound and labia exposed while at the same time preventing her from spreading her legs.

It didn't take me long to buy a long-handled feather duster - I used it to torment her smooth sex while engaged in other activities. I once spent an entire Saturday afternoon in my comfy chair, engrossed in a romance novel with my feet resting on Becca's warm chest and my right hand absently swishing the feather duster over her tummy, mound, outer labia and upper thighs as she lay helplessly on the floor. By the end of the afternoon my girl was a sweating, panting, trembling mess and the puddle her cunt had drooled onto the hardwood had soaked her entire ass and the backs of her thighs too. Needless to say, from day forward she spent countless hours being driven to distraction by those soft feathers.

I suppose her prolonged stretches of total immobility and dependence made me even more bold and adventurous, and I started pushing her submission in all new directions.

In one case, maybe six or seven months after I'd started my job, I was working from home on a Friday afternoon. Becca was hooded and body-strapped and I'd dragged her so her head was under my chair. She was contentedly licking my soles as they rested on her face. I was typing a report, occasionally pausing to tickle her hungry little pussy with the feather duster and enjoying her frantic but futile attempts to spread her legs to allow even incidental contact with her needy clit.

I pushed back my chair to go to the washroom when the sight of Becca's open, gasping mouth led me into temptation. I knelt next to her and got my lips close to the tiny ear-hole in the hood.

"Do you want to be my dirty girl?" I whispered.

She nodded her head vigorously, probably hoping I'd unbuckle the thigh strap and give her clit some attention. It has already been two weeks since her last climax, and the feather duster made every hour seem like a day.

"Say it."

"I want to be your dirty girl, miss Bailey. Please?"

"You want to do all sorts of dirty things to please me?"

"Oh, yes. Anything...please let me be your dirty girl?"

I paused, letting the suspense build while I gave her loins another pass with the feather duster. She groaned in frustrated lust.

"I have to pee. Do you want it?" I said.

It was something new for her. She'd licked me clean afterwards, but never consumed any great quantity of my fluids. It was a VERY dirty idea, and I expected a lengthy hesitation while she debated it internally. She'd been conditioned to agree with me at all times, but also knew that when I gave her a choice she was free to pick either option. Well, maybe not completely free - I did have considerable coercive power...

But I was surprised when she answered almost immediately.

"O-okay."

I was silent as I teased her with the feathers. Waiting...

"Can I have your pee, miss Bailey?" she asked, voice barely audible.

Better, but still not up to the standards I'd come to expect. I dusted her privates and she squirmed fruitlessly.

Finally she sighed. "Please let me drink your pee, miss Bailey?"

"You're going to keep your mouth open wide?"

"Yes."

"And swallow without spilling a drop? I don't want a mess."

"I promise."

"And thank me afterwards, like a good girl?"

"Yes, miss Bailey. Always."

"Okay. Open wide now. I'll tell you when to swallow."

She opened her mouth wide and I put my feet on either side of her face, squatting so my pussy rested gently on the opening to hood's mouth opening. I was facing her feet so I could continue to torment her with the feather duster.

I tried to release a gentle stream but discovered I didn't have the talent for that. Peeing was a full-blast-or-nothing sort of thing for me, it seemed.

The sound of my stream flooding her wide-open mouth was surreal and erotic and it imbued me with a whole new level of power and dominance. If I could use Becca THIS way, then surely there could be no limits on my use of her. From that moment forward, anything and everything was allowable. My creative, deviant mind came alive with possibilities.

I did manage to cut off the flow after three seconds and told her to swallow. I saw her throat flex as she gulped it down without any drama, although the way her lips curled back from her teeth told me she wasn't a huge fan of the taste. But she didn't complain, only opened her mouth wide again without being told.

I refilled her mouth six or seven times before my stream died off, and her tongue expertly cleaned me afterwards.

"Thank you, miss Bailey," she whispered, and her tone wasn't merely dutiful but sounded...grateful? Had I trained her so well, or had this potential always been inside her?

"You did really well! Good girl." I said, and the enthusiasm in my voice wasn't fake. "I think that definitely deserves a treat."

"Oh, thank you! I really, REALLY need one. I love you so much, miss Bailey! Please, please let me cum?"

"Absolutely," I said, pushing my chair back over her face and sitting down again. "I just have two more hours of work, then I'll make dinner and you can grab your ankles for me before bed."

Her heartfelt thanks were cut off as I lightly rested my right foot on her mouth. Her tongue came out automatically and started licking. I picked up the feather duster again...

*

We've been in that apartment for more than two years now. Counting her time living with me at my parents' house and our time in the basement apartment in Orillia, Becca has been living under my dominance for almost four years.

I've run out of ways to condition and train her. I control her utterly, in every way one human could conceivably control another. Her thoughts are easy to read and available to me whenever I care to know them. Her emotions are entirely mine to evoke and manipulate. Her lust is ever-present; a toy for my amusement and a tool to keep her attentive and suggestible. She doesn't - and often can't - move a muscle except at my discretion. She sees, hears, smells, tastes and feels only what I allow. She eats, drinks, exercises and goes to the bathroom at my pleasure. My power over her extends down to her biological processes.

To the world at large, she doesn't exist. She doesn't have friends, family or social ties. I monitor her email and social media accounts but don't respond to incoming messages. She's never had a job and I doubt now she'd be mentally capable of the level of independence required to hold one. Her ability to make decisions on her own has diminished to the point of irrelevance.

Her love for me is deep, all-consuming, unquestioning and irrational, and it's the one aspect of her psyche I never have, and never will, understand - the one piece of her that is forever beyond my grasp.

And every single night she drifts off to sleep at my breast, suckling peacefully, her expression serene, blissful and carefree.

*

So, that's the story, up till now.

It was hard for me to tell you, to be honest. I have mixed feeling about it all.

I'm not proud of what I've done TO Becca, even though I haven't forced her, technically, and she has more or less willingly given up the control I craved. Still, part of me feels like I've stolen something from her, prevented her from blossoming into a 'typical' young woman with a job, interests and a social life. I know she'll never have any of those things. Ever.

On the other hand, I do feel a strong sense of pride when I think of what I've done WITH Becca. She used to be insecure, chatty and annoying, and in just a few years I've trained her to be silent, sexy and perfectly companionable. It was a real accomplishment for me to smooth down all her irritating and frustrating traits and bring out the ones most compatible with my personality. I think that's something special, something not everyone could have achieved. Whenever I look at her, bound and kneeling in her special spot by the windows, I feel a real sense of satisfaction. Becca is a job well done.

But she doesn't complete me. She's not my soul mate, not the one I want to give my heart to. I don't love her in the way I love you. Becca and I are not 'lovers'. We don't share passion, or interests. We don't have heart-to-heart chats, or excitedly plan for the future together.

I've never even kissed her on the lips.

She's a part of me, forever, but she's not the part I most need to be happy and emotionally fulfilled.

That's YOU.

I love you, and want you. I've been crazy about you for months. If you can accept me as I am, accept the role Becca will always play in my life, I promise I'll give you my heart, my love and my loyalty. I know Becca will accept you too, given a little time and encouragement. She can be for you what she is for me.

So...how about it? Can you love me this way? Can you love all of me?

**

Elaine stared at her ex-girlfriend after she finished her story. It sounded so unbelievable, but given the level of detail, it was undoubtedly true.