Going Home

Francine stared through the steamy windows of the bus. She watched the rain pelting the sidewalks distractedly as the bus crawled through traffic.

"Not long now," Francine sighed. She couldn't get her mind off Friday. Two days, and her Master would come at last. Her mind was a roiling jumble of images: naked, collared, chained, as Master pierced her clitoris her nipples, whipped. A sigh escaped her parted lips.

"Whipped, oh yes," she breathed. The bus lurched, bringing her back to the present, it was her stop.

Francine hurriedly pushed through the wet commuters to the door, dodging aside as groping fingers brushed her thigh. Driving horizontal sheets of rain off the harbour lashed her as she stepped down from the bus. Shivering in the winter chill, Francine pulled her thin coat tighter against her slender body. The maelstrom of her thoughts echoed in the pounding rain. Soaked her to the skin, head down, she dashed for home.

A plain white van blocked the sidewalk in front of the six-suite apartment block she called home, forcing Francine to step onto the muddy grass to get around it. Frustration picked at her as the mud swallowed her heels. The pretty red shoes she'd bought to please Master, muddied and wet.

"Renovations at last?" Francine muttered, "Right, just as I'm moving out."

Thoughts of her move across country with Master flashed through her mind, sweeping the clouds and rain of winter from her awareness in their glow. Chained in a cage. Transported. Francine sighed in pleasure as she fumbled for her keys.

"A slave," a thrill ran through Francine at the thought, "possessed, owned. His! Body and soul! His!"

Francine pushed open the door and stepped out of the rain, shaking herself a little, drops flying from her shoulder length hair. She wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of oil-based paint. The light was out and the gloom intensified as the door closed behind her. Francine's foot brushed against an open can of paint left in the hall. She felt the slop of paint splash her.

"Oh great" Francine thought angrily. "There go a brand new pair of stilettos. First wet, then mud, now paint! Fucking painters!"

Her lips pulled back in a silent snarl of frustration. The thought of how long she'd looked before she found a pair of steel-heeled stilettos her Master liked made Francine even angrier. She shucked her coat and stepped between two large crates partially blocking her door. Francine had difficulty getting the key to turn in the lock. It turned at last and she shouldered the door open as she bent to take off the spattered shoe.

"Perhaps I can get the paint off," Francine muttered. She flicked the light switch, and glanced at her shoe to see how badly damaged it was.

"Puke!" Francine said aloud. "The landlady has no taste at all. Lime green paint! Gross. Bet it's semi-gloss as well."

The spatters were small. Perhaps she could save the shoe after all. Francine glanced down and saw most of the paint had spattered up her leg. Clutching her damaged shoe, Francine tossed her coat over the stool by the door and stepped into the living room.

Francine stopped in horror. The place was a mess. Her books scattered on the floor. Clothing she knew shouldn't be there hung over the edge of a large blue plastic laundry pamper. She heard a noise behind her, and started to turn. A hand clamped roughly over her mouth. Francine felt herself pulled backwards.

"Be silent." A deep voice growled in her ear.

Francine froze. The shoe dropped to the floor with a clatter as a hand squeezed her breast. She gasped: mingled pain and fear at the touch. Just one hard squeeze, and the hand stroked down her body, lifted her skirt, pushed against her labia.

The breath was warm against her cheek. The voice insistent in Francine's ear.

"Strip"

Trembling, unable to help herself, Francine fumbled at the buttons of her blouse, shrugged it off and unzipped her skirt. The hand stroked her pale flesh for a moment, parted her labia, pushed roughly into her pussy, then withdrew. Francine felt the hand over her mouth release slightly, tensed, ready to scream. As she opened her mouth a penis gag pushed between her teeth. The hand clamped tight again. The restraining straps tightened the gag.

The hand against her mouth released. Francine's arms were gripped tightly, pulled behind her back. Cold metal closed around her wrists, tight, constricted. Her heart thudded in her chest: fear, excitement too.

"Sweet little slave!" The voice breathed in her ear again.

Francine moaned behind her gag. The voice. She knew the voice! She struggled to turn. A nip of teeth on her earlobe, a softly breathed command.

"Stay still, little one."

Yes! She'd heard those words said just so before. A tremor ran through Francine. "Master! Come early! To claim me!" her thoughts shrieked. Francine melted back against the body holding her.

A chuckle, a kiss on the side of her neck. "Yes, little one." Her Master said softly. He turned her to face him. "Ready to go home?"

Francine nodded, eyes shining. Her master stepped back. Francine drank in the sight. Not tall, but taller than her, the charcoal pinstripe he favoured impeccable as always. Master opened his jacket, unclipped a quirt from his belt. He smiled at her. Tapped the leather against his palm. A quick movement and the leather tongue reached out, stinging against her nipple. Francine closed her eyes, lifted her chin, pushed her breasts forward a little to meet the leather. She trembled, week kneed. The strokes came a little faster, a little stronger, stinging her. Nipples, breasts, aflame with the beat of the leather.

A pause. Francine opened her eyes at the gentle touch on her nipples, stroking, flicking lightly. Master unscrewed the terminals on her barbell piercings, drew the metal out of her nipples.

"A present, pet." He said, eyes twinkling.

He drew two longer bars from a pocket, each threaded through a stainless steel shackle. He slid the bars through her nipples, screwed the terminals back in place. The shackles tugged lightly at her skin. Master touched her pubic mound and Francine opened her legs for him. He knelt. Kissed her lightly on her clitoris, then unfastened the barbell there and attached a new bar and shackle. Another quick kiss, his tongue gentle against her, and Master stood.

Master reached into his pocket again, drew out a thin length of chain, clipped the ends to her shackles.

"There! He breathed. "Almost dressed properly".

He turned her by the shoulders - led her further into the living room. A snick, and Francine felt the cuffs around her wrists release. A quick tug at the strap holding the gag firmly in her mouth and it was free. Mischievously, Francine caught the gag lightly between her teeth as her Master withdrew it. Her joy at his arrival making her giddy. A light tap on her bottom, and Francine released her grip, letting the gag pop out of her mouth. Master turned her to face him again.

"Position 3, sweet pet." The fondness plain in her ears.

Francine dropped to her knees, head bowed, arms reaching to him. He took her hands, kissed the backs lightly, and closed wide steel bands around her wrists. Francine trembled again.

"His cuffs," Francine sighed.

His feet moved out of her view as he stepped behind her. Francine felt his hands stroke her ankles lightly. Cool metal, ankle cuffs, closed around her.

"Your collar will stay chain for now, dearest slave." he said.

The quirt kissed her back, her ass, with his words. Francine moaned.

"Thank you, Master," sighed from her lips.

Another pause. A hand tangled in her dark hair, tugged lightly, lifted her to her feet. Francine lowered her arms. A pressure on her shoulders turned her to face him. A kiss, long and deep, fingers teased her pussy.

"Thank me properly, slave." he said.

Francine sank to her knees, unzipped his trousers, drew out his cock. She felt excitement rush through her. Her lips closed over the head of his penis. She drew him deep into her mouth. And as he came, Francine responded with her own orgasm, intense, sharp.

Master motioned for her to take the hamper. It was heavier than it looked. She glanced at Him. He smiled.

"Just a few of your prettiest things, pet," he said "and the autographed first edition leather-bound collection of Dickens' works your grandfather left you."

He clipped a leash to the chain connecting her nipples and clitoris and led her from the apartment, down the hall, out into the rainy dusk. Master opened the back of the van. He took the laundry hamper and slid it to one side. At his gesture, Francine stepped into the van. She climbed into the open padded box bolted to the floor.

"Lets go home, pet." He said.

Francine looked back at the building where she'd lived. She had no regrets, no fears. Free!. Her final sight of her old life - one partial, lime green footprint on the damp, dark concrete.

"Going home, at last!" She sighed.