Short Stories for Slave abby

Music to Suit Slave abby

The Owner calls slave abby to his study. She knows what is expected of her: she knocks twice and waits for his call. He is not busy, it seems, for the call comes instantaneously this time: "Enter!"

Slave abby opens the door and takes one step inside, no further, just as she has been told many times in the past. She adopts her submissive, waiting pose: feet together, hands clasped loosely in front of her, head bowed towards the floor.

Today, the Owner has had her tie her hair into twin pony-tails on either side of her head. It is such a childish way for an adult to be wearing her hair. As she waits in her pose, slave abby's hair hangs down on either side of her face in front of her and she feels the burning flush of humiliation afresh. She remembers again that it is just such emotion that the owner likes to induce in her, and she finds that she is happy to feel humiliated, because it pleases him.

"Close the door, and come here," commands the Owner in his usual calm, unhurried and quiet tones. he rarely raises his voice but speaks with a simple, relaxed authority. Slave abby can sometimes only tell that he is displeased with her by a slight edge that creeps into his voice.

The Owner is reclining in his easy chair, not sitting at his deask as so often when slave abby enters. On his coffee table she sees rubber clothing. Not, she notes, items designed to cover much flesh. She is therefore ready in anticipation of his next command.

"Strip, and put these on," The Owner says, just as slave abby had predicted. She knows, now, better than to pre-empt his orders though. he has always had a tendency to change his plans if it seems that she has guessed them already, and always he changes them to the detriment of his slave when that happens. Now that the order is given, though, slave abby gladly obeys.

There is very little for her to remove. She was not allowed to put any underwear on this morning, and nor does she have anything on her feet. In fact, the only garment she has to remove to be completely naked is the long woollen sweater that she is wearing. Its length is the only concession to any sense of modesty she might have – and of course, she knows that her modesty is entirely irrelevant. So, all she has to do is remove the sweater.

Slave abby knows the Owner's preference. Even when he has her strip only as a means to an end, he prefers to see her take her time and make it slow and sensuous for him.

Since she has not been told to adopt any other posture, she knows she must keep her legs together and as straight as possible. She reaches down to the bottom of the sweater and gently begins to draw it upwards over her thighs, bunching it her hands as she goes.

As her hands lift over her hips, she feels the coldness of the air on her pussy. She is sure that the Owner will see that she is already damp there, in anticipation of what will come next. She thinks she has recognised one of the garments on the table awaiting her, and she has happy memories of its use. The problem is, she is not sure if this involuntary sign of desire and anticipation will draw any punishment from the Owner. It will do no good to try to avoid it, however, so she steadies herself and continues slowly to reveal her bare skin, enjoying the feel of the soft wool as it slides over her body. She knows that she should not be doing it like this, because the order was not given for her pleasure, but there are times (like this one) when she cannot resist the sensation. As the wool travels over the mounds of her bosom, stroking her nipples all the while, she sees in the Owner's eyes that he has missed neither her unwanted arousal nor her disobedience in pleasuring herself with the wool.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, knowing that she will face the Owner's corrective attentions, she finishes the deed, pulling the sweater over her head and demurely allowing it to fall at her feet, making as small and tidy a heap of it as she can without bending downwards. She returns briefly to her submissive pose.

Before she can proceed to the coffee table, the Owner speaks, "I saw what you did. Because I have planned this for a while, I will defer the punishment until this evening. As you know, a deferred punishment is double."

"Please, Master..." stammers slave abby, "Please punish me now!"

The owner simply shakes his head and gestures to the table. There is nothing for slave abby to do but to put on the rubber bra and panties she finds there.

The panties she thinks she knows. They are designed with buttplug and dildo in place, and she believes that somewhere about his person the Owner has the remote control that triggers the vibrations in these protuberances. Eagerly she slips them on, skilfully positioning the inserts so that they go perfectly into her holes. The buttplug is painful, for she was not aware that she would need to lubricate herself there, but she is practised at this and relaxes herself s much as she can to fit her anal ring around the rubber intruder. Of course, she is wet already for the dildo so that slides in with no trouble. As they settle in place, she adjusts the position of the panties to help them find a good position. She is feeling stretched in both holes, and even hurting a little in her behind, but it is in a comfortable way – or at least, a way to which she has grown accustomed. She realises that these panties are not quite the same as the pair with which she is familiar. They feel different over her groin, and she is not quite sure why. She puts the puzzle from her mind as she puts on the bra.

The Owner rises from his chair to help her, it seems, but that would be very odd. Normally he merely watches as slave abby does it for herself.

The reason is soon apparent. The bra straps require a padlock to fasten them together at the back. This is a garment that slave abby will not be able to remove without the Owner's use of the key. Slave abby observes also the extra straps that hang down her front and back. The front one starts between her breasts, and bifurcates to either side of her crotch. She cannot tell what the back one does, but it feels like it is a similar arrangement, linked at either side of the central padlocked fastening.

The eyelets that on the more familiar pair of panties were used for attaching chains now provide points for the attachment of the straps hanging down from the bra. Padlocks again provide the means of doing so, and now slave abby finds herself unable to remove either garment without the Owner's consent and use of the keys. Slave abby is more puzzled than ever. She still cannot quite figure out what is different about these panties, although she thinks that there is slightly more weight and more thickness to them over her mons veneris than she is to feeling there.

The Owner does have a remote control, but it is not for the panties. It is for the stereo system in the room. This is a state-of-the-art sound system, and carries much more power than is required to fill the room adequately. But the Owner likes to have loud music playing sometimes. Now, it seems, is one of those times.

A huge crash of sound fills the room, and slave abby jumps. But it is not only at the sudden volume, but because her arse, her pussy, her nipples and her clit were all assaulted by sensation, almost as if by electricity. The dildo and buttplug throbbed with the bass, her nipples fizzed with the treble, and the mid-range strummed across her clit. As the single chord fades, slave abby knows exactly what is different about her panties before the Owner speaks.

"As you see, there are vibrators in your bra and panties that respond to different ranges of sound. A lot of signal processing goes into the effect, but in general, the louder the noise, the bigger the vibrations, and the higher the pitch, the higher the frequency of the vibrations. Your butt and pussy will feel the bass instruments best; your clit will feel the middle registers best, and your nipples will enjoy the higher notes."

Slave abby whimpers. The Owner has devised a way to combine two of his great pleasures. Music, and slave abby. And she is sure that she will perform a unique dance for him now, as he cues up the stereo with his favourite tracks. Just as she expects, the owner retires to his easy chair again, and flicks the control.

He has chosen a piece he knows well, and that will stimulate at various times every part of slave abby. It is a symphony, and slave abby has never known him to listen to a piece in his study without letting it play to the end. She will be driven wild for an hour or more, and all for his entertainment. She whimpers again as the slow, quiet opening plays through, just gently teasing her with the soft touch of the vibrators – hardly moving at all, they lightly massage her nipples. Deeper instruments join in, and the music begins to row a little louder. She knows this piece. It will keep her hanging on the edge, desperate to come, throughout the first movement. The owner has chosen well, because the second movement starts fortissimo. As she begins to melt into the caresses of her costume, she can see the whole piece playing out before her...she can see herself coming, she can see how many times, at what points in the music, and she can see how she will writhe with desperation through the passages in between. She knows that the owner has planned this so carefully, in the most minute detail, to play her just as if she was another instrument in the orchestra...

Slave 430811, abby, responded, "i adored that story. it made me cringe. it is so humiliating!"

Music to Suit Slave abby (part 2)

Slave abby is woken by the sensation of the owner's fingernails lightly scraping over the welts from his caning of her last night. She whimpers from the reminder of the pain that blazed to create them in the first place.

The Owner always has her sleep on her front when he has caned her hard, as he did for the deferred punishment regarding her illicit pleasure in stripping yesterday. She is not given covers, but has the heating in her room turned up so that she can be safe and snug without. The owner has explained to her in the past, that this is not for her comfort. Of course not! No, it is to allow him even in the middle of the night to inspect and admire the product of his handiwork with the cane. The light remains on in the room, of course, and slave abby must sleep with a blindfold to prevent it keeping her awake. Her wrists are shackled to the head of the bed and her ankles at the toe end. Other arrangements are possible when there has not been a caning in the day, and the Owner is most particular about ensuring that he uses other punishments if he has specific plans for slave abby's sleeping arrangements.

The Owner releases slave abby's limbs one at a time, finally tying her hands behind her back and lifting her to her feet. She hardly needs him to guide her to the bathroom for her morning ablutions, she has walked it blindfold so many times.

Once she is clean, slave abby is returned to her room where finally the blindfold is removed, and her hands freed. This is the moment at which she discovers what the Owner wishes her to wear today.

She almost weeps when she sees what he has chosen. Her punished behind will scream with agony under the itchiest wool suit in her wardrobe. The Owner had her knit it herself, and she knows just how punishing it can be. She turns her eyes pleadingly towards the Owner, but his face is cold and stony. Close to tears, she reaches out and lifts the suit.

Beneath it is the set of musical underwear from yesterday. The cool rubber will surely not be as harsh on her welts as the wool might have been, but it will press harder and tighter. There will be no escape from the constant agonising reminder of last night's beating. To be made to perform her lewd dance of arousal and multiple orgasms, as she had done yesterday, while still feeling the horrid burning of her punished arse – she can scarcely bear the thought. She knows again that the owner is as cruel as she ever wished him to be – and more so. She chose him above all others, and she loves to feel his will exerted on her, but the price he makes her pay is more than she had ever realised when she agreed to wear his collar.

She winces as the rubber presses against her injured buttocks and the inserts slide into her body (she knows now why the Owner bothered to lube her anus before bringing her back here). She is barely able to keep from fidgeting as the Owner locks her into the music suit. She knows that if she does, she will be punished again, and it will most likely be another deferred punishment because this outfit is clearly intended for a specific plan.

Then slave abby puts on her wool suit. It is designed so that it looks decent and respectable to the outside world, and gives no clue as to its demonic effect on its occupant. The collar of the suit fits over slave abby's collar, hiding it from those who would not understand. The zipper padlocks to her collar, making it impossible for her to remove it. Almost at once, the wool begins to scratch and itch.

Slave abby follows the Owner downstairs and looks hopefully towards the kitchen. But she has been allowed to sleep late, and missed breakfast. She is thankful that she was allowed to eat well the evening before. Then she wonders how much the Owner has planned in advance, how long his carefully choreographed scheme will go on – and how long ago he might have planned it. She does not have long to ponder these questions, though. The Owner's agenda will not be delayed.

She swallows heavily when she sees that he is standing in the hallway, and has pulled on his overcoat. She never expected to be going out in public today, but his words leave no doubt: "Come on, petal, we are going shopping!" He has explained that he calls her petal in public because it is a term of endearment where he comes from, and also because the first syllable is "pet". And she is in many ways like a pet to him. She likes those times where he lets her curl up beside him on the sofa like a cat, or lie at his feet like a contented, well-behaved bitch. She took the name "pet" to herself, he often reminds her, so she must fulfil that role whenever he desires.

Slave abby slips on a pair of shoes and a light jacket that the owner selects for her, and then they step out into the world beyond.

Normally, the owner likes to be chauffeur-driven by his slave, but today he takes the wheel himself. Poor slave abby soon discovers why: it is not only music that will trigger the sensors in her music suit. The sound of the car engine starting sets off the dildo and buttplug. As the drive in to town, she soon discovers that her clitoris and nipples will not escape attention either: as the engine climbs in revs, so does the pitch and so the focus of the vibrations in slave abby's body shifts. There is always a bass-y note to the sound that keeps the dildo and buttplug ticking over even at high revs. But as the engine note shifts, first the clit vibrator becomes strongest and then the nipple vibrators. Slave abby cannot possibly be allowed to drive in the music suit, and this is soon demonstrated. She is hopelessly aroused as the Owner turns the car into the multi-storey car park, and she feels the vibrations focus once more in her nether regions as the Owner runs at low revs to find a parking space. The car park is busy today, and she is silently pleading for a space to open up before she orgasms. She is long past the point now where the itching is an impediment to her arousal, and the same goes for the stripes of pain on her backside. On the contrary, they have been adding to it and in reality she has no hope. Even before they climb out of the car, slave abby has cum. Perhaps it is for the best, though. If she had cum after getting out of the car, there would have been several witnesses.

She grips tightly on the Owner's arm, unsteady after her experience in the car. He accepts it for a little while, but soon shrugs her off. He likes her to show her need for him in this way, but quickly grows tired of it. He takes her hand in his, in a more mature fashion. She notes that he has worn leather gloves and that he may very well fondle her through the day, without fearing the effects of the wool on his own hands. However mature the handhold may be, to those who care to look closely the relationship is obvious. The Owner strides confidently, while little slave abby hangs upon his every movement for guidance and direction. She is either his submissive or his child. Her hair is tied like yesterday, and combined with the wool suit it adds to the impression of the latter. But she is obviously an adult, too. Most people would dismiss her as simply someone who refuses to grow up. A few would see her for what she really is: an owned slave. Always this is the way when she leaves the confines of home.

Together, they head for the mall. Slave abby did not expect this, but one thing springs into her mind as they grow closer: malls always have music in the background, and her underwear responds to music.

The mall is worse than she imagines, and this is all down to the echoing acoustics that the high vaulted ceiling provides. In addition, there are more people than she realised and a crowd so often generates a hum. This one was buzzing at just the right pitch to trigger her clit vibrator. When the thing starts up gently against her nubbin, she jumps and gasps aloud, to the astonishment of several people close by. She knows that she must control herself. Another factor enters the equation: the Owner's shoes are smart and new, and every time they land on the mall's hard floor they send up a clacking noise that buzzes in her nipples briefly. Every footfall is like a teasing flick across her breasts. And still she must follow on, and keep up, paying as little heed to these stimuli as she can. It is impossible, of course. She is still highly aroused after cumming in the car, and feels the most minute sensations all over her body. It is all she can do to continue walking almost normally, and keep up with the Owner, as the bars across her arse scream at her, the wool drives her skin to distraction and her clit and nipples are under constant low-level bombardment by the sounds around her.

*****

Oh, how slave abby aches for relief! Oh, how she wishes that she could let herself give in and cum! The Owner has kept her in this hellish state for an hour as he meanders from shop to shop, never finding exactly what he desires. He can be a perfectionist at times, slave abby knows, and this seems to be one of those times. He has asked her opinion on a couple of items, which he does sometimes to check that she remembers what he has told her, and sometimes because he is genuinely interested to know. Slave abby is glad that, whichever it is this time, she seems to have passed. She has no recollection of any reply she gave as her memory is swamped by the dreadful fires in her loins as she yearns for a chance of privacy and to let herself climax.

At last, the final straw arrives. At the far end of the mall, a string quartet has set up to play. As the cellist tunes his bottom string, it triggers buttplug and dildo, and the combination is too much.

"Oh, oh, oh my God!" cries slave abby in the middle of the crowded shopping mall, and collapses writhing on the floor. She is gasping for breath with the ecstasy of the release. Passers by look on in amazement, and one even offers to call an ambulance, convinced that she has gone into labour. Her red face and desperate expression do nothing to dispel this theory, but the Owner is confident and calm as ever, explaining away her seizure with lines that sound to slave abby as though he had them prepared a long time ago. To her, the world is a daze, she cannot focus on anything, and she is only aware that she has made an exhibition of herself, and that the Owner has arranged the whole thing just so that she would.

He puts his arm around her waist and helps her to her feet. He kisses her lips tenderly and she glows inside.

"I think I've got everything I wanted now," he whispers, "Let's go home."