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Review This Story || Author: Paul Alexander

The Tale of Pretty Ass

Chapter 8

                               THE TALE OF PRETTY ASS




                                       BY PAUL ALEXANDER





       CHAPTER EIGHT



Bright spring sunlight through the north-facing window over His bed; Master must have removed her blindfold sometime during the night. She is still caged, though. How on earth did she manage any sleep at all with that vibrator going? It was only on low, but still, she's lying in a puddle of her juices. Master comes to the cage to release her left knee, walks around to release the right, clicks the electronic release for the bolts that hold the cage to the floor, then operates the motor control to raise the cage up to the ceiling, twelve feet overhead. Good thing Master "remembered" to release the bolts this time, else the floor plate, and pretty ass, would also be twelve feet up. Once, He left her up there for eight hours, without so much as a pan of water, still in her overnight bonds, unable even to roll over and lap up her juice from the floor of the cage. Usually, if He intends to leave her caged for any length of time, he will set up a water dildo for her, no food, though, He says He doesn't want her getting crumbs in the cage. This morning, Master seems to be in a mellow sort of mood, he releases the hogtie, and makes her lap up her oils from the floor plate while He showers.

"Not done yet, Pretty Ass? Too late, now, its time to start breakfast; I suppose I was too lenient last night. Still, five of the best after brekkie ought to provide an incentive to diligence."

"Yes, Master; what may your humble, obedient slavegirl prepare for her Master?"

"Huevos Rancheros, and don't skimp on the salsa this time."

"Yes, Master, coffee will be ready in eight minutes, will Master have it in His chair?"

"Yes, and an orange, quartered."

"Yes, Master, coming right up, does Master wish to shackle pretty ass and remove her dancing chain?"

"Well, of course, can't have my slavegirl wandering about in only her dancing chain, fetch the 8 and 24, then coffee."

"Yes, Master."

Crawling over to her wardrobe cabinet, she kneels at the side and takes the appropriate chain down from the hook using only her mouth, crawls over to His leather armchair, squats to step through her chain, kneels and presents the required set of chains to Him. Will He fasten the eight inches between her wrists, or her ankles, or perhaps something truly nasty, the eight inches between right wrist and ankle, twenty four inches on the other side. One of his many methods of making housework truly uncomfortable, but not this time, thank you Master. The short hobble on her ankles, glory be to Master, he must be feeling extremely mellow, maybe she will get her five strokes from the palm of His hand! A fingersnap!

"Yes, Master, right away, Master."

Which coffee to grind this morning? She reaches a handful of Sumatra from the sealed canister in the fridge, pauses, collects a sparse dozen Jamaican Blue for spice, and puts them in the hand mill, five minutes of vigourous grinding, into the gold filter basket, four cups of filtered cold water into the percolator, three minutes of stiff perking, then the coffee serving ritual, followed by the orange serving ritual. This involves placing the quarters of Seville orange onto a china side plate, carrying the plate resting on the thumb and forefinger of each hand, kneeling, closing her eyes, flinging her head back to clear the veil out of her way, lifting the plate to her lips and kissing the underside, and god help her if she has forgotten to refresh her lipstick. Failure to leave a clear kiss imprint on every plate, cup and bowl she presents to him is an automatic five with a crop, regardless of any other punishments that may have been awarded. This morning, she is safe. Two mornings previously, she forgot, and paid the price; the welts are still vivid. A fingersnap.

"Yes, Master, huevos rancheros, will Master have toast, as well?"

"Don't know, yet, do me three eggs, and we'll see how hungry I am."

"Yes, Master"



Twenty minutes later, she has served her Master's eggs at the table, together with a second cup of coffee, and prepared her morning bowl of oatmeal.

"Very well, Pretty Ass, you may feed."

"Thank you, Master."

She carries her plastic dog dish between fingertips to the far end of the kitchen, kneels to place it on the floor near the wall, kisses the floor in front of the dish, squats to step through her chain, drapes the veil and nose bell on the far side of her bowl, and delicately laps up her breakfast, being careful all the while to keep her thighs well spread, her ass high, all her treasures on display for her Master's viewing pleasure. A fingersnap summons her to the table after only a few nibbles of oatmeal; she snaps to her feet, a slow, sensuous turn, her best strut, hips shaking, breasts jiggling, ass bouncing, head bowed, she attends her Master.

"I think you went a little light on the jalapenos with this batch."

"Yes, Master, slavegirl should have chosen more carefully at the market."

"Well, aim for something with a little more...authority...next week, this was your first batch, so I'll let you off the hook this time but don't push your luck."

"Yes, Master... sorry, Master... slavegirl will try to do better next time, Master... will Master have more coffee now... perhaps some toast?... slavegirl used some of the oranges for marmalade... will Master favour His slavegirl with an opinion on this batch, please?"

"The Seville oranges, a thick cut to the rind?"

"Oh yes, Master, your slavegirl well knows her Master's taste."

"Well, we'll see. Two slices, another cup."

"Yes, Master, right away, Master."

Cutting two slices off this week's loaf of homemade sourdough, she toasts them, butters them, spreads them thickly with the rich, heavy marmalade, and presents them on the usual china plate.

"Not bad, and the sourdough starter is coming along very nicely. Very good, slavegirl, you may feed"

"Thank you, Master."

She struts slowly over to her bowl, bends to touch her palms to the floor, steps through her chain, straightens and kneels to resume her breakfast, her face glowing with pride from her Master's compliments; He is in a phenomenally good mood today. Twenty minutes later, as she is finishing the last of her small bowl of oatmeal (no milk, no sugar, a pinch of salt, and some dried fruit), a fingersnap.

" Coffee, dishes, report!"

He says, as he gets up from the table.

"Yes, Master."

She goes through the after breakfast coffee ritual at His armchair, then a slow strut to the kitchen for cleanup, then presents herself for morning punishment report. She kneels back, her ass resting on her heels, gives a shimmy to ring the bell hanging from the slavedisc between her breasts, bends her head well forward to clear the veil from her lips so her left hand can use the tube of lipstick that she wears at all times. She then kneels upright, bends at the waist to touch her lips to His feet, a long, lingering, languorous, lascivious kiss to His right foot, the same again to His left, she kneels upright, shimmies, then slowly sinks back onto her heels, lowers her eyes and waits...

"Report!"

"Master, your slavegirl begs to report that she has earned five strokes this morning for lack of diligence in failing to properly clean the floor of her cage. No strokes were awarded yesterday, Master."

"None at all?"

"Master, none, Master...Master is being much too kind to his obedient, submissive pleasure slut!"

"Well, that'll never do, fetch the strap!"

"Yes, Master, thank you, Master."

Crawling to the far side of her wardrobe cabinet, her lips lift down the stiff leather strap, 18 inches long by 2 inches; she crawls back to present it to Master. He holds it out to her so that she can take the leather in her mouth to moisten it and give it a good chew, then kisses the implement and bows her lips to the floor between His feet.

Swish, thwack!

"One, Master, thank you Master!"

Swish; thwack across her other cheek.

."Two, Master, thank you, Master"

A pause to change the angle of attack, swish, thwack, horizontally across the top of both cheeks:

" Threeee, Maasstterr, thank you, Master!"

Lower, but parallel, across the middle of her cheeks:

" FFOURR, MASTER, THANK YOU, MASTER."

Lower still, just missing her thigh rings, on the undercurve of her ass:

"FFIIVVEE. MMAASSTTERR, TTHAANK YOU, MMAASTERR1"

She kneels up to take the strap between her lips, crawls over to return it to the hook, rises, struts over to kneel again before Him, being careful to keep her hands away from her ass, she doesn't want to earn any strokes for tomorrow. He removes her veil.

"Use the scrub brush and soapy water on the floor of your cage, then your bath."



End chapter eight







Review This Story || Author: Paul Alexander
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