A. Kitten: "In Blue" 

Exhaustion lost out to an increasingly insistent phone, the scales of
battle tipped by my caller ID. I thumbed "talk". Adam's deep voice
hummed across tired nerve endings. "Good evening, pet."

Master Adam. Along with my old friend Becky, he was a founder of our
private club. Last year they'd decided I should join. Their plot was
made all the sweeter because I'd had no inkling of it, until one night
I learned to call Becky "Mistress Rebekah."

"I have a surprise for you," Adam continued. "We're leaving the moment
I get there."

I opened my mouth, but found I had nothing to ask a dial tone.

**

My world revolved sedately, then turned and flowed backwards, vague
impressions of waking life sailing past, out of reach. I dreamed a
giant's hand pushing me onward, and followed the arm up to his giant's
body, somehow familiar. Then clarity. I bolted upright, suddenly
finding myself on my couch.

"Is that any way to greet your Master?"

"I waited and waited," I stammered, trying to judge his mood. "It was
so late, and when you didn't come...."

"You fell asleep. After I ordered you to be ready." Adam's tone was
flat, neither disappointed nor forgiving.

"I'm sorry, Master." But I knew that wouldn't satisfy him.

"We'll discuss your punishment later." Picking at my office clothes,
he commanded calmly, "Get these off," then turned and vanished through
the front door. I hurriedly obeyed, sharing his contempt for such
bland, uninspiring professional attire.

When Master Adam returned, I was again sitting on the couch, hands
tucked under thighs, but now I could feel a cool draft on my naked
skin. Placing his burden on the floor, he carefully observed my
reaction.

It was a large, tan, hardshell pet cage, like those used for
transporting large dogs. "Meets airline regulations for domestic and
international pet travel," Master informed me, smirking. "A pussy
carrier, if you will."

He swung the door open, and I tried to sink into the couch. Master had
thoughtfully lined the inside with blankets. "In you go!" I slid to my
knees, jarred and scraped when they met the carpet, searching his face
for a hint of pity. There was none.

Crawling into my cage, I hugged my knees and curled up, whimpering,
drowned in excitement and serenity.

**

A midnight street scene filtered through the ventilation holes, cold
light and hard shadows clinging to my body and washing across my nest
of blankets. I huddled within, a thousand what-ifs chasing each other
around my mind. Trust in my Master pushed them continually out, but
they always returned.

We were both addicted to my terror.

I felt my cage being jostled when Master parked and brought me into
the club. Buried myself further, I refused to peek out even when we
stopped moving and the door opened again, until the blankets were
yanked away and I was dragged half-crawling into the club changing
room.

The familiar weight of the collar he fastened onto my neck was
reassuring, but the chilling snick of the lock reminded me of my
impending punishment. I leaned into him, sighing as he rubbed my head
and back comfortingly, then jerked forward at a sudden tug of my
leash, following him inside.

Master led me to my favorite playroom and up onto a white-sheeted bed.
The only light source was an operating lamp on an arm suspended from
the ceiling, illuminating the bed and my body for the benefit of any
onlookers in the coal-blackness beyond. (Were there onlookers?)

For the first time since I'd entered the cage, Master spoke, standing
near the edge of the pool of light. "Do you remember what we agreed
when you asked not to be shaved?"

"You..." I realized what my punishment would be, and my voice shook,
sounding small and weak. "You told me I could keep my hair so long as
I was good."

"Have you been good?"

"No, Master." He waited patiently. "I fell asleep waiting for you. I
was not ready when you picked me up," I recited formally.

Fingers traced my inner elbow, but I kept my gaze directly ahead. "I'm
going to shave you."

"I know, Master."

"Do you think that's fair?"

"I should be punished, Master." Why couldn't he just get it over with?

"Yes, you should. But is there another way you'd rather be punished?
Would you let me cane you instead?"

"Oh, yes, Master!" Hope swelled in my voice. "Anything!" I turned to
kneel on the bed facing him, nearly regretting my offer the instant I
saw what he was holding.

I'd seen the sjambok used only once, and that had been enough. Ever
since, the sight of the whippy, three foot cane on display in its
place of honor had made me melt with fear. But that pain couldn't be
worse than the loss of my hair. I know I am actually too proud of my
hair, but I can't help myself; otherwise I'd feel completely like an
ugly girl.

"On your breasts?"

"Yes, Master," I whispered.

"Offer them to me."

Dry mouthed and light headed, I cupped my small breasts, squeezing my
eyes shut, slowly dug my fingers into them far harder than was
pleasurable. Knowing I was hurting myself for his enjoyment was my
only comfort in anticipation of him hurting me.

My stomach knotted and heaved as dry leather slithered across my
nipples. "No, Mandy, I couldn't ask you to do that." The evil
instrument withdrew, and I let out a sigh of relief before I realized
he meant I would be shaved after all.

"All I ask is that you lie down." Master spread and secured my limbs.
Kissing my forehead, he left me to await my fate.

**

The sound of water informed me of his return. Still, at first touch of
soft cloth, my eyelids fluttered open and I gasped.

"Still haven't learned your lesson?" Master Adam asked, chuckling.

"Master, I wasn't asleep!" I protested.

"I know, pet." The heavy, wet heat continued to flow over me, and I
tried to lift my head, vainly attempting to watch him bathe my sex. He
paused, rearranging the pillows, propping my head and shoulders up so
I could see better. He moved back down my body, and with a hiss from
the can, the foam lathered over me.

Then there it was, held lovingly in his hands: his antique straight
razor, an alien in our century, prized for private master-reasons. He
stropped it twice, mostly for show. I knew he kept it sharp for his
own use. Then he climbed onto the bed, and it was time.

We both followed the razor's slow movement as he brought his hand to
my chest, grazing my nipple. I stopped breathing, holding so still
that I throbbed against the gleaming flat of the blade with each
heartbeat. Barely touching me, it skimmed smoothly down my torso,
mowing down innocent, invisible body hairs on its way to the bright
island of foam.

With each bitter stroke, I heard a distant, tortured, moaning. I
pitied whoever was suffering before I realized it was me, mourning my
sparse womanhood.

As each hair was shorn away, I kissed it goodbye. Each talisman of
grown-up freedom: burnt golds; the kinky rusty ones; shy, shining
auburns; even the naughty fine browns that (to my enduring shame) seem
darker in the wrong light.... All my many hues, goodbye, goodbye,
goodbye.

My voice caught and blurred when Master's fingers and razor traveled
downward, seeking and harvesting every strand of hair above, beside
and below my core. Finally, he smiled warmly into my lidded eyes and
set the razor down carefully, producing the moist cloth, patting me
down. Heat spread inward unimpeded. When his hand lifted, nothing
remained but pale, pure, skin.

Master Adam traced the outline of my mons with the pad of his finger.
"Will you be good?" he asked finally. I nodded pitifully. "Then we're
done."

"Master, you mean...." Forgiven! I couldn't believe my luck. "I can
keep the rest?" He fingered a lock of my hair near my temple, nodding
seriously, following the waves down my neck, past my heavy collar.
"Oh--!"

He untied and held me while I sobbed, lost, a slave now truly naked
before her Master.

**

Some time later, I began feeling human again. "Master?" I asked
hesitantly, "What was my surprise?"

He searched my eyes and found only readiness. "You remember the
fantasy you gave me?" I blushed fiercely, recalling how his orders had
ransacked my mind in search of my darkest, most exciting dreams. "We
came close during your punishment." Would he actually do
those--things? Could I stand it if he didn't?

Master pushed my chin up until I was staring at my own reflection in
his eyes. "Do you still want this to be real? Will you take it, for
me?"

I bit my lip and watched the slave reflected in his eyes nod her
agreement; relieved when he repositioned my body so I was facing away
and could no longer see her.

Something rattled beyond our oasis of light, and I flinched when the
metal comb rung off my skull, tensing and relaxing as he massaged his
way through my hair.

When my sight was taken, it was by a sleep mask instead of the usual
blindfold; the thin elastic band tucked high on my head.

"Half turn this time." Both legs bent over one of his, dangling over
the edge of the bed, I sighed, tilting my head away in response to his
gentle pressure. His firm hand contained my reaction to the first
scintillating scratches from the tip of the knife.

I felt my bones drain out my feet when he traced around the outside of
my ear, exploring each line of my skull, entering every fold and
curve. In a cold sweat, I welcomed the metal into my ear canal,
eventually remembering to breathe only when I noticed the only thing
touching me was his hot, strong hand.

"Should I do your other ear?" Master breathed, tilting my head so our
foreheads met, sharing a warm breath. Then it was his turn to jump
back as I eagerly squirmed and turned again, presenting my opposite
side, squealing "More!" when he pinched my lobe and took control.

**

That wasn't the last of my fantasy, of course. Soon, I lay flat on the
bed, hyperaware of the chill from my ears, tension in my limbs begging
to translate into a delightful sexiness. I licked my lips nervously,
suddenly freezing when a sharp point pricked my tongue.

Covered eyes saw invisible edges, one thick and dull, its brother
finely, wickedly sharpened. He dragging them lightly over my lips and
down to my neck, chuckling when I fought to offer my exposed
smoothness to him without moving.

Master's whispered words of encouragement and praise stroked over me
teasingly, following the instrument of his will, dancing along
shoulders, underarms, ribs, sides. Later, he fell silent, and soft
kisses blossomed on the under curve of my right breast, simultaneous
scraping pushing red ridges down my belly.

Then I was alone again, sucking in quick shallow breaths. Overflowing
with arousal, heightened senses started at every air current probing
my vulnerability.

"Ready?" His voice was incredibly loud after so long concentrating
only on myself. I could hear him out there waiting, but I wasn't sure
of my answer.

"Master?"

He straightened my mask's strap. "It's okay, Mandy. I'm here."

I willed trust to fill me. Pleasurable though it was to push my own
limits, I was hoping he'd forgotten how my fantasy ended. Up to now,
everything we'd done I'd seen before, but this was something I'd only
heard about. "Could you just put part in? Let me try it?"

Humming agreement, he licked at my jaw line until I eased back into
cool white sheets. I was caught unaware when everything changed. My
universe skipped and froze, crystallizing around the disinfectant-cool
knife spreading my labia.

"How're you doing?" How was I doing? I felt incredible, intense, the
pressure stronger than ever before. I tried to explain all that to
him, but all that came out was a hazy, guttural moan. He played the
blade back and forth across me--in me--and I felt myself complete the
transition from demure slave-Mandy to passionate primal-Mandy, toes
curling, babbling, everything human in me surrendering and dying.

Thankfully, he got the message. He tickled my clit, his blade slipping
inside me, shivering without a care for my safety, my walls gripping
in broken rhythm, hips humping and rocking with a mind of their own.

Somewhere, I came, thrashing head reborn briefly into coherent thought
before gliding away again in the arms of my multiorgasmic high.

**

Just when he slipped his knife out and I stopped coming, thinking it
was over, I felt the tip rest casually against the edge of my mons,
angled, pressing harder and harder, painfully, drawing my
consciousness down into that tiny spot of skin.

With a slight give, the point entered my body. Master Adam quickly
yanked it away, his other hand tearing off my mask. Merciless light
from the surgical lamp burst into me.

I climaxed again to the feeling of a single scalding trickle of blood
running down my tightly arched body.

**

Orgasmic animal-Mandy cooled and selfishly left timid-Mandy to pick up
the pieces. So typical. When I returned, Master was holding her body
close and mopping at the cut with a stingy pad.

"Thank you," I told him.

He bent closer, inhaling overstimulated skin.

Later, we fell asleep atop stained sheets.

*