The Triskele Button Ch. 05

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My wrists were securely bound to my ankles, left to left and right to right. I mewled behind a rubber ball gag that was tightly strapped in place round my head as the Master gripped the underpart of my thighs and lifted my petite body into position over the large head of his thick cock, placing the tight little entrance to my bottom against the tip of his plum. The other slave he had selected for his pleasure that evening, twenty-six, watched intently as my bottom was slowly lowered onto the crown of his rigid manhood, my own weight being used to complete the fitting of his cockstem into my anal passage, bringing sexy little grunts from behind the rubber ball in my mouth as the little ring of muscle stretched deliciously tight round the unusually thick base of the cock that was now fully inserted inside me. Twenty-six now skillfully used a broad strap on my upturned ass and the joins of my buttocks and thighs, the sweet cracks of the leather on my skin echoing round the room, making my bottom muscles tighten round the thick cock within me, the Master panting a little as my ass involuntarily milked his cockshaft. With the skin of my ass leathered to a deep cherry red, the little platinum ball imprisoning my nubbin well retracted under the little hood of flesh surmounting my sex, twenty-six then positioned herself between my open thighs, the tip of her pink rubber strap on nuzzling my swollen sex lips as she switched on the little vibrator that was attached to the upper side of its shaft.

I felt the hard rubber head slide inside me, the shaft now rubbing against the living cock in my bottom as twenty-six thrust slow and deep, ensuring that the vibrator tip pressed against the little Triskele button for a long moment on each inthrust, making me squeal behind the gag, my pussy and bottom clamping tightly on strap on and living cock, before letting the rubber shaft slide slowly back out again. The Master transferred his grip from my thighs to under my arms, the pressure on my already tightly stretched anal ring increasing until my eyes rolled back in my head from the pleasure of it, as my nubbin transmitted the incredible vibrations from my button deep inside my belly to swell the ecstatic release building there to an explosive climax, my teeth breaking the smooth surface of the rubber gag ball as twenty-six’s belly and thighs were sprayed with my hot juices, my vagina and bottom squeezing and relaxing in uncontrollable spasms, that brought the Master on in strong throbbing spurts, his gasps of delight so sweet to the ears of the slave whose body had brought him such pleasure.

Master Zhang’s ‘Red House’ was, of all things, a very expensive Chinese restaurant, although it would be better described as a small, very exclusive club. A ground floor restaurant and kitchens stood over a large basement bar. The upper floors contained luxuriously decorated bedrooms, some conventional, others more exotically equipped. A hidden staircase connected the bedroom levels with a specially constructed sub-basement, where the house complement of twenty pleasure slaves trained with their handlers and prepared for their duties at the start of each day. Master Zhang’s office occupied the top floor, although he rarely used it, or even visited the Red House. Masters visited the house regularly, although rarely in the early morning, as they were as interested in the slave girls being kept in shape as we slave girls ourselves, but from mid-morning until early evening, it was unusual for less than five or six of the bedrooms to be in use at any given time, the delicious sounds of pleasure slaves hard at work serving Masters making the other girls both aroused and jealous as they busied themselves with the routine domestic tasks of the house.

As late afternoon became evening, our handlers supervised our preparations for the night ahead, ensuring we brushed our pony tails to a glossy sheen, that our nails were properly varnished, that our bodies were completely free of even the tiniest bristle of hair (unnecessary in my case, obviously), that our lips were glossed to a deep red sheen. They unharnessed us moments before we all stepped into our tight and revealing red dresses, their low cut backs making our slave tattoos clearly visible, and buckled on our toe crushing red high heeled patent shoes. While most of us descended to the basement bar, to sip mineral water from expensive crystal cut glasses while bottles of expensive champagne sat in ice buckets for the Masters who would soon arrive, girls who had been specifically requested would alight from the elevator in the restaurant instead, to nibble on salads while they flirted with the Master who had requested their company for that evening.

To date, no Master had requested the pleasure of slave sixty-eight’s company for dinner; apparently she was considered to be a little too unemotional for pleasant conversation by the Masters who visited the red house, although she was very much in demand after dinner! I often found myself in one of the abundantly illegal bahis well-equipped pleasure rooms serving three or four Masters at once, my Triskele button a constant source of fascination and amusement to most of them. Masters would occasionally bring female guests of their own to the Red House; some of these were personal slaves of the individual Master, but wives and even girlfriends who could be trusted to be discrete also visited and were entertained by the House girls, although never unaccompanied by a Master. I had even been informed by thirty-four, a stunning redhead (so her service in Red House had obviously been a done deal!) that I had replaced sixty-three, a girl who had recently been bought from Master Zhang for an eye-watering sum, although neither Master nor slave girl had been seen in the Red House since.

That evening, as I sat sipping my mineral water, watching beads of moisture roll down the champagne bottle in the ice bucket nearest to me, a tall, muscular, handsome, ebony skinned Master sat down in the chair directly across from me.

“Sixty-eight.” he said with a definite American accent “Reminds me of a joke I heard once.”

I smiled a little. It was strange to have a Master trying to put me at ease, all things considered.

“I think I’ve heard it, too, Master.” was my reply.

He picked up a glass from the table and held it out to me for filling. I poured him a glass of the vintage champagne as I’d been trained to do during my orientation for service in the Red House. Once I’d replaced the bottle, he handed me the filled glass, then filled another for himself.

“Oh, I’m fine, Master.” I said “This isn’t necessary.”

“I think the Master gets to make the decisions, isn’t that correct?” he said, grinning. “And I require that you share this bottle of excellent champagne with me.”

“Yes Master.” I giggled and sipped, slowly.

Slaves weren’t forbidden to drink with the Master who’d selected them, but actually getting drunk with one attracted severe and painful punishment, since it would inevitably impair the girl’s ability to please the Master. So, I sipped at the glass, very slowly, occasionally tipping a little out when he was distracted as we’d been taught to do in these situations. When the first bottle was drained he asked the waiter for a second to be sent upstairs ahead of us, then he held out his hand, like a gentleman, and took mine to lead me to the small dance floor.

“I can’t dance, Master, sorry.” I apologised.

“Of course you can,” he replied “you’re a human being, aren’t you?”

We then spent a very pleasant half hour, at least, on the dance floor as he taught me some basic steps. I laughed, he smiled and held me close. Eventually he had me take his arm as we walked together to the elevator, as if I were a date rather than a slave girl duty bound to please him in any way he desired. Once in my room, I shed my dress and, unbuckling the straps of my heels, stepped out of them and assumed the basic uncuffed pose. He looked down at me for a long moment before he spoke:

“Take that…whatever it’s called from your hair, please.” he requested, startling me a little. “And does that collar come off?”

I undid the clasp that held my ponytail in place, letting my long chestnut hair fall over my shoulders.

“The collar cannot be removed, Master. The girl apologises.”

He leaned down and, gripping the medallion with my number on it, twisted the entire collar round my neck so the medallion was at the back, out of sight.

“That’s better.” he said. “Now, what’s your name, what do I call you?”

I thought about that for a moment and decided that if I didn’t offer him a name, this perfect gentleman would simply give me one.

“Lindsay.” I said, surprising myself.

“Lindsay it is.” he said “Come here, Lindsay.”

“Yes Master.” I replied, smiling at him.

“Your Master commands you to call him by his name, which is Marcus.” he answered.

“Yes, Marcus, Lindsay understands.” I said as I moved towards him.

Before Gynestar had transformed me, I had occasionally wondered what kind of man I would be interested in if I ever woke up one morning to find that I’d become a woman. As I slowly undressed Marcus, the fantasy lover I’d decided upon for my (then!) non-existent female self came to life before my eyes. The incredible bronze skin on his flawless, muscular body made him look like a living statue in the soft light of the room, his pectorals and abs like cast metal that I yearned to explore with my fingers and tongue. His magnificent cock, the swollen head a delicious purple bronze colour was the most beautiful manhood I had ever seen, my throat aching so badly to feel it sliding down that I moaned softly in frustration as he laid me on the bed rather than making me kneel to worship it. His lips sought my nipples as he gently stroked his fingers down my belly, his hand cupping its upcurve gently as he kissed my breasts, my hard casino siteleri little teats, the little space between my collar bones, my neck, under and behind my ears.

I may have lost count of the number of Masters who had used my body since Gynestar sold me to Master Zhang, but until this night the number of Masters who had treated me with any sort of affection or respect during their use of me had been an easily countable zero. His lips met mine, sending an electric shock of pleasure through me as I kissed as a woman for the first time ever, my lips parting to receive his tongue as mine twined round his, my hips lifting my belly harder against his fingers as he began to kiss his way down my body, his teeth gently gripping the smooth skin of my mound as he sucked it softly, his long fingers stroking and gently pinching my inner labia to sweet juicy plumpness. His fingertip then rubbed softly against the Triskele button; he pushed himself up on his incredible arms and looked down between my open thighs as I looked to one side, mortified.

“What…what is that?” he asked incredulously.

“My button, Marcus.” I answered. “To control my pleasure.”

“Control your pleasure?” he asked. “How, exactly?”

“The button encapsulates my nubbin and prevents it from being directly stimulated when I am being used, Marcus,” I explained “a vibrator is needed to give me release.”

He slid down the bed, until his face was close to my pussy. He studied the little metal sphere for a time, rubbed it with his thumb, gripped it and gently pulled on it, bringing a low moan from deep in my throat. He then looked up at me and grinned.

“Let’s see about that, shall we?” he said.

He made me sit on my heels with my thighs spread wide open, knees sharply bent. Then he made my lean my upper body back on my hands, so I was effectively offering my sex to him as he knelt in front of me. I looked down my body as his tongue slowly licked and explored the folds of my pussy, my hips bucking as he thrust his tongue inside me, followed by two of his long sensitive fingers. His tongue slipped under the button, lifting it so his lips could grip it. Then, as his fingers pumped in and out of the tightly squeezing grasp of my vagina, he sucked on the Triskele button so that long, slow, pulsing darts of pleasure radiated from my nubbin as the metal ball lifted and fell as he sucked on it, the delicious tugging on my pleasure button making me pant and gasp with delight as I lifted my bottom higher, making my pussy an altar for the bronze god who had made me his slave for the night. My rewards for my offering were deep screams of ecstatic release as the sucking, tugging sensation on my clitty brought on an explosion of pleasure deep in my belly, hot juices spraying his lips and chin as my bottom bounced against my ankles.

His strong tongue lapped at my pussy as I pressed my sex hard against his lips, until he suddenly rose up on his magnificent arms again, then thrust with his thighs and hips until his cockhead was pressing against the entrance to my pussy, urgently seeking to push deep inside me. I dropped my shoulders to the bed, pushing my toes outwards as I lifted my hips to receive him, groaning as his girth stretched my inner tightness wide as his bronze cockflesh inserted deep, so amazingly deep, in my little belly. I sobbed aloud at the joy of feeling him move and thrust within me, my vaginal walls contracting and relaxing in rhythm with his hip movements, bringing me on again and again. He smiled down at me as I looked up at him adoringly, until he finally grimaced as the spasms of pleasure in his cockstem became an uncontrollable pumping, throbbing release, as we groaned and sighed together in the sweet delirium of mutual orgasm.

We lay together in my bed, my head on his chest as I stroked my fingers slowly over his rippling abdominals. So this is what it’s like to be in a loving relationship, I thought to myself, as he gently caressed my lips with the tip of his finger. My exploring fingers rubbed softly in the close shaved hair of his pubis, his cock beginning to stiffen again as my nails moved lightly along its length, drawing little caressing circles on the beautiful dark skin, tracing the thick veins upwards to the magnificent plum, rubbing the frenulum with the pad of my forefinger while I pressed the on the back of the head with my thumb, all the time looking into Marcus’s eyes as they glinted mischievously. I licked my lips slowly and lasciviously.

“You’re a small girl,” he said “do you think you can manage what I know you want to do?”

“Well, I do love a challenge, my sweet Marcus.” I giggled.

I began to kiss and lick my way down his stomach, the arousal in my belly swelling and insinuating its tendrils into my sex lips and nubbin once more, the little pleasure bud already squeezing hard against its platinum prison as my tongue slid over the undulations of Marcus’s abs. His strong fingers suddenly gripped my bottom on the side poker siteleri nearest to his body, as he drew my hips into position over his face: I lifted my knee over his head so that my thighs were on either side of his face. I was now looking directly at the tip of his cock, clear fluid already welling in the opening that I slowly dipped my tongue stud into, rubbing the clear precum over the purple hued flesh at first, then sipping it like nectar through pursed lips as my fingers continued to stroke the shaft to rock harness. I moved my lips over the glans to stroke the fleshy ridges on the underside with my tongue tip, then used the very tip of my tongue to caress the frenulum in a tiny circular movement, his groan of delight making my arousal flare up from deep inside me, so I lowered my sex lips to his mouth at the moment he lifted his head and pulled my hips downwards. Marcus’s tongue explored the folds of my pussy slowly and delicately as I took the head of his cock between my lips, sealing my mouth round the head itself as my fingers began to slide up and down the shaft, the little metal ball in my tongue massaging the upper surface of the head before I began to slide my tongue round and round the slippery plum, moaning softly as his tongue pushed deep within my sex as he spread my swollen inner labia with his fingers. My lips began to slide slowly down the thick shaft, my nostrils flaring as I began to force air through my nose into my airway. Marcus groaned as his hips lifted; I continued to push my lips down the shaft, my mouth opening almost painfully wide as my lips gloved his beautiful cock all the way to the base, my nose rubbing against the thick skin of his ballocks as I held his cockhead deeper in my throat than any I’d ever had in my mouth before, finally experiencing the sensation of having my throat blocked by the glans of a cock. I held my lips pressed to the base of the shaft as long as I could, then slowly eased my mouth back enough to allow me to breathe, before letting the head fill the soft constriction of my airway once again.

“Christ, girl,” Marcus gasped “I didn’t think you’d be able to do that!”

Letting his cock slide completely from my lips, I turned my head to look up at him, while caressing the thick shaft with my other cheek. “Believe me Marcus, Christ has nothing to do with how well I do that!” I replied, before my lips slid all the way back down to the base of his gorgeous manhood, my mouth twisting on the shaft all the way down.

I continued to pleasure his cock with my skilled mouth and throat this way as he sucked on the little Triskele button, his long slender fingers sometimes pistoning in and out of my pussy, sometimes held inside me with the tips rubbing the front wall, or pumping with his fingers twisted one over the other, or slowly pinching and pulling on my plumped sex lips. I swallowed over and over as his full, thick load jetted into my throat, my juices spraying his face as he made me come for him again and again, until at last I slept with my head nestled on his chest, his muscular arms enfolding me protectively, lovingly.

The next morning, he ordered breakfast for both of us and commanded me to share the meal with him. I hadn’t tasted bacon or eggs, or even hot buttered toast since before my transformation, so I was only too happy to obey. We conversed as we ate together, like lovers on vacation in an expensive hotel. Eventually, I brought the conversation round to the question that had occupied me throughout our time together:

“I have to say, Marcus, that your behaviour has surprised me from the very start.” I said. “You don’t behave towards slaves like any other Master I’ve met so far.”

“I don`t hold with that ‘master and slave’ bullshit, girl,” he replied “I`m here because an old friend of mine asked me to check up on you, see how you are doing since you and she parted ways.”

“You mean Gynestar.” I said.

“That`s not the name she uses when she`s in the States, but yes.” He replied.

The bubble of pain in my breast that expanded whenever I thought of Gyn was back, only this time it burned within me, feelings of betrayal, abandonment, isolation and deep loss washing over me until I finally forced it back down inside me again. I put down the piece of toast I had been happily munching upon, slid off the chair that I’d been fooling myself that I was allowed to sit in. I adopted the basic uncuffed pose, my eyes fixed at the level of his crotch.

“Can the Master please advise Gynestar that slave sixty-eight is not interested in her concerns for her welfare, that the girl is perfectly content with the bargain they made.”

“I’ll tell her.” he said.

“The girl also requests that the Master treat her as what she is, a vessel for his sexual pleasure, rather than a free woman to be seduced and made love to.” I continued.

“I don’t understand.” he said.

I looked up at him, breaking pose and protocol and spoke again.

“Either be a Master to me, Marcus, or leave me alone please.”

He dressed and left without another word to me as I remained kneeling on the floor. I held my pose until he was gone, then stood up and began to clean up my room, resuming my duties as part of the slave girl complement of Master Zhang`s Red House.

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