by Cyan
Copyright 2003 by Cyan
All Rights Reserved; No Redistribution.
The sound of the opening door woke me completely. As I quickly stood at the foot of my cot I had a vague feeling that it had been different once: something...
She walked by, looking at each of us, up and down. "Turn," she barked, a few cots down. I didn't dare look: my eyes were to be forward and that's where I kept them. Hearing the smack of the cane I wondered who it was. 932? She resumed her steps and finally came back into view. I sense 801 next to me shiver in fear. Not 801, I thought, trying to sway the Super through telepathy or some such thing. Be calm, I told 801 in my mind. And I felt relief when the Super stepped in front of me.
The Super looked into my eyes, then up and down. Then she walked on and I nearly sighed in relief but caught myself in time.
But she must have picked it up because she turned back to me and looked into my eyes again. "Turn," she said with a little smile.
No my mind screamed. I turned, quickly. She seemed to take her time and I felt I was about to shudder from the dread. Then it exploded in me, in my rear, the pain.
Then she ran the cane up my side, just touching me, over my back and down my other side. I just knew she was going to give me another. But she withdrew it and I heard her walk on. I quickly turned back into position, keeping every excess movement in check. The hint of a memory struck me again.
Memory. All I could remember were days and days. Get up, inspection, work, punishment. The cane. The Supers. Obedience. Service. The Ladies...
A bed. "OK, move!" barked the Super. We all turned to our left and walked, single file. It was our morning opportunity for relief.
Waiting in line, I found myself mulling over the vague memory. A bed, soft, sleeping until...
I couldn't quite place it. If it were a dream, where could it come from? Of course, it was all very ordinary, but...
I stepped forward as the line moved, my feet moving automatically. It had been drilled into me and the Super was walking up and down the line, cane in hand. A bed is a normal way to sleep, the thought struck me. Cots aren't. But how would I know that? Where had I come to know that? I watched the Super walking forward toward the front of the queue. Taking my opportunity, I moved closer to 801, my body touching hers. We dared not speak but I felt her response, an easing of the tension.
She'd told me, in whispers at night, as we held hands, cots side by side. Her fear of the cane. I imagined being in a bed, with 801. I'd once slept with someone in that manner, the thought came to me. Why was I here?
It was all vague, but I found that once I'd touched on a memory it was as if it had always been there and I simply hadn't brought it to mind. A bedroom, a bed, a man. The Super had turned and was coming back. She was amazingly beautiful. Perhaps she was chosen for that: the Ladies usually took the Supers.
We'd reached the front of the queue, then 801 and I ended up side by side. The others before us had gone on to Mess and were no doubt at work. I pretended to take a little longer than necessary so I could manage to wait for 801, then wondered whether she were doing the same. I also wondered if we should cool it: the Super was bound to notice.
We ate in silence, as we did everything. Three Supers stood around watching the huge group of women. 801 sat across from me, but our only communication was an occasional meeting of the eyes. Bodies touching: I used to touch his body, in a bed. My husband.
It was no more than an ordinary life, what I'd had. I tried to recall more. When had that been? What had changed? I couldn't remember. After lunch we went to work. A Lady came by, looked the Super up and down, then began looking at us. She took 801. I watched the two women walk away, the neatly dressed Lady and the nude beauty.
She was a beauty and was often taken. I wondered if she should be made a Super but she didn't have the personality for it. I knew what a Super's personality should be. Could I be one? I was afraid to delve into that question. Work: there had used to be work of another sort. Business. People, dressed, offices, lunches. I sensed a Super close by and focused on the cultivation I was assigned to do: flowers for Her.
Her, that's what they called Her. No name, no title. I could see the fear in the women, Supers, even Ladies, when occasion rose to mention Her. Sometimes someone was brought directly to Her rather than simply providing a Lady with some amusement. I noticed another Lady approaching and focused again on my task. Carefully watching, I saw her approach the Super. The Super was beautiful: perhaps we'd have a substitute for the rest of the day. They talked. I wondered what 801 was being made to do at that moment. They said the cane was often involved...
I'd never been chosen. Not until that point. I saw the Lady and the Super look my way, then the Lady came over. "Come," she said. I obeyed quickly.
Chosen! I knew I needed to keep my wits about me. We walked, out of the garden, into corridors where I'd never been. Ordinary corridors, not the concrete and mortar where we stayed. The Lady was stunning, they always are, even more so than the Supers. Is that how they were selected? By Her?
Corridors, with tables and mirrors and chairs. Like a hotel. I'd stayed in hotels, with my husband on vacation, on business trips...
Our honeymoon. His name had been Jim. We'd been husband and wife, with our own place. The Lady turned to me and I obediently stopped. We were at a door and it seemed we might enter. She looked at my face, then took my chin in her hand to help inspect. "You were caned this morning?" she asked.
"Yes, My Lady."
"Good." She gave a slight smile, then led the way into the room. This is what 801 so often had to endure, I thought. She was chosen again and again. I did remember first meeting 801: I couldn't remember how many days, but when we'd received our sleeping assignments, there she was, in the cot next to mine. The room we'd just entered was an office. My office, back then, had been smaller and more plain. A woman sat at a desk. Another Lady. "423," she said.
"Yes, My Lady," I answered.
She stood. "Do you like the cane?"
"No, My Lady."
She came around the desk, "Kneel," she said. I knew what was good for me. "Some learn to like it," she mused, standing above me. We were in front of her desk and close, even as she leaned back against it. She raised her skirt, revealing that she wore nothing underneath. The other Lady came into view: she had removed her own skirt and was naked below the waist. The two kissed. Then the Lady who had brought me pushed my head, toward the Lady at the desk.
I knew what a Lady wants. One always knew that, even if one were never chosen, even if one had never had occasion to make use of it. The Lady who brought me stood behind me, approaching closer, forcing my head forward with her own body. I did what was expected of me. Above me, they kissed again.
I did my best, knowing what I must do. I knew I was being given no choice but this was so much better than the rough ways of the Supers. I heard response in the Lady's breathing. I wondered whether my ministrations were doing it. It could be the kiss. Suddenly they broke apart and I was pulled to standing. The Lady whom I had just served looked into my eyes. The Lady behind me pushed her body against mine so the three of us were pressed together. I felt her crotch against my rear, rubbing and thrusting. The Lady at the desk stood and positioned our legs so my thigh was on her and hers on me, there. They held each other around me, crushing me. She kissed me, the Lady in front. Her tongue invaded my mouth.
I think we all three came: I needed their support lest I fall. Supers seldom let us come. We stood together a long time, minutes, saying nothing. Finally the Lady in front of me backed away again and I found myself held by the other Lady from behind. She held my arms and pulled them behind me. The Lady in front walked to the side of the room and came back. With a cane.
She looked vaguely familiar. Since I'd just watched her intently, I wondered if my mind were playing tricks. I lost view of her as the Lady behind me positioned me over the side of the desk. I discovered my wrists were now bound behind me. The Lady who put me there joined me, positioning herself in similar fashion next to me.
"Cute," said the Lady with the cane. God I hated the cane. I wondered whether I should pretend to like it: would that please these Ladies? She looked so familiar, I'd seen her. On a plane, on a trip. I heard her swing the cane, as if to practice, but I knew it was to increase my dread. I wondered how I knew such a thing so readily. Finally she swung and pain consumed me.
It was five, then she stopped. I was breathing rapidly: I'd never suffered such punishment and was far from used to it. Thankfully Supers only give one at a time. Then she started on the Lady. The punished Lady gasped and whimpered. I'd been obediently silent. Perhaps Ladies don't have to be quite so careful. She received five too. "Stand" said the Lady with the cane.
Yes, I definitely remembered this Lady. From back then. Before. Still I wondered, what had happened? It had been on a trip, a jet. I'd found myself moved to first class because of overcrowding or something and she'd been there, sitting across the aisle. I remembered her because after drinking she'd become woozy. She walked in front of us as if to inspect. She took my face again, looking at it carefully, then did the same to the other Lady. I sensed there were levels, higher Ladies and lower. Or maybe this was Her.
I dismissed the idea, it was all too mundane. I couldn't imagine Her but I knew there had to be more than this if I were ever brought into Her presence. And why would I ever be chosen to attend to Her? I remembered this Lady from the plane, an ordinary if beautiful woman. Drinking. They actually had to escort her off the plane before the rest of us, in a daze. Another passenger had helped, another woman. I figured they had been flying together. "Kneel," she said. We both knelt. She still held the cane and I was very nervous. She tapped my rear with it as I knelt, but it was just as if to touch it. My wrists were still bound. "OK, you can go," she said.
The Lady next to me jumped up and pulled me up. Then, looking gleeful, she led me to a door and through it. It had definitely been the same woman, that woman on the plane. Dazed and drunk. Now she was here. The room we entered was a bedroom. The Lady pulled off the rest of her clothes and pushed me face down onto the bed. Turning my head I watched her. She was putting on a strap-on dildo. "Look away," she said.
I obeyed as I must. I felt her getting on the bed, then her fingers were on my rear, with a lubricant. I knew what she intended. I'd never done such a thing and wondered what it would be like. Not even with Jim. My husband: we used to have sex: gentle sex. After a few seconds, she slapped my rear cheek. I was so surprised I barely held my silence, in fact I might have let out a little squeak. But it just appeared to amuse her. I lay, wrists still bound, awaiting my fate, as I must.
"Be good and I'll let you take it slowly," she said. I felt her body over mine and felt the thing placed. "OK, relax it," she said.
She was patient. I willed my body to obey. We were in the same position for more than a minute, then finally she entered. I heard her sigh. Then, ever so slowly, she pushed it in further. Finally her crotch was pressed against my rear.
She didn't move for minutes. I thought about the plane, the woman, now a Lady. Did Ladies travel sometimes? I knew I'd been on many such trips before. I'd even been moved to first class on other trips. I remembered...
Finally she moved, starting to pump slowly in and out. "I should have released your wrists so you could touch yourself," she said. Stopping briefly, she slid her hand under my hip and touched me. I realized I was much more turned on than I'd suspected. "You like this," she said. "Perhaps you'll make progress with the cane..."
That would never happen. I thought about how I'd just been caned and now I was aroused, but it hadn't been related. It couldn't be: it was impossible. It was despite the caning. I was certain of it. I believed it when they said sometimes it was different, but I knew that couldn't happen to me. She withdrew her hand and started pumping again. "Nice?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I want you to come," she said. She still kept pumping, slowly. She had been so slow and patient that it hadn't hurt at all. I wondered if I'd get sore and felt I'd better come quickly. Would she stop then? What about herself? Plane trips, business, conventions. I recalled a client that I'd recognized when I'd sat next to her. I'd figured she'd fly first class all the time and had even speculated that she could have owned her own jet had she so chosen. She was wealthy, very wealthy. She'd remembered me that time and had been friendly. We'd drank.
My body seemed to respond strongly to the anal sex. I thought about how Jim and I had never tried it. I knew I was going to come, even with no fingers to help. My nipples were against the quilt on the bed and I was not completely still, maybe that was helping. She still didn't speed up. I was coming closer and closer. "Yes, you definitely like it," she said. Closer...
I wondered if I'd ever come like that before. We turned sideways and she withdrew. I was pretty sure she hadn't come and was also pretty sure she'd have me rectify that somehow. I felt her remove the thing, then she unbound my wrists. "My pretty," she said, talking like a wicked witch. She turned my face around and kissed me.
We kissed for minutes. Finally she pulled me down so my head was near her chest. She held me close, like a lover. "Can you take me?" she said.
"What?" I said, losing all my training in surprise.
She let go and stood. She brought back another strap-on dildo. I realized she wanted me to wear it. "We're alike, I think," she said, smiling. Somehow I was afraid of it and she must have seen that. "Don't feel you're ready for it?" she asked. "You'd best ready yourself for anything. You're going to be taken to Her."
I almost fainted, even as I lay on the bed. She watched me as if to gauge my reaction. Why me? The Supers were so beautiful. The Ladies were so beautiful, every one of them a stunner. Was I beautiful? It was obvious that beauty meant a lot to Her, given the way things were organized. As she watched me, smiling, she came over and straddled me and I found myself on my back looking up at her. "Touch my breasts," she said. I obeyed.
She obviously liked the touch. Was that all I was going to have to do to service her? Had she been telling the truth? Me, being taken to Her? As I touched, gently, my fingers on her nipples, she became much more aroused. She would come. Would once be enough?
She shifted forward suddenly, her crotch over my mouth. I certainly knew what was expected. I felt her come.
We showered together. Soaping each other, much more personal than the supervised showers we were allowed. 801 and I had to avoid any sign that we stayed close on purpose. Always that beautiful Super standing there, watching. The punishment if she caught us. Or the sex: Supers were anything but gentle. But with this Lady, our hands were on each other. I dreamed of such an opportunity with 801. Did I want wild, lustful sex with 801, like I'd just had with these Ladies? The Lady dried me and I dried her in turn. We lotioned each other. She had me help her dress as if I were her lady's maid. Then she smiled at me and kissed me: "Buck up; you'll survive."
She was talking about being taken to Her. She took me back out into the office: the other Lady was on the telephone as we walked through. Once back in the corridor, she put her hand on my rear. That's how we walked, further and further. Up stairs. Into an older-style area of...
Of, well, wherever this place was where I was living. I couldn't remember anything: how I'd got there, just days and days of--work. The decor as we walked seemed to become more and more sumptuous. I was being taken to Her. I felt my heart thudding. We reached a room where another Lady sat at a desk. Her? No, I decided. This new Lady looked up at us and the two of us sat down. Just like a waiting room. "We have to be patient," said the Lady who had brought me.
I said nothing: I was trained to say nothing if I hadn't been asked to speak. "Listen," she said: "you'll tell me what she's like?"
She'd never met Her. I'd been long trained to silence and was seldom asked anything, and all I could manage was a quick nod of my head.
Then we sat. And sat. The Lady at the desk seemed intent on some work. The Lady who brought me sat with me, side by side on a couch. I remembered a couch, in my own house, with Jim...
Memories came back. My job. Trips, conventions. First class. The woozy woman, now a Lady. Another convention, first class again. The client, rich, nearly famous, sitting next to me. Drinking. Feeling woozy. I'd become woozy, we'd had a drink and I'd soon felt I wasn't paying attention to things. The client, I tried to remember her name. Or her face; I knew she wasn't very old. Stephanie--Stephanie Crawford. The Crawford fortune, the heiress. I'd been so flattered that she actually remembered me. She said she'd seen me enter the plane and had made first class arrangements on the spot. She'd seemed so glad to find me, I felt she actually liked me. I tried to remember her face. The plane hadn't been crowded, but the airline knew her. I knew I should remember it, something... "Come," said the Lady at the desk.
I stood, the Lady who brought me standing as well. "Good luck," she whispered and kissed my cheek. She treated me like a friend. I knew this was all just one day, but here I was learning what became of the Supers, of the others when they were chosen. But I knew what I was being led into now was a rare event for anyone.
As the Lady at the desk stood, I realized she was absolutely stunning, like a Supermodel. She walked to a door and indicated I should follow. I hadn't noticed anything to signal that it was time: her fancy desk showed no hint of an intercom. Fancy desks and intercoms, waiting for my appointment. I was almost living a moment from my other life though my nudity was a concrete reminder that I was in a truly different reality. It merely reminded me of those times...
The Lady opened the door, motioning for me to go through.
The room was indescribable: part office, part bedroom, or perhaps better termed, part boudoir, it was so fancy. Part living room, with a huge window looking out over gardens. I knew well how those gardens were kept up. She was across the room, standing, looking out the window, fifty feet away at least. She looked to be in thought. I stood nervously as I heard the door shut behind me. She turned from the window and began to walk toward me.
And then I remembered: remembered Stephanie Crawford's face. Now that I'd seen 801 in clothes, it all came clear. She smiled at me as She approached. She held a cane.
Cyan Stories
Erotic fiction, sex stories, for erotica lovers.