From the Top Shelf - Enslaved

"The Slave" by Julia Morizawa is about a man and a woman who are passionately involved with one other, but only in. A physical way. They are not committed; love is not part of the equation. Well, not for a while, anyway. But here's a peek at some of their fun.

We liked to play games with each other. Our favourite was when he played the Master and I was his Slave. He'd call me up in the middle of the night and demand a full-body massage. If I was in the mood, which I often was, I'd make the short drive to his apartment, struggle to find parking, and enter his room at his complete service. When I'd arrive, I'd find him already in bed, lying on his stomach completely naked. I could see the stiffness in his toned, hairless back. The relaxed muscles of his ass. The blond hair coating the skin on his legs. I often wanted to climb on top of him right then and there. But I knew I had to be a good girl and be patient, giving him what he had called me over for first.... Sometimes the massage would last for as long as half an hour, but usually, he'd want to take it elsewhere after several minutes. He'd flip me over, interrupting his work.

"Get off of me! Lay down on the bed," he'd demand.

I'd do as I was told, knowing what would be coming. He kept a line of rope wrapped loosely around one of the bedposts. He'd use it to tie my wrists together above my head and secure me to the bed. I wasn't allowed to talk unless he gave me permission or wanted answer to a question. I'd have to finish everything I said with "Master."

...He'd ask me if he was better than other men. If he had more stamina. If he made me come better and faster. He'd demand I talk dirty to him. He'd demand I describe how I wanted him to fuck me and where. And who would be watching. Eventually, I'd say something that didn't satisfy him.

"That's not what I want to hear!" he'd scream.  Then he'd flip me over, my wrists still attached to the bedpost. He'd grab me by the waist and force me onto my knees. He'd pull his arm back and slap my ass. He'd slap me so hard I could feel the heat soar up into my arms. And he wouldn't stop until I'd apologized. I'd hold out until the pain was too much to take.

"I'm sorry, Master," I'd cry out. "Please forgive me, I'll do what ever you want, Master."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise, Master."

He'd stop the hits, but keep his hand tight around my ass, pulling the cheeks wide apart.

"I believe you," he'd respond. "But this will teach you to be more careful next time."

From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica, Volume 8, edited by Maxim Jakubowski.