Page 18 of Dozer (Rolling Thunder MC #14)
Chapter 18
Daisy
It turns out, the orgasms Dray had given me weren’t all that good. I’d thought they were the Best.Thing.Ever!
But I’d had nothing to compare them to. Now, I realized they kind of sucked.
Even in my ass, hurting the fuck out of me, he made me fucking orgasm, and the damned thing nearly took the top of my head off.
Master put his jeans back on seconds after we were finished. Was this part of the training, for me to always be naked while he was always clothed? I’d assumed, while he fucked me, that he’d kept me from seeing his dick so I wouldn’t be afraid, but now I knew it was freakishly huge, so there was no reason to keep it hidden anymore. Right?
And I was curious. It seemed the head of his dick was twice as big around as the shaft. I’m sure it was just the way it felt, opening my ass over and over, but damn, the head hurt so much worse than the rest of his dick. Well, until he went so fast the friction made everything even more hot. I squeezed everything and thought it wouldn’t take much for me to orgasm again despite how badly everything down there hurt. Not just the entrances, but deep up inside me, too.
But the orgasm had been more intense than anything I’d ever experienced, and I had no idea what to do with that.
He finally took the damned neck-brace-collar off, and I was so relieved to have the freedom to look around. I hadn’t liked it at all, but no way could I tell him, because I wasn’t allowed to speak unless he asked a direct question.
Master was super gentle with me, as always, unwrapping the bindings to release my arms and legs, and slowly moving my legs down. He massaged my hips and thighs to get the stiffness out of them after being bound so long, and then carried me to a bedroom and tucked me into a bed. An actual fucking bed .
He put the collar he most often used on me, the one with the big metal ring at the front, and then chained my wrist cuffs to my collar. I had enough length I could touch my face, but not enough to reach my belly button — or anything lower. It was comfortable enough, and way better than being chained sitting with my back to a wall, or leaned over a sawhorse and hung by a waist cincher, or bound sitting on a dildo in a straight-backed wooden chair with a fucking butt plug crammed up my ass. It was a bed, with sheets and blankets, and my eyes closed in bliss.
“You pleased me, so you get to be comfortable while I shower and change clothes. If you’d displeased me, you’d kneel on rice while you waited for me to shower and cook breakfast. I’ll come get you before I begin cooking, and I’m going to allow a free period of speech while I prepare our meal. Think about what you want to tell me, because this won’t be about you asking me questions, but about telling me the things you think I should know about you . Hobbies, talents, shortcomings. Also, in the coming weeks you’ll be allowed some free time most days, to engage in an activity I approve of, so this will be your opportunity to begin telling me the things you’d like to do in your recreation time, but we have some time before it’ll begin happening, so if you want to prioritize something else, that’s fine.”
Before he closed the door and locked me in, he added, “Traditional pronouns will be expected during this conversation because the point will be for you to tell me about yourself. Mostly, a slave should be focused on her Master rather than herself, but it’s also important your Master understands you, which means there’ll be times I’ll want you to speak of yourself.”
He already knew my favorite foods, my most hated foods, my favorite and least liked color, my favorite number, all my clothing sizes, my shoe size, my bra size.
And I guess now I understood why he’d measured my damned neck. Fuck , but that collar had been hideous.
I was getting used to this one, though. You put a collar on a dog, and yes, part of the reason is so you can control them, but it’s also a statement of ownership. My life was hell, but Master was kind most of the time. He was training me to be the slave he wanted. It meant something.
When he returned from the shower, he ordered me into a position that spread me out again, but he looked really displeased when I moved into it. He didn’t say anything, though. He held a flashlight and looked my pussy and asshole over as if he were a doctor, even putting two fingers in my pussy first and spreading it open to look at it, and then doing the same with my asshole. It hurt, and a grunt escaped, but I managed to be silent, otherwise.
Asking questions could get me in trouble, but I was learning how to speak when I didn’t have permission so I didn’t piss him off. He’d still punish me for it on principle, but he’d also eventually give me an answer. Not right away, but within a few hours, usually.
“Master isn’t pleased, and his slave doesn’t understand what she’s doing wrong.”
“We’re going to have our talk, little bitch. Trying to act up so I’ll gag you isn’t going to get you out of it.”
I hadn’t been trying to get out of our talk! I was trying to figure out how to word a sentence to tell him that when he took a deep breath and gave me a surprised look.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had that wrong, didn’t I? You’re really upset that I wasn’t pleased with your change in positions?”
I nodded, remembered he wanted a verbal answer after a direct question, and said, “Yes, Master.”
His face went soft, and he sat me up, leaned in, and kissed my nose.
“You aren’t moving between positions the way I expect you to, but it’s because I haven’t figured out how to train you to do it with grace, yet. My failing, not yours. You’ve learned the positions and never falter when I tell you how I want you, we just need to work on moving between them like a dancer. It isn’t about logistics, but about poise and grace. We’ll get there, little flower.”
It was the first time he’d called me that, and my insides went all gooey. You’d think someone would’ve called me that before, but no one ever had. Of course, I’d only ever had three boyfriends, and I’d only had sex with Dray.
And it turns out, he hadn’t been all that good in the sack.
It’s probably like driving a piece-of-shit car when you learn, and never knowing it drove terribly. I’d started out with a Porsche, and hadn’t known how much better it drives than normal cars.
And then I’d run away with my scam-artist boyfriend, who’d only known how to jack older cars, and I’d learned really fast how boring and difficult it can be to drive a shitty car.
I’d had no idea Dray was a nineteen-eighties, four-cylinder, two-wheel-drive compact truck while Master was… fuck , not a Porsche, because they’re sleek. Master was a BMW fucking X model — and not just any X. Oh no, Master was the X7. Big and powerful while also being… shit , I wanted to giggle when I thought of him as the ultimate driving machine, though in his case, it was more like a piledriver, and I was pretty sure that hadn’t been what the Beamer people had meant. And to be clear, he doesn’t drive a BMW, he drives a Dodge Ramcharger, but my imagination has never cared much about reality.
“What’s going through your head, little Daisy May?”
The rule is, I have to be completely honest when he asks a question, and somehow, he knows when I’m not. I have no idea how he knows, but he does.
But no way was I telling him all of that, so I tried to just tell him the last part — and I took him at his word that he wanted me to talk about myself, so I didn’t fuck with figuring out how to word things without personal pronouns.
“I like cars, Master.” I’d learned to get the honorific out of the way at the start, so I didn’t forget. “My dad’s a car guy, and my first car was a brand-new Porsche. A year later, he got me a Jag for my birthday, but only after he made me test drive dozens of cars and make lists about what I liked and disliked about each. He made sure I could drive all of his cars, too. He said if the two of us were out and he decided to drink, he wanted to feel confident I could drive his vehicle. Also, he said if there was a medical emergency when I was out with anyone, friend or relative, it was important I be able to drive all kinds of cars, so I could safely get whoever it was to the hospital, should it be faster to do so than to wait for an ambulance.”
“I assume this is the set-up to telling me what you were thinking? Because if you don’t get to it soon, I’m thinking I’d like to see binder clips on your nipples this time, or maybe even the alligator clamps with the teeth.”
“You’re a BMW X7, Master. Big. Massive, and yet, still a performance vehicle.”
My face flamed red, and Master lifted me and carried me into the kitchen.
I’m four foot eleven, and I weigh around seventy-five pounds, most days. I try not to go below seventy or over eighty, and it bothered me that I couldn’t weigh myself.
“Since I think I’m supposed to use this time to tell you of things I’m bugged about, I’ll start by telling you it’s killing me not to be able to weigh myself every day.”