[Episode 137827] [Episode 137827]
Makoto, writhing under the touch of more experienced slaves, was developing her slave mind to an extent that would greatly please her trainers. On the other hand, the ability to submerge completely into that mental state while retaining all the abilities of her higher mind was something most slaves took years to learn properly, and she was still a novice. This made it hard to listen to Chisato’s spoken words. However, not paying attention was one of many sins that offended the trainers’ sensibilities and brought down their wrath. In fact, inattention was one of the greater sins in their theology, incurring more creative punishments than usual so that the slave’s attention would not wander during the lesson. Though she had only been in the Moroboshi pens a few days, Makoto had leaned that lesson through observation of those punishments.
So Makoto duly recorded the elder slave’s encouragement, though the full meaning would not sink in until later. In the meantime, Chisato observed the girl who had been placed into her care, and judged that some more positive reinforcement could be worked into their fun. Tugging lightly on Makoto’s collar to bring her head back, Chisato nibbled lightly on a delicate ear before murmuring into that ear, “I’m sure you would work so hard to please you master. Working in the kitchen, wearing an apron… just the apron. Hands busy making some special treat. I can see that. Can you see it Makoto?”
“Oh… Oh yes.”
“Good, now keep that picture in your mind. What are you making for your master?”
“M… Muffins.”
“Mmm. I’m sure they are going to be warm and moist when you serve them, running with melted butter. And when he’s done with them there’s something else that’s warm, and moist, and running with juice waiting for him to enjoy, isn’t there?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Fingers curled under Makoto from behind, checking the truth of that statement for themselves. She trembled in the grasp of the slaves beside her, and gripped the probing fingers with muscles trained for that purpose over the last few days. That grip increased the friction as they pushed further into her, but did not truly impede their progress, as there was more than sufficient lubrication for the task. The questing digits withdrew slightly, and then pressed further into her depths. Makoto’s shaking became a shuddering, writhing dance, or as much of a dance as she could do on her knees with two slaves clinging to her and peppering her face and neck with passionate kisses.
The fingers removed themselves from their exploration, accompanied by a wet sucking sound and a soft moan of disappointment from the emerald-eyed toy. A similar sucking sound soon followed, this time accompanied by sounds of appreciation from Chisato. “Mmm. Honey. Sweet, sweet, honey always goes well with muff… ins.”
Being the skilled cook she was, Makoto could think of a few types of muffins that honey wouldn’t go well with, but this didn’t seem like the time to debate the matter and it was irrelevant to the true meaning of the senior slave’s words anyway. Chisato moved on to giving a few stage directions. Soon, Nana and Kagari were on hands and knees before Makoto, forming a sort of uneven but attractive table before her. They faced away from her, presenting shapely rumps and their own honey-filled “muffins” to her.
Chisato held Makoto’s forearms and said, “A good slave in her Master’s kitchen should always be busy.” Guiding Makoto’s hands to the eager folds of flesh, she continued, “Busy hands Makoto. I want those hands to continue their appointed task without slacking no matter what else is going on. You do know what that task is, don’t you?”
Makoto cupped each waiting pussy with one hand, feeling the short, curly hair that the eventual buyers of those girls might chose to trim, style, or have shaved entirely. She also felt the drops of moisture leaking from the crease in the midst of that hair, before pressing a single digit against each crease. “Good girl,” breathed Chisato into her ear, “now you just keep stirring that batter for Master.” Makoto’s fingers slid into the moist “batter” and she obediently made circular stirring motions with those fingers.
“Making muffins for Master,” Chisato sighed. “And here’s Master now!” Firm hands gripped Makoto’s hips and the senior slave pitched her voice lower. “Working hard slave?”
Makoto nodded energetically enough to make her lose her balance on her knees. The living countertop groaned and squealed as her hands penetrated a bit deeper than she had intended, but she recovered quickly. “Yes Master, I hope you enjoy it. It’s going to be delicious.”
“It already looks delicious,” the faux-Master said playfully, “but I think I’ll check how well this kitchen is stocked. Lets see if we have any… melons.” The hands on her hips glided upwards, stroking her ribs before cupping her ample breasts. “Yes, two nice firm melons right here.” Makoto squeaked as those hands checked the firmness with a squeeze. “I should check the freshness though.”
Maneuvering around to the side, Chisato slid her head under one of Makoto’s arms, which were still busily stirring things and making the impromptu kitchen counter squirm. Holding Makoto’s butt (and helping to provide a little stability) with one hand, the violet-haired woman slid her other hand over the far breast in slow circular motions. The closer one was subjected to a taste test, skin and flesh being drawn into hungry lips and held for a half dozen of Makoto’s thundering heartbeats before being released. Then a second taste, closer to the pointed brown nub and drawn into those lips with more force than before. The lips and stroking hand continued their work until the sensitive target was at last captured. Its twin was also caught, between thumb and forefinger. The grip on both captive protrusions intensified, with a hint of manicured nails and even teeth providing a foreshadowing of pain. That pain, however, did not materialize, and the captives were set free, for the time being.
“Now those are some sweet melons. We’ll be well stocked for milk too when the time comes.” Master (Makoto was deep into the fantasy at this point) shuffled back to his original position, holding his slave’s hips and prepared to use his slave judging by the firm but squishy rod poking against her buttocks. “So much for the pantry,” Master growled, “now for the oven.”
A firm hand between her shoulderblades bent Makoto forward until her head and upper chest lay on the quivering countertop of smooth curves. Equally firm pressure on her inner thighs increased the distance separating her knees. All the while, her fingers continued their task of stirring and kneading that made the “counter” jiggle and jerk even as it supported her. By now, her hands were well coated to the wrist, and a few smears were working their way towards her elbows.
For a while, Master did nothing at all, presumably watching. Makoto was already quite swollen, well lubricated, and the feel of Nana and Kagari’s firm muscles flexing under her was an exciting ride in its own right. However, it was the feel of Master’s eyes upon her, watching her, desiring her, wanting her, that sent tingles up her spine. Then the tip of Master’s scepter traced length of her lips without entering. When the bulbous head of that hard shaft reached the equally hard node at the end of the path, the tingles in Makoto’s spine became shooting sparks. Twice more did Master’s rod trace that path, ramping up the voltage of those sparks and avoiding Makoto’s attempts to capture it within her. Her hands, almost on their own, went from circular motions “stirring” Nana and Kagari to thrusting in time with Master’s strokes.
When at last Master granted her the honor of accepting his flesh into her person, he slid it in slowly, with pauses to savor her and the whimpering, pleading noises she made. As a girl new to both womanhood and slave training she lacked the muscle control to pull him in, but she tried nonetheless. She needn’t have bothered, as Master generously gave her the full length of his manhood, grinding his hips against her ass and saying, “Now that’s a nice warm oven. Want me to put a bun in your oven Mako-chan? Ready to take my seed?”
On one level, Makoto was well aware that Master was her fellow slave Chisato and that the member within her was an artificial substitute with no seed to give her, but the mention of motherhood pushed her into yet another level of her slave mind. After all, making babies was the point of sex slavery and of many other central practices and traditions of her culture. Japanese women had many roles in supporting and defending their society, but ensuring that there would be more citizens of the Empire was their most sacred task.
Which meant that Makoto’s response of, “Oh yes Master please give me your seed,” was the expected answer. Societies tend to reward those who live up to their duties and expectations. Makoto’s reward was the feel of a solid pole moving in and out, impaling her with greater speed and force with each cycle. With each thrust, Makoto’s sensitized breasts rubbed back and forth on the backs of the slaves under her. With each thrust, she made thrusts of her own; pushing her fingers in up to the last knuckle as the voices of all three slaves rose and fell in time to the strokes.
It wasn’t a surprise to anyone watching (and they had gained a small audience at that point) when one of the slaves acting as support for all this activity reached climax and collapsed under the onslaught, bringing the others down with her. Makoto dutifully kept her hands where they were; though they were driven even further into her cellmates as she fell on top of them. This pushed the other girl on the bottom to her own climax, and the two of them convulsed and clawed at the floor. Makoto wailed piteously, not in surprise at the fall, or from any pain in the landing, but in falling down and forward she had slipped off of Master’s shaft, and she felt the loss keenly. Still twitching her fingers inside the shuddering slaves, she desperately scrambled with her legs to lift her pussy and present it for reception. Her efforts were again rewarded as Master gripped her hips and filled her again, riding her with a set of slow, grinding strokes to her own screaming orgasm.
In the afterglow, Makoto dimly noticed Chisato unbuckling the strapon, leaving it embedded within her, and then lying down alongside the tumble of sweating, panting, slave flesh. “If you think that was good,” she purred, “wait until you try it with a real master and a brand.”
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(Posted Sun, 29 May 2005 02:51)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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