Nabiki whistled merrily to herself as she headed home from a (reasonably) constructive day from the nearest public high school. It actually wasn’t as bad as she’d expected—but then, when one lowers one’s expectations enough, eventually anything will start to seem acceptable (which was apparently how public education worked in the United States). It certainly explained why her homework was so gosh-darn easy. In the meantime, she was content to walk home (and by “walk,” I mean “hitch a ride with a hormonal geek with a functioning motor vehicle”) whistling a vacuous pop tune she’d heard on the radio. She almost had to resist the urge to skip towards the door of her host “family’s” home.
Almost.
You see, there was a rather prominent obstacle to Nabiki’s continued joyfulness (prominent in the sense of “rather hard to ignore,” not necessarily in the sense of “presenting a challenge to overcome”): an oversized white cup with a pink straw and a sour expression sitting on the doorstep.
“Oh, hello, Master. How are you on this glorious day?”
Shake’s breath was ragged as he answered. “Hot… sex… now.”
“But I still have to deal with my education—”
“NOW!”
Nabiki sighed; that was the one drawback to dealing with morons: sometimes the very stupidity that made them so gullible also made them so stubborn that they were impervious to flimsy reasoning. “Okay… fine… you’re the Master, after all.”
As the teenaged girl walked past him, Shake finally allowed himself a grin. That “job” restocking lead-based toys from China down at the Wal-Mart that he’d landed (and subsequently quit before lunch) was one of the most soul-draining experiences he’d ever been privy too (and it didn’t help that his supervisor spoke little to no English, either). But to finally be able to act out some fantasies in all their BDSM-y goodness would make up for it all; of that much, at least, he was certain.
The pair moved to Meatwad’s still-dust-covered room for some ostensible hanky-panky. “So, Master,” Nabiki began, “would you like to start out with a massage?”
“No! Um, I mean, no. Heh-heh…. The last one… was a bit too effective. Besides, that’s vanilla stuff. I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Kinktastic Sex Slave Sluts from Mars 8.’”
“Well, I’ve never seen that movie. I guess I’ll have to go rent it to do some research.”
That set off alarms in Shake’s head: WARNING: Research = Not Sex! “Uh, that won’t be necessary, my dear. Why don’t we stick to what you know… beyond massages, that is.”
“Okay… how about shibari?”
“Woah! Sex on mushrooms! You know a good dealer?”
“Um… no. Shibari is the ancient art of Japanese rope bondage.”
“Hey! Alright, now we’re talking! Finally, some good, old-fashioned BDSMGM Grand!”
“I’ve got some ropes right here…”
“You mean you’re not going to send me on some wild goose chase to find just the right rope?” Shake asked in disbelief.
“Of course not. I’m a submissive nymphomaniac, remember? You don’t think I’d mess up an opportunity to be bound tightly and expertly ravished by a strong-willed man by being short of rope, do you?”
“Uh… no. No, I do not think that. Good slave… maybe I’ll reward you with a spanking later. If I think about it.”
“Ooh… sounds intriguing. But, first things first: why don’t I go freshen up a bit, while you brush up on your knot tying?”
“Um, well, you see, I’ve never really been much when it comes to manual dexterity….”
“Oh, it’s a cinch! Here, just read this, and you’ll be an expert in no time.” Nabiki handed the cup a book entitled Shibari for Beginners: The Official Hello Kitty™ Guide to Pleasurable Restriction.”
“Uh, thanks,” Shake said, paging through the slim tome. “Uh, the illustrations are nice, I guess, but I can’t make out the words.”
Nabiki giggled. “Oh, Master, you are a witty one. The instructions are in Japanese, and I know for a fact you said you could speak my language fluently.” Actually, Nabiki had no clue if Shake had ever said anything like that, but the odds were good that Shake didn’t have any clue either.
“Uh… right. Of course. Connie chewy arid garden, hi-ya!”
Nabiki smiled. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Nabiki walked back into the room, fresh from the shower, with a towel wrapped around her chest (for modesty’s sake, of course) “Alright, Master, I’m ready…. Master?”
Not unexpectedly, Shake’s experiments in the ancient art of shibari had not met with the levels of success he’d originally hoped for. He was currently suspended from the ceiling (which was actually pretty impressive, given that there wasn’t really anything to suspend from in Meatwad’s room), trapped in a convoluted synthesis of a diamond harness and a Gordian knot. The instruction manual (which had apparently failed in its stated aim of providing instruction) was lying face down on the floor a few feet away. “Ah, I see you’ve returned,” Shake said, doing his best to sound authoritative with his straw tied to one of his hands. “I seem to have encountered some technical difficulties, due no doubt to a misprint in that instruction manual, which I believe will give me grounds to sue their collective asses, thus netting me an assload of money, with which I will be able to purchase all of the equipment with which I may properly subjugate you.”
Nabiki was finding it really difficult to keep from bursting out laughing—her experiences as a “sex slave” were taxing her Ice Queen persona to its limits. “That’s… wonderful news, Master. No doubt my ancestors are filled with joy that I was able to find such an… enterprising owner.”
“Uh, right. So… uh… could you untie me?”
Nabiki had to take several deep breaths to regain her composure before she could answer. “I would, Master, but I don’t know how.”
“Well, the manual’s right there…”
“But Master, what would be the point of tying me up if I knew how to untie the knots?”
“Oh… right. I guess that would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”
“Right. So, I shall adjourn myself from this room, and wait until you have freed yourself from your bonds.” She walked up to the cup and planted a light kiss on his forehead. “
Shake’s eyes widened in panic at the thought of remaining suspended from the ceiling in such a distinctly uncomfortable position. “No, wait, I’m sure we can work something out! Just let me shift my weight a little—ow! Goddamn, that hurts! Stupid sashimi….” The anthropomorphic milkshake looked around and saw that his slave had indeed departed from the room.
“Okay…” the dessert beverage said to himself. “I can get out of this. I just need to keep calm… and a solution will present itself.” Shake did just that, closing his eyes and taking several deep, relaxing breaths (well, as deep as he could with the ropes currently binding his lungs, anyway). Three seconds later, he chucked that idea and went with Plan B: “Frylock! Get me down from here!”
In contrast to the conversation he’d had with Nabiki, the voice from the living room was direct and to the point: “Get yourself down! I’m trying to watch 24!”
“Damn it!”
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(Posted Tue, 02 Sep 2008 04:20)
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