Servant on Strings Ch. 01

The Conductor laid on his beanbag, a bronze coloured driver's cap tilted on his head. Legs spread, he doffed his fabric crown and leaned further into his bright red throne. His knees peeked from a thick brown nightgown, the only clothes in the room.

He focused deep, intense, calm on the serving girl's belly. She shook her blonde locks and lifted herself off the Persian rug. At her feet, the new boy still laid still on his back, blindfolded. His pale skin caught the light from outside.

"So harmless." She circled him, the soft rug brushed her soles and woke her senses. "When you came here, you probably wanted to control. Did you?"

He didn't move, only breathed slow.

"That's right. You remembered the rule. Don't say a thing." The serving girl's own words sent little shocks through her thighs. Her gaze ran over his tiny nipples and toned twenty-something stomach, her speech morphed his body into a warm plaything and claimed it for herself. Each word curled open her lips a little more. Her own breathing made her damper.

"Yes, you will learn to conduct. They say he controls people just by looking at them. He's so good, that's what they really believe." Her voice whip-cracked. "Don't look at him! That's right. Eyes ahead, infant. Just because you can't see a thing, just because your eyes are a waste of space now, doesn't mean you point them where you like." She poked his firm thigh with a toe and shivered. The Conductor's gaze covered her, an embrace that wafted through her body. Habit told her what the Conductor wanted. They both imagined his pupils moving her limbs while she submitted, sacrificed herself like a virgin. The new boy's pulse pounded through him, every touch made his harmless prick a little harder, yet she felt innocent.

She wandered around his short dark hair, glimpsed the light in the Conductor's eyes. Silent, he lifted his chest and sighed. Her head fell, shook at herself. In her mind, the standard answer she always gave rose. I'm sorry, Maestro. Never again. She balled her fists and remembered never to look at him for approval. Her heart answered her questions, wax globs in a glowing pink lava lamp.

The sharpest glob rose. She snapped the cigarette lighter alive. Dropped it on the rug. Her fist rose, holding a wooden torch. Fire roared awake along its napalm tip.

"Infant, ready yourself. Don't move, if you do I'm going to fuck you with this fire. Do you understand?"

Comatose silence.

"That's right."

She dangled a black candle over the torch's flame. A black tear fell on his chest. His lean muscles flinched.

"Still!" She jabbed his rib with a toe. The new boy's teeth clenched behind his shut mouth. His lips pursed while the tears pattered over his chest, down to his smooth navel. She watched the muscles. The first tear splattered his thigh. His toes curled.

The girl sighed, knelt over his ribs and straddled the black trail. She slapped his face.

"Stop it!"

The lukewarm wax sent sparks along her shaved mound. She felt the Conductor willing her not to grind. She resisted, her wetness gave the wax new moisture. It began to stick between her pussy lips and his skin. The servant girl clenched her torch. Threw it to the tiles. Old used napalm left a black skidmark over the pale ceramic outside the rug.

The boy heard the blowtorch gush before its heat prickled his face. A sweat drop crossed his cheek.

"You're not completely waxed, you know. How long have you had that hair between your legs?"

He began to swallow. Then stopped.

"A day? Alright, then."

The heat shrieked along the little spots covered in wax. They burned again, needles rained along his skin. Under his navel. He felt himself throb.

"Try not to react to this, okay?" She called. "We didn't give you a safety word, because we wanted your trust. The flame won't get too close. There's no if about it. You're safe, infant."

The flame crept between his thighs. Came closer. Panic stiffened his whole body. Too close. The fire ate at him. Pain licked under his shaft. Scream. He felt everything it touched peel away. Scream. One cell at a time the feeling left his crotch. Manhood left him. He could smell himself. Scream.

The fire lifted away, went quiet. He heard himself breathing, quick and shallow, deeper with every pant. They became smoother breaths, all his skin tingled and he couldn't tell which body part felt what. He knew that fingers ran over him, rubbed something cold in their own trail, but didn't feel them. The servant girl clenched him between her thighs. Feeling seeped into his sides, he recognised her warmth. The feeling came closer in each exhale.

All the feeling snapped back. Her wetness closed in around him. He sighed. Felt his own cock throb. Planted himself on the rug. She bobbed the tiniest bit. Her insides clenched him, she stroked with pussy walls and heat. She burned him in a different way to the fire. His head poked the very back and felt every tiny curve inside her. The servant girl gripped him tighter inside herself, he heard her pant with him, jerking him in time.

"You've been practicing," she hissed. "But I want to teach you something new. That self control will make you a quick learner. You're going to come inside me at will."

Her ass cheeks pressed his hips, tensed and loosed with her millimetre bounce. She almost vibrated.

"Are you ready?"

Yes! He shrieked with his blood, the pulse in his skin and cock became his language.

Her cheeks lifted, her thighs loosed. Inside her, he felt the twist. Her knees wrapped around his ribs, her feet captured his legs. Fingers closed around his blindfold and she bobbed on his shaft again.

"Now. Do it for me."

The blindfold tore away. He saw the knuckles first. A glint. The light blinded him. He blinked. Focued on the metal. A knife. Its point floated under his throat.

"Do it!"

Shock made him numb. The boy felt his eyes glaze. The life began to leave him, his body prepared to die. Then the world clenched with him. He fought his muscles back with all the will inside him, noticed the servant girl's desperate gasps, felt her orgasm clench. His hips rocked and he exploded inside her. He screamed.

She stopped rocking. Held his body still. The last pleasure sprayed out of him, his jizz still bashed into her searing walls. She watched under her navel where she'd trapped him, like she could see the globs splatter into her.

"You motherfucker."

She slapped him in the same spot. He eyes shut. The Conductor clapped his hands together.

"Blossom, be nice. Have you ever seen someone follow orders that well the first time?"

His clear, calm voice pierced everything.

"Well, no, Maestro." She looked down, began to lift herself.

"Stay! Keep him in you. Feel him, get to know him better than yourself. Remember your first time, when I put all those things in you? I saw him panic too, but he never tried to get away. Infant. See how many fingers you can slip in there, beside your prick."

He lifted a hand from the rug and noticed himself shaking. One glided in fast, beside his softening shaft. Another. He wriggled a third in. The girl winced.

"Keep going."

His pinky worked at her lips until the opened. It edged, slow. He felt her stretch.

"Force it."

He shoved it in. She sighed, didn't move.

"Infant," she whispered. "You're cold."

"Can you grab yourself, Infant?"

He held his shaft, curled his joints around her slick walls.

"That took her two weeks. And Blossom is my greatest success."

He woke to crisp bird calls. Sunlight touched his face. The new boy realised he'd woken because the bedroom door opened. Blossom stepped in, dressed in a pink tank top and sweat pants. She sat on his bed. He felt a flashback, the moment her pussy split open and sucked him in.

"Are you sore?"

He shook his head. His skin looked the way it did before the blowtorch, except his silky, more visible balls. "Are you?"

"Yes. Because I want to be." Blossom rubbed her thigh. "When I wake up with pains, I take it as a sign that I'm getting better at something."

"Even blisters from fire?" He smirked.

"Especially them. Come on, they're making breakfast. You have to see Maestro with the house slaves."

"Hey. What's going to happen to me? He says he's teaching me to control, but I'm being ..." He rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what. It's like I don't belong to myself."

"He's giving you a lot of sweat and attention."

"And taking a lot from me."

"Well," she chuckled, "yeah. We're both pleasure slaves here. You saw how he moved through me last night." Blossom took his hand. "Up you get."

"Answer me."

"You're going to be dangled by your balls between life and service. He's going to swing you like a pendulum, and make you climax just the amount he has to. Pleasure is about creation. Instead of something for us to swallow, he's making something for us to worship. But you'll probably break bones. The ones he wants broken. You'll be treated wrong. Very wrong. Then you'll both go out and treat the world just that way. If you're being treated right, you're not learning. You're his pupil now. His Plato."

"Has anyone died doing this?"

Blossom reached over him for the curtains.

"What about the others? Answer me."

She pulled them apart, sighed and kissed his forehead.

"Let's not talk about that yet. Listen. Every so often I'll be his body, humiliating and pleasing you." She lifted his hand, ran it along her hip. His fingers ducked under her belt and felt her bald mound. "But it will never be easy."