This is the last posted segment for 'Sex Slave'. If you have enjoyed this do try the sequel 'A Sex Slave's Redemption'... Female Dominant/female submissive. Available as per the August 19 posting.
Next week 'Keyholder'... Female Dominant/male submissive.
Enjoy
*****
Kwame Is Educated
Soaped, chamois having laved everywhere, a priapic Kwame not to deny himself full exploration, the shower spray returns, a noted effort to assure a comfortable temperature. Rinsing completed, Kwame once again dries, his shorts now fully tented, the beauty, the perfection of soft firm flesh belying the hideous piercings and shorn cranium.
“Please sir, I can tend to that for you,” the doe eyed girl struggling to glance down with religious solemnity at the front of Kwame’s bursting shorts. “It’s what I do... some of what I do.”
“I’m Kwame... not sir,” stoic in ignoring a most firm erection. “And you are?”
“I don’t know my real name sir... ah... Kwame. It’s long from my memory.”
Kwame releases the nose grommet, quickly replacing with the leash, something intuitively telling him to maintain strict control. He gently pulls. The girl meekly follows stepping from the shower stall.
Towel remaining in his free hand, he recalls the plea concerning the girl’s breasts.
“Have I properly cleaned?” the towel hand rising to teasingly graze over impressive mounds, seeming to stand at attention.
The girl moans. Kwame learns of the heightened sensitivity, amazed to see the nipples instantly crinkling, the nubs rising in welcome, the iron spikes lifting.
Again emboldened, recalling the frustration of extracting something as simple as a kiss from the standoffish village girls, Kwame tosses aside the towel. The leash slackens, his hand going to the breasts, a finger diddling right nipple then left. Simultaneously, his free hand lowers, index finger hooking through a labial ring, tugging there with gentle vigor. The girl rocks her hips, the sound of bells returning.
“Please sir... Kwame... it’s... it’s..”
“Very naughty.”
In distraction, Kwame had not heard the bathroom door quietly opening. Mother Jemila stands arms akimbo, the tone of her advisement both admonishing and playful.
Kwame instantly retracts his hands, grasping the leash to renounce his tenderness and demonstrate his authority.
“When you hear the bells... the Ben wa bells... that means her little girl parts deep within are being most tantalizingly manipulated, Kwame. You’ll be learning more... about girls... particularly about a girl like this. Just didn’t think you’d learn that fast.”
Now even more mindful of his tented shorts, Kwame attempts to cloak his condition in moving to retrieve his shirt and step into his shoes. Jemila reaches out as he moves. Kwame knows to relinquish the leash.
“So you’ve been informing my son about your needs,” Jemila sternly addressing the well cleansed nakedness. “Have you told of your morning needs?”
“No ma’am,” the girl sheepish, blushing in have attained a degree of unrequited pleasure.
Jemila steps to a drawer at the bathroom sink, opening to extract a latex bag and tubing.
“Kwame... pay attention. This is for the girl’s morning cleansing,” pointing to the short cable and clasp at the bottom of the show stall. “She’ll kneel head down for an internal cleansing... high and hot as they say. I’ll want her running clear by the time you’re through... that means a least two nice full bags.”
“Please ma’am... not by a boy... it’s... it’s...”
“Yes, I know at the Queen’s kennel you had highly trained nurses and handlers. But Kwame can learn. I’m sure you know where this goes, Kwame” mother Jemila making a show of holding up the attached enema nozzle. “Make sure she’s well lubricated... before and after.”
With her words, Kwame realizes how easily his finger slid into the girl’s anus. Though tight, it glided. Is her opening always to be so receptive?
“And this is to be applied after the evening shower,” Jemila extracting a tube from the same drawer. “A special concoction of aluminum potassium sulfate and other more natural astringents will keep the girl tight... where she most needs to be tight.”
She hands the tube to Kwame and gathers in the leash, standing to face the girl with a smirk.
“Yes, under the Queen’s regimen you did tend to be stretched a bit, weren’t you, girl? You’re probably already missing the attention,” the words leaving Kwame in a quandary.
“So do it. And make sure you wash your hands after applying.”
More training... more conditioning... the girl turns, bends at the waist and parts her thighs, opening herself in invitation, the ritual well ingrained. Kwame opens the tube, squeezing a nurdle of medicinal smelling unguent. He is joyed to once again palpate between the buttocks, chiseled stone with such a smooth warm covering. Yet he must veil his glee... mother Jemila observing.
A finger enters, rummaging about, once again hearing the chiming... the girl terming such the Queen’s Ben wa bells. He notes the penetration brings to the girl a sigh of welcome
“Good. Now it’s your turn to shower, Kwame,” Jemila proclaims as a disappointed Kwame finds he must retract his fingers. “The food is almost ready so don’t dawdle. I’ll take the girl.”
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