Chapter 1: Ellie
The rope tightened around her wrists, harsh fibre biting into soft flesh. Her tongue danced restlessly around the ball gag. The first string of drool landed on her nipple, reminding her of the burning sensation created by the clamps. Ellie took a deep breath, emptying herself of all thought and instinct- she was merely a vessel, designed to please.
The vibrator continued its relentless assault, her clit and clamped nipples hardening in response. Ellie moaned into the ballgag, surrendering herself to the pleasure. She had been kept on the razor sharp edge of an orgasm for almost two hours, never permitted the release she so desperately needed. The vibrator pressed into her throbbing clit, threatening an orgasm that would rip her in half.
Ellie moaned again, pulling hard at her restraints; the pain from the rope provided a welcome distraction from the intensity of the pleasure. Ellie focused on the sensation, willing herself not to give in to her desire to cum- not until the two hour alarm sounded. She reminded herself for the umpteenth time that her pleasure was to be earned.
Ellie was exhausted from the training session, covered in sweat with her own wetness dripping down her legs. She stared at the clock in front of her- thirty seconds until she could have it- thirty seconds until she was out of her misery. She sucked on the ball gag, squirmed on the vibrator- there was no turning back now. The vibrator pressed on her clit, and she leaned into the pleasure that she had earned. She saw white and screamed before she fell off the edge.
As she later loosened the noose around her aching wrists, freed her nipples (with a scream of pain at each given how long they’d been clamped), and took off the ballgag, she felt accomplished- two hours of edging was a new record for her. Honing her skills was important to her; she wanted to be the best slave she could be- someday.
She could still feel her heartbeat in her clit as she fell asleep, thinking about how much more fun that would have been at the hands of a Master instead of her own.
Chapter 2: Brent
Good help was hard to find. Brent said an easy goodbye to a leggy brunette, thinking that watching her ass test that short skirt as she walked to her car was the most enjoyable part of his evening. Sure, she was hot, and she called herself a submissive online- but she was one in a seemingly endless string of women who just wanted to have their hair pulled and be manhandled a little.
They knew nothing of Service.
Brent sighed, pouring himself a drink and sitting down to his computer. “Back to the drawing board,” he said to no one in particular as he opened the website. He was greeted by pages and pages of kink profiles- something for everyone, except perhaps him. He filtered to women, and to submissives and slaves, and tucked in for a night of scrolling.
He didn’t click on many profiles, and he messaged even fewer- he knew what he was looking for, and he didn’t want to waste his time or anyone else’s. He was happy to put the effort in to find the right match- he knew she would be well worth the wait, and a long wait it had been.
He had necessarily taken a step back from training someone new while raising his daughter Ellie. Not entirely of course- he still had needs- but he was not able to dedicate the time and attention to train the skills that true Service required. Ellie was unexpected to say the least, but Brent loved her dearly; her free spirited ways challenged him to no end, though she had made it to college and he knew she would eventually find her way.
Her mother had, under his hand.
Now that Ellie was away at college, he was looking to find, shape, and train someone to his liking- though the finding was admittedly proving to be a rather tedious exercise. There was no shortage of gorgeous tits and round asses to choose from, but Brent needed more. He read profiles looking for keywords- serve, earn, surrender, own. He settled in to get to work.
Looking back, he would say that it was a fated match; the way that his internet connection slowed as her photos loaded, giving him a few extra seconds to admire her subtle curves. The way that his sought after keywords jumped off the pages of her profile, the way that his cock twitched as he looked at her perfect nipples and how the rope contrasted against her smooth skin.
He would tell himself after he sent the message that he didn’t notice the necklace that he’d given her for her high school graduation around her neck, or the birthmark on her hip that she’d had since she was born.
Down the Rabbit Hole 