A Modern Kajira, Part 3: The Collaring

Christina was carried into a more closed space, undoubtedly a corridor, which had some sort of carpeting that muffled her captor’s steps. Master George stopped and rummaged around in his pocket, then withdrew his hand. Presently she heard a key turn heavily and reluctantly in a lock, and another massive door swung open.
This room seemed to be more dimly lighted than the rest of the house, and the light did not come from directly overhead, but in a consistent glow from all sides. It was more heavily air-conditioned than the other rooms, to the point that Christine’s nipples hardened, even under the blanket. The man’s steps rang on the floor, again most likely tile, and the echoes told her that this room also was large.
The smell of the room was strange and wonderful, a combination of jasmine, patchouli, pine and sandalwood with a faint hint of something burnt. She felt as though she had indeed been transported to another planet. Her admiration was quickly brought to a halt when she was thrown rudely to the floor, landing partially on her left shoulder and partially on the back of her head. Against her will, she cried out in pain against her gag. Now she knew why they had kept her swaddled in the blanket! Without the thick wool, she would almost certainly have sustained brain damage if she hit the ground head-first. Even with the cushioning of the blanket, she knew she would have a goose-egg.
Master George laughed heartily. “You should be thankful that we provided you with a blanket, girl. Your Master and I are kind to our slaves compared to some Masters, who take to precautions at all, and take joy in unnecessarily injuring their slaves. But now you need no blanket, especially since you will soon be naked; and as you know, cold does the most wonderful things to a girl’s nipples.”
The blanket was ripped away, but the hood remained. She was jerked upright by the rope around her neck that kept the hood in place. Apparently, her captors had left a short, looped length of rope for this purpose.
“On your knees, girl! Since your knees and hands are tied, you may kneel as a free woman, with legs closed and hands crossed in front of you. Do not think this makes you more dignified than what you will be, a piece of female meat whose purpose is to look pretty, suck every rod that is offered, and provide an open heat for your Master to fuck!” He released the loop, and she fell to the floor on her ass.
Anxious to prove her worth, Christina levered herself onto her knees and sank back on her numb heels, her body aching from the long car ride and inactivity. Head up, but her eyes lowered under the hood, she knelt before her Master’s friend in utter submission. The thrill of her soon-to-be-formalized slavery caused her pussy to become moist and a throbbing sensation to begin in her clitoris and around the vaginal opening.
Master George laughed as though he had read her mind. “I bet this makes your dirty little slave heat nice and wet, doesn’t it, girl? You’re a born slave, aren’t you?”
“Mmm, Muh-uh Grrrrg. Dgggaa bnnn lllvvv.”
Master George broke once again into laughter, then his footsteps retreated and Christina was alone in the cold Hall. Her knees ached, but she was determined not to move. She would show them what a perfect slave she was, and prove herself worthy to forever serve her Master as love slave.
George shut the door behind him and turned to face Nathan, who had been waiting silently outside the half-open door during his and Christina’s exchange.
“I think you picked a good one, Nathan. She never resists, never hesitates, and is perfectly silent unless she is spoken to or apologizing. Her only flaw is a slight selfishness in her seeking of pleasure, caused by an excess of lust.”
“Hmm, we shall see. After all, she hasn’t even begun her servitude. Once the novelty wears off, she might relapse into the behavior of a free modern woman. Also, remember that an excess of lust can cause brashness and willfulness. Need and desire are good in a kajira, but they must be dependent on her Master and how well he has been served.”
“Of course. Nevertheless, I still hope that you may finally find a kajira with whom you are as satisfied as I am with my noma.”
Nathan smiled shrewdly. “Is this sentiment simply out of the goodness of your heart, or do you simply not wish to waste your nights driving back and forth to the city, risking arrest, to capture girls who will probably renege on their contracts in the end anyhow?”
George’s chiseled, ink-dark face creased in a Colgate-white smile. “A bit of both, I’m afraid.”
A loud knock was heard at the front door. noma, the tiny Japanese kajira who had previously answered the door, ran to open it. She bowed to the stunning couple who waited on the other side. “This girl wishes you well, Master and Mistress.”
The man, Roger, was a short, compact Asian man of stern, clean-cut appearance. His face looked as though it were carved of honey-colored wood, noble and grim. Despite his stature, it was clear that this man was utterly in command. His hair was cut military-style, his arms and chest in their pressed white shirt were corded with muscle, and an elaborate tattoo of a fearsome feline in green ink ran from his right shirt cuff down the middle of his right hand, on the middle finger of which he wore a large, angular gold ring set with a hexagonal bl**dstone. His tie was a matching deep green with thin gold stripes, complementing his olive complexion. Like Nathan and George, he wore carefully-groomed stubble on his chin that augmented his high, proud cheekbones and firm jaw, and like theirs his black trousers were of a straight cut and sufficiently tight to highlight his lean thighs and the bulge of what would be a formidable cock for a man of his size.
His companion Michelle was of an entirely opposite sort of beauty. At an impressive female height of 5 feet 9 or so, she was two or so inches taller than her husband. Her figure was willowy, with small breasts and slim hips, almost boyish in appearance. Immense, elaborate red-gold braids decorated with many beaded pins, which if loosed would have reached past her hips, spilled out from under her broad-brimmed velvet hat of forest-green. Most of her face was not visible under the thick gauze veil that hung from the brim, but the lower portion of her face showed that she had very pale skin and thin, cruel lips painted in a dark-red shade which spoke of sophistication, just like her extremely long and pointed nails with their French manicure. These nails and the first joint of her fingers were all that was visible of her delicate hands, the rest being covered in green suede gloves that matched her hat. Her dark-green linen dress was of an interesting style style, rigid and perfectly straight, with the hem of the cylindrical skirt hitting mid-calf on her slender legs in their opaque black nylons. About the high mandarin collar of the dress she wore a necklace of magnificent bl**dstones, and her stiletto-heeled green velvet designer pumps looked wicked indeed. And she was armed; gracefully but terribly with a tiny knife clipped to the cuff of her dress so that the point faced outward. The chevron-shaped gold ring on her right index finger also was sharpened, although the intricately carven wedding band about her left ring finger was smooth and ethereal in appearance. This, then, was a Free Woman: Cold, terrifying, and beautiful in the asexual way that showed the world that her body was not meant to sexually please with natural assets, but to prove her nobility by virtue of the artificial assets of money and clothing.
Behind Roger and almost unnoticed in the glow of her masters stood the bent figure of a chained, naked and collared kajira. Her face was lowered due to the fact that her long ponytail was gripped tightly in her master’s left fist, but her nakedness displayed her ample assets unequivocally. Her skin was brown and her straight hair black, like an Indian woman, but this woman was much more voluptuous in figure than a Bollywood starlet. Her breasts were massive yet perky balloons of flesh with gigantic black nipples, probably close to an E-cup on her 5-foot-4 frame. Her waist, however, was very slender for a woman of her build, and her belly was nearly as flat as her that of her Mistress. Her hips and buttocks, almost as massive as her breasts, nevertheless showed no cellulite, and her arms and legs were stocky and muscular with what must be frequent workouts. Both of her nipples, as well as her ears and unusually low-hanging pussy lips, were pierced with heavy silver rings, and a stream of her Master’s cum ran down the inside of her thigh. Her back was striped with scar-tissue from the whip. Clearly, this girl was used often and brutally like the pierced-ear girl that she was.
The last member of the party was an extremely short, thin ginger man, about 5 feet 4 in height, clad in a dark-green loincloth. He also wore the collar of a slave, but unlike the kajira was not leashed to one of his masters. However, the shackles on his feet and the bracelets that chained his hands in front of him were much thicker and heavier than those of the kajira, and around his neck he carried a heavy black leather purse. His shoulders were extremely narrow, and his chest was as underdeveloped as that of a young boy. His face was of angelic and androgynous beauty, pale as snow with a few freckles about his clean-shaven cheeks. If it weren’t for his short hair and the sparse ginger hairs on his chest, he could have been mistaken for a prepubescent girl. There was an anxious, timid look in his bright-blue eyes, which darted around nervously in his bowed head, and the bulge in his loincloth was very small, even for his size. This obviously was Michelle’s kajirus.
“Take us to your Master, girl.” Roger’s voice was a rich baritone with an upper-class British accent; the voice of a manor lord. This was a voice that would be obeyed instantly and with humble reverence. The kajira bowed again, then pattered away through the foyer with the f****y following.
Nathan and George were waiting for them in the parlor. noma the kajira immediately performed obeisance at the feet of her Master, who motioned her to stand, and with a snap of his fingers pointed down the corridor toward the Hall. noma obeyed instantly, and disappeared into the darkness like a wraith. George stepped forward to clasp Roger’s forearm in a gesture like that of the ancient Romans. “Tal, Roger.”
“Tal, George.” Turning to the Master of the Home, Roger grasped Nathan’s arm in the same gesture. “I must say we’re all very excited to see your new slave collared, aren’t we, Michelle?”
Michelle gave a regal nod. “Of course, my lord husband.” She turned to her kajirus. “Boy, fetch me the tortoiseshell comb.” The kajirus undid the zipper of the purse with his large white teeth and carefully extracted a tortoiseshell comb with his hands. He then knelt before his mistress, upright on his knees with legs together rather than in the far more degrading “nadu” position used by kajirae, and offered the comb to his Mistress. The honorable Lady took the comb with a sneer, being sure not to dirty her noble hands by touching those of her slave, and inserted the comb into her hair, arranging it between the pins to create a style that resembled a peacock’s tail. The kajirus then zipped the bag with his teeth and lowered his head. “You may stand,” said the Lady carelessly. The slave stood and backed away a few steps, his head down.
Nathan turned to George and Roger. “May I offer you wine while we wait? Roger, I’m afraid that your bina will have to serve us, as my slave is not yet ready and George has volunteered his Noma to prepare the girl.”
“That is no trouble at all. bina! Wine!” Roger released bina’s hair, and she stood as a slave before him, waiting for him to unchain her hands. He did so, and she did a brief obeisance, which was broken almost immediately when Roger motioned for her to stand. bina stood and hurried out of the room toward the kitchen.
While the Master and his guests were conversing, Christina remained kneeling on the floor of the Hall. It was terribly cold, and her knees ached. Nevertheless, she knelt painfully and tried to remember the correct spelling of all of the lyrics to Rammstein’s “Klavier”, hoping that a difficult and repetitive mental exercise would take her mind off the discomfort. Suddenly, the door of the hall opened. She heard the sound of small, bare feet walking swiftly and with short, stiff steps. Presently, small bare fingers fumbled with her bonds, and the hood was pulled off of her head. The neck-rope, of course, remained.
Blinking, Christina looked up into the face of a little Asian kajira. The girl was tiny, perhaps 4 feet 11 and ninety pounds, her bare breasts small and cone-shaped. Her long black hair was pulled into a high, tight ponytail with a talender at the base that pulled the skin of her painted-on brows and forehead taut. Her face was made up like a geisha, except for the fact that the base foundation was only slightly paler than her pale-gold skin rather than the traditional white. She was naked except for a Turian collar in a gold sleeve, and waxed perfectly smooth. She removed Christina’s gag.
“I am noma,” she said in a beautiful, flute-like soprano with a hint of a Japanese accent. “Stand, please, so I may remove your foot and knee bonds.”
Christina stood. “No, that’s all right. I’ll remove them myself.” noma smiled and raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, so brave and self-sufficient! Well, go on. When you are unbound, follow me so that I may lead you to your preparation. You are so very dirty and disheveled, and you must look the best for your collaring.”
Christina removed her bonds and followed noma. “So, you’re Master George’s girl?”
noma nodded, but kept walking. This girl truly knew the meaning of proper haste. “Oh, yes. And what a wonderful Master he is!”
“Is he harsh?”
“Certainly, but that is his responsibility. Besides, it is all worth it to see the satisfaction in his eyes when I please him. He cares for me as only a true Master can, and in the love furs his big cock stretches me so wide that I come again and again. I even adore the beatings, because I know that he only punishes me because he cares.”
Christina sighed wistfully. “That is how I want it to be with my Master. I just hope that I can please him. He has had so many girls, and none of them could satisfy him.”
“Oh, Master Nathan is the hardest Master there is. But I think that deep down he only wants to find a slave who is worthy of him, and whom he might finally come to love.”
noma turned right at the end of the corridor and opened a thick rosewood door. “In here, please!”
Christina followed obediently. The room appeared to be a grand bathroom, decorated in dark red, silver and white. There was a pure white marble tub with a shower head that had five settings, from a light mist to a fearsome jet. An ebony-and-rosewood cabinet held nearly fifty varieties of shampoos, soaps, and hair and body products. The floor was of white marble tiles with silvery veins running through the stone.
“Take off your gown, then into the tub,” said noma.
Christina got into the tub and stood under the shower head. noma cranked up the water to a jet, then turned it to a temperature that was nearly enough to blister skin. Christina bit her lips to keep from screaming as the scalding jet hit her skin. noma handed her a bottle of scented liquid soap. “Rub this on every surface of your body except your face.” Christina obeyed, still clenching her teeth in agony. noma gave her a loofah sponge with which to scrub her skin, and Christina scrubbed and exfoliated until her skin shone pink and clean. “Don’t forget your slave heat,” noma reminded her.
When her body below the neck was sparkling clean and smelled of cherry blossom, noma handed her a soft cloth and a bottle of expensive facial soap. “Be careful with the facial skin. We don’t want your pretty face to be all scratched and rashy.” Christina obediently washed with a gentle, circular motion until her face was smooth and clean.
“Shampoo,” said noma, handing her a bottle of cherry-scented shampoo and another, identical bottle of conditioner. Christina washed her greasy hair until it squeaked, then smoothed the conditioner into the dry ends of her hair.
noma turned off the water. After the scalding water, the cool air was a mercy on her skin. “Now lie back and spread your legs so that I can apply the wax.” Christina lay back and closed her eyes, waiting fearfully for the pain. She felt a layer of hot wax being applied to her pussy and her anus. Once it had cooled, noma grabbed the sticky coating, and with a swift, professional yank she tore off every bit of hair on Christina’s nether regions. Christina bit her tongue so hard that it bled in order to keep herself from screaming. A muffled whimper came from her throat, and she saw spots.
Fortunately, it was almost over. When Christina had recovered, noma pressed a bottle of Nair into her hands. “You are a brave girl. All of the others cried when I removed the heat-hair. Now slather a thick, thick layer of this onto all of your skin except the face and slave heat.” Shaking, Christina obeyed, then sank back against the tub to wait the five minutes that it took for the acrid solution to work.
In her dazed state, the five minutes passed like one. “Wake up, friend,” said noma in a teasing voice. “We need to wash you off.” Christina stood, and noma turned on the water. At first, the jet was as hot as before, but once Christina had washed off the Nair, noma cranked the temperature to a setting that was as cold as the previous setting was hot, prompting a faint squeak from Christina.
“Now step out and dry yourself,” said noma kindly, “It’s almost over.” Christina dried her firm, slender body, then without prompting sat down in the chair that was used for drying hair. noma turned the hairdryer on full blast, giving maximum volume to Christina’s fine hair. Once it was dry, noma skillfully braided her friend’s hair into a French braid. Christina’s hair was barely shoulder-length, so there was no need to pin it into the four-pinned Gorean coif. Instead, noma simply pinned it under with one pin. She then applied a light coat of silver shimmer to Christina’s cheeks, then maroon lip stain and shimmery lipgloss, purple-grey shimmery eyeshadow, and maroon nail-polish with tiny silver sparkles. She handed Christina a bottle of cherry-blossom perfume and instructed her to apply it behind her ears, in her cleavage, on the inside of her wrists, and on the outer edges of her pussy lips. As a finishing touch, she fixed a red satin flower with silver borders into Christina’s hair.
“You will look so beautiful for your Master!” said noma in admiration. “I really hope that you satisfy Master Nathan.”
“So do I,” smiled Christina, “I’ve always dreamed of a Master as handsome and powerful as he.”
noma smiled. “Well, then, no sense waiting!” She handed Christina a dark-red, sleeveless tunic that barely covered Christina’s pussy and was open in back like a hospital gown, but paradoxically had a deep hood that covered all of her hair except her straight, dark bangs.
Christina walked over to the full-length mirror near the doorway and gasped at her reflection. The woman in the mirror was so astoundingly beautiful that she could hardly have dreamed that it was her. Her full lips were pert and sensual, her dark eyes huge and radiant, her cheeks, slender muscular arms, and lithe, perfect thighs a glowing olive-peach color, her brows dark and exotically slanted. She turned around and inspected her ass. The poor diet that she had lived on for three days had caused her to lose just enough weight, perhaps two pounds, to make an already perfect figure absolutely divine.
“I must be collared now,” she whispered, “My Master must see me as I am now: Perfect!”
noma laughed. “Then let’s go, friend!” She produced two lengths of dark-red velvet rope, one thick and one thin. Christina, familiar with the Collaring Ceremony, lifted her head and crossed her wrists behind her back as noma bound her wrists together with the thin cord and tied the thick cord around her neck in the shape of a leash. Neither of the bonds were very tight, of course; they didn’t need to be. Christina was a willing slave.
noma led the way down the corridor to the Hall, walking even more rapidly than usual, but Christina didn’t mind the pace. If she hadn’t been tethered, she would have sprinted to the Hall at full tilt!
The door to the Hall was open, and noma gestured for Christina to enter the doorway as a slave, standing with her back against the doorjamb until given permission to enter. The two stood like twins, one against each doorjamb, waiting for their Masters’ call. noma still held Christina’s tether in her hands, more of a formality than anything.
“Come!” said the commanding bass that Christina recognized as that of her Master. noma led Christina humbly into the room and performed obeisance before Master George, who stood beside Master Nathan as his best man, until she was given permission to rise. Although noma’s obeisance pulled Christina’s head down at an awkward angle, she did not herself perform obeisance. She was not yet officially a slave, and she did not want to appear presumptuous.
Once noma had been given permission to rise, Master Nathan stepped forward. “Remove her bonds and tether,” he instructed noma. noma removed Christina’s bonds and stepped back, waiting for her next order.
Master Nathan reached out and briefly ran his finger over Christina’s cheek, then pushed back the hood of the gown and quickly removed the pin that kept her braid folded. He then unbraided her hair and ran his fingers through it, fluffing the temporary curls formed in her usually pin-straight hair by the tight braiding. “Remove her robe,” he ordered. noma undid the garment, causing it to fall forward off of her shoulders.
Naked, Christina stood before her Master. She was a short, slender, olive-skinned woman with well-defined muscles. Her ass was high and perky, her ribcage narrow but deep, giving her an hourglass appearance from the side as well as from the front. Her breasts were large for her size, approximately a 32 or 34C, and well-rounded. Her nipples were a very pale pink that almost blended into her skin, and although they were erect from the cold air and sexual excitement, it was obvious that they were naturally puffy. Her dark hair was cut bluntly and fell just below her shoulders, with a U-shaped fringe in front that tapered over her ears to a square-cut back.
“Submit,” ordered Master Nathan in a proud, regal voice. Unable to repress a smile, which she quickly hid by lowering her head, Christina sank to her knees, back on her heels with her legs spread widely, and stretched out her wrists for binding. Her pussy was open and throbbing, and both Master George and Master Nathan could see the moisture that dripped from it. Master George smiled faintly, but Master Nathan made certain to keep his face blank, even though he too wanted to smile. He could not show weakness before a slave, even one so lovely and willing as she.
Christina spoke proudly, but with a tremor in her voice. This was the last time that she would speak in this tone. “I, Christina Bidarte of Detroit, Michigan in the United States of America, to Nathan Hess, Ubar of Byrnwood, hereby submit myself as a slave girl. To His hands I commit my life and my name, declaring myself His to do with as He pleases.
George held out a stainless-steel Turian collar, which Nathan took. “Read the words on this collar.”
Christina read the bold-fonted words in the humble voice of a kajira. “i am the property of Nathan Hess, Ubar of Byrnwood.”
“Do you understand your status as my property?” said Nathan sternly.
Christina could not keep an edge of happiness out of her voice. “This girl understands, Master.”
Nathan took the collar and put it about Christina’s neck, which she had obediently exposed. The click of the sliding lock about her neck sent a chill of pleasure through her body, and she shuddered involuntarily.
“Good. Now what is your name?”
Christina looked up shyly at her Master, being sure nonetheless to keep her head down. “This girl’s name is whatever Master pleases.”
“Then I shall call you “kata”, he said firmly.
“This girl is kata,” said kata in an adoring voice.
George and Robert whistled and clapped their hands against their left shoulder, and Michelle lightly tapped her right hand against the back of the left so as not to bring her noble hands too close to her breasts. bina and the kajirus, Tok, smiled nervously. noma, however, smiled in true happiness.
kata knew what came next, but she did not fear it. The temporary pain of branding was nothing compared to the lifelong pleasure of kneeling before the man, the Master, she loved.
“Stand with your head bent,” commanded Nathan. kata stood, head bent down so that her nape and hair were exposed. Her Master grasped her hair firmly in his hand and led her to a folding-chair in the center of the room. Without prompting, kata sat with her legs apart, near the legs of the chair, and with her hands clasped behind the back of the chair. Nathan could not help but raise his eyebrows. He had never seen such obedience! Producing two three coils of nylon rope, he quickly bound her to the chair. “George, would you please bring me the soldering gun and stencil?” George drew a soldering gun and a stencil in the shape of a kef sign from his pocket.
kata closed her eyes, desperately trying not to betray her fear. She felt the stencil being pressed against her outer left thigh, and then the pain came. She did not even have breath to scream. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, then closed as she sagged, u*********s, against the chair.
She awakened to the sensation of something cold and sticky being smeared on her burning leg, soothing the blinding pain. She looked down to see noma smoothing some analgesic/antibiotic gel on her leg. noma looked up at her in compassion.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Master Nathan has never had a severe branding infection in his slaves.”
kata nodded, relaxing her jaw and breathing deeply. Exhausted, she lowered her head and closed her eyes. But this state did not last long. Someone was untying her legs, and she looked down to see her Master. A blissful smile appeared on her face. He cared enough to untie His slave Himself! Soon, he had also untied her arms. Her leg no longer burned, but was numb and cold around the area of the burn.
And then it was time. Master scooped her up into His strong arms as though she weighed nothing and bore her out of the Hall. This overt display of masculine power made her pussy become wet again, and she shuddered with pleasure. She did not bother to look where they were going; she had eyes only for her Master. Besides, she KNEW where they were going. It was time to carry her over the threshold.

100% (6/0)
Categories: BDSM
Posted by Submissatrix
4 years ago    Views: 360
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2 years ago
3 years ago
Loved your story. you seem pretty good at this. keep up the good work!
4 years ago
4 years ago
this is a great series, can't wait for the next