A Discussion, Witnessed

The room is dimly lit, soft and quiet. You can hear every word. You kneel on the carpet at the side of your owner, wrists crossed behind your back, gaze lowered. You stare at a table leg. Mahogany: a gleaming rich brown in which the candlelight is reflected.

Your owner is talking about you. He is discussing you with his friend. You do not know his friend – you never know your owner’s friends. Maybe they are business associates, or old acquaintances. It is irrelevant. It is not for you to know… but you wonder all the same.

This is what your owner is saying: “It’s her mouth she enjoys using the most. She likes to be of service. She’s good. I think you would enjoy her. She’s worked hard on it. She doesn’t gag – or not very often, at least, and she can use her throat quite adequately once she’s warmed up. It doesn’t take long. A few minutes. Once she’s excited she’ll take it quite easily. If she’s prone – on her back is best – when she’s prone you can fuck her mouth every bit as hard as you would her cunt.”

The stranger nods. You can see him at the very periphery of your vision. In the shadows. Out of focus. Is he handsome? Is he young? Is he kind? You cannot tell. He’s a body lounging in a chair, drinking from the tumbler of whisky you brought him. You are not allowed to look directly at him.

Your owner continues, “She can be… messy, sometimes. She’ll drool if you use her throat, I mean. Quite copiously. It embarrasses her, I think. She always tries to wipe her face if she’s allowed to, but she’ll wait for permission to do that. If you want her wet and messy you can have her wet and messy. It embarrasses her but it turns her on, you see. I’ve noticed that she commits more to the act of sucking cock when she can see herself. See what she looks like when she’s slobbering and drooling.”

Again, the stranger nods. You feel aware of your throat, your bare breasts. The whole front of your body is alight and blushing. But you don’t move. Spit fills your mouth. When you swallow you try to do so quietly.

“Does she swallow?” asks the stranger, after a momentary pause. It’s an off-hand question – almost disinterested. As though the answer is of no consequence. Maybe it is of no consequence. Your owner likes to show you to visitors. To discuss what you can do: tell them how he trained you to take it in the ass. Tell them what makes you come. Have you display the bruises from your most recent whipping. Often that’s all it is. You serve drinks. You kneel. You listen to the men discuss you. And then, at the end of the night, your owner takes you back to your room, removes the leash from your collar and takes you to bed.

But sometimes, when the mood takes him, he offers you to them. It’s happened five or six times now. A long discussion is held with you kneeling on the floor. Then you are told to stand, to turn around, to display your body. And then: would you like to fuck her? As casually as if he is offering another round of drinks.

There is no way of knowing if he will offer you up, or if he will keep you for himself. There never is. It is not for you to know.

Your owner says, “Yes. She swallows. It’s difficult for her. The taste. But she’s learning, slowly. We are practicing. And she will do what she is told to do. If you want her to swallow, she’ll swallow. Every drop.”

“Good,” says the stranger. “And on her face?”

You can hear the faint smile in your owner’s voice. “That is her preference. When she watches porn she gravitates towards this kind of… content. Like drooling, of course, it is embarrassing for her. But it turns her on. Very much so.”

“How fun,” says the stranger, as light and disinterested as ever. “She’s pretty. A pretty face.”

There comes a slight tug on your leash – a pull which corresponds (you know from experience) with only the very slightest movement of your owner’s hand. “Show him,” says your owner.

You raise your head, gaze carefully unfocussed. You are not to look directly at him, and so you fix your focus past the stranger, on the spine of a green leather-bound book on the bookcase behind him. You feel eyes on your skin. You feel heat rising in your cheeks. You are being examined. The room is silent, and both men are looking at you.

In front of you are two possible futures. An evening with your owner – soft and leisurely. Intimate. Pleasing. All the more pleasing for having served. An evening where you will barely have to think, because he will think for you. Familiar and comfortable and deliriously joyful.

Or an evening with this stranger, who might be callous or rough, or might just wish to talk, or might make you gag with his unfamiliar cock. A sharp and quietly terrifying trip into the unknown, but all of it still with your owner’s collar around your neck, still in service of him, still knowing that, at the end of it, you will be returned to him, used and tired, having served him more thoroughly than you ever thought possible.

For a moment, as the two men study your face, you feel both futures like warring energies inside you. You want both. You are desperate to know which it will be. You are breathless with the sensation of being studied and considered, with your owner weighing up your fate.

And then he speaks. Another slight tug on your collar, this time pulling you to face him. The end of your leash is pushed gently into your mouth. Your teeth find the dents in the leather where they are used to resting.

“Fetch us more drinks,” says your owner. And, quite naturally, you obey.