FROM FOOT FUN TO MASTER The Chicago Trip
The flight to Chicago on Wednesday afternoon was so smooth. At the airport, I got our luggage from the conveyor belt, and we then took a cab to the hotel. We registered, finished checking in, and I unpacked our luggage while he sat in the chair next to the bed and reviewed the briefs he needed for his meeting on Thursday and Friday. It was 3:35, when I finished unpacking. Master then said, "We have a 4:00 appointment with a well respected tattoo artist. The shop is only a block away; it's a nice day, so we'll walk there.
Dave was the tattoo artist and was a decent guy. Master told Dave what he wanted and where he wanted them on my arms. Master told me to call him when he was finished. He would then walk back to the shop, pay Dave, and we would then go out to dinner. I was so nervous, and while Dave left the room to answer a phone call, Master said, "Everything will be okay; take a few deep breaths and relax." It was obvious we would not be leaving the shop like we did in San Francisco when Master changed his mind. I would be getting tattoos in a few minutes.
Dave was a good conversationalist and sensed my nervousness, so he started talking to me. "Your Master is a handsome and very confident man."
My face must have turned red from embarrassment because I played dumb and asked him what he meant by his question. He told me that he had tattooed many other slaves with so in small letters and followed by capital letters. He said many Masters require their slaves to get tattooed. He then said, "I assume MBC are your Master's initials." I nodded.
"The MBC stands for Master Brian Clark."
He then said, "Relax, buddy; I've tattooed dozens of slaves over the years. You and I are okay. I don't judge anybody. Your Master looks like he's a decent guy. You've got a good one."
At 6:25, Dave was almost finished when he asked me, "Do you want Shelley up front to contact your Master?" He called for Shelley. She came in his booth, got my cell phone, and I gave her Master's number to his cell phone. About ten minutes later, he walked in the booth where Dave was just finishing up. My arms were a little sore. He looked at my two tattoos, which were located just off my shoulders near the top of my arms. "Dave, that looks fantastic. You did a great job. I hope my slave didn't talk your ears off."
"No, Mr. Carter, it was probably the other way around.
Master paid the bill and tipped Dave generously. We took a cab and went to his favorite restaurant in Chicago he started going to when he attended law school here. In the cab, Master again told me how glad he was with the great job Dave did on my new tattoos. Suddenly I wanted to cry because I promised Grandpa Elliott I would never get tattooed. After twenty years as my husband and Master, he can pick up on my emotions. He asked me "Are you suddenly sad because you think you let your grandpa down? The tattoos are very small, less than an inch in length. They're nothing to be ashamed of."
"I know they make you happy, and I am proud to have them. But if Grandpa were alive today, I know he would be disappointed in me. You two are the two men I've loved the most in my lifetime. I guess I'm just being over emotional." We arrived at the restaurant right as I finished my statement.
As we were getting out of the cab, Master paid the cab driver. He told me he wanted to walk with me for a few minutes before we went inside the restaurant. He asked me if I would be okay, and I nodded my head. There was a bench outside one of the stores, and we sat down to continue our talk.
Master did the talking, and I listened to him. "I don't want you to be sad. I love you, and the tattoos you just got make me extremely happy. You haven't let Grandpa Elliott down because you got them five years after he died. This way, he never saw you with them."
"I understand, Master."
"There are several other points you must realize, and you better accept them quickly. Your grandpa was a major influence in your life. I loved him too, and I also respected him tremendously. But for the past two decades, I have been the number one man in your life. You married me; I gave you my last name."
"I realize that, Master."
"As my slave, I wanted you tattooed. You had no say so in this matter because I own you. You have no personal rights, and you do as you are told. Most important of all, once again, I like them. End of discussion."
He then stood up so we could walk to the restaurant. He took a step, and then I walked my required one step behind him on his right hand side. As we were walking, I hoped that I hadn't upset Master because I wanted to enjoy a decent meal with him. As much as I enjoy swallowing his cum and his piss, after eating tuna fish for eleven days, I was looking forward to eating anything but tuna fish.
I was hoping that whoever placed an insert in the menu had forgotten to put one in Master's menu. They hadn't. He started laughing when he opened the menu and saw the special that night was a grilled tuna steak with steamed vegetables. He was laughing in the same way he laughs when he tortures me with the electric tickler. I then started laughing with him. We decided we'd each order a steak since we don't eat red meat that much in his home.
When the waitress came to take our order, Master gave it to her. " First off, could you please bring us two glasses of your house wine? I'd like a rib eye, cooked medium well, baked potato and Caesar salad. He'll have the grilled tuna and steamed vegetables with a Caesar salad as well."
My face showed its disappointment. When the waitress walked away, Master looked me in the eye and said, "Love those tattoos and love them quickly, or you'll be eating tuna for such a long time that your taste buds won't know what to do when you eat something different. They've always cooked a fantastic steak here, and I plan to savor every bite of it."
"Yes, Master. Thank you for taking me here."
Overall, the tuna steak wasn't that bad. It sure tasted better than canned tuna fish. Master asked me how the meal was, and I told him it wasn't too bad. He then said, "Here, slave, try this," and he cut me a piece of his steak. It had been eleven days since I had eaten something at night beside tuna fish. Master asked me to cut him a piece of the tuna steak, and he said it was good too. He's not a fan of tuna fish either.
We got back to the hotel around 8:30. I undressed Master into a pair of lounge pants with no shirt. He was now wearing his flip-flops and wiggling his toes. I was naked as usual. He wanted to look over the legal briefs he needed for tomorrow one more time. He gave me permission to read, so I went to the table and got my book. I looked at the tattoos in the mirror right above the chest of drawers. Master was right. They were small enough, and they looked tasteful. I would get used to them quickly.
"What's wrong, Slave?"
"Nothing, Master, I was just admiring the tattoos."
"That's what I want to hear. Come sit on the floor by me and read your book."
"Master, please forgive me for overreacting earlier. May I please submit to you?
"You're forgiven. I am pleased you acknowledged your faults in not immediately recognizing the beauty and significance of the lettering on your arms. First, take off my flip-flops. I did this and placed them on the right hand side of his chair. He then said, "Submit."
A few minutes later, Master fell asleep in the chair. It's no wonder he did; he's been so busy lately. I remained in Submit and kept staring at his beautiful feet. I would have loved to have kissed his toes and started sucking them. He woke up about an hour hour later.
"Slave, are you up?" He lifted his right foot and rubbed it under my balls. When was the last time I allowed you to cum?
"Three weeks ago this coming Saturday, Master."
"I may allow you to cum this weekend or next weekend; I'll cum a lot sooner."
A sheet of paper fell to the ground next to me. Without thinking. I grabbed it and handed it to Master. This simple task hurt because my arms, which were still a little sore. Master took it from me and started laughing, "I forgot I still had this."
Still in my submit pose, Master bent down and handed me the paper to read. It was a sheet of paper I had scribbled on the day he told me he would change my name and we would be getting officially married. It had Rick Elliott Carter, Rick Carter, The Carters, Brian and Rick Carter, R. E. Carter and other variations all over it. I thought I had thrown it away, but somehow Master now had it. I hoped he wouldn't punish me because on that day in my excitement, I was so proud that I wrote his name instead of Master. I raised my hand, and Master gave me permission to speak.
"Master, please forgive for writing your name on that paper. I didn't mean any disrespect to you. I was so happy on that day, I filled that page with all those different name possibilities."
"Kneel."
I got out of submit, kneeled, and lowered my head. I then took a deep breath and was ready to accept my punishment if Master chose to give it to me. The kennel would probably be my bed once again for a little while.
"Slave, I'm not going to punish you for this paper. I saw it a while back lying face up in the garbage can in my office. It caught my attention, so I bent down and read it. It gives me pleasure that you are proud to have been given my last name in your personal life. As your Master, you have my last name legally, and now you have another part of me, with soMBC, on your arms."
"Thank you, Master, for understanding my silliness on that special day."
"Stand up."
Master then walked me to the front left bedpost of his bed. He put my nose against the post. He then spoke. "While your arms are sore from the tattoos, I understand you can't put them behind your head. But, we'll improvise." He took my arms and wrapped them around the bedpost and told me to grasp them around the post. "Hold them in place, and don't dare release that grip."
He then gently rubbed my new tattoos, saying, "These came out so nice. I wonder what you would look like with your navel and pecs pierced. I'll sleep on this one, and I may call Dave in the morning to see if he can do this since he did such a great job today."
Master then smacked my butt. A few seconds later, I felt him inside me. There was no foreplay, and I was about to get a good, hard fucking. When Master gives me a raw fucking, it is rough, long, and deep-really deep in my ass. He was pumping me so hard and so fast. Each thrust with his dick seemed to go higher and deeper inside me.
At one point he pulled out of my ass, but it was only for a few seconds. He dick then reentered my ass so hard and so deep, my feet left the floor for a second or two. I looked up and my head was going towards the bedpost. I quickly moved it to the left and barely missed getting whacked in the head.
He kept pounding and pounding me and showing no mercy. His hands briefly rubbed my tattoos and he said. "Damn, I love the way they came out." He then grabbed my pecs and started squeezing them while still giving my ass a good fucking. Sometimes he'd stop for a few seconds and hold it in place. Right as I was about to relax, he'd start pounding my ass even deeper and even harder. Rather than getting softer, the more he'd pound my ass, the harder his dick got. It looked like he was going to fuck me all night without ever losing his hard-on.
Finally, I felt his warm cum enter my ass. I was so close to cumming. A few drops of pre-cum were on the tip of my dick. I was hoping Master didn't see them because I would be punished for cumming without his permission. I quickly moved forward and rubbed my dick against the bedspread.
"That felt good; I'm relaxed now."
Master then moved to the right side of me and in his seductive, low tone voice told me, "Your tight butt always takes my dick so well."
I then saw him walk to the closet, a few feet away. He came back with his belt in his right hand. "Do you know why I'm taking pleasure in rubbing my belt against your back?"
"For not appreciating my tattoos like I should have earlier. Please forgive me, Master." He hadn't given me lashes on my back in four years. They were always so painful.
"Very good, Slave."
It was quick but painful. Master gave me five lashes on my back, something he has not given to me since my first year of slavery. He took his belt and put it back in the closet and left me with my hands still gripping the bedpost.. A few minutes later, he released my hands and told me to sit in the corner.
"I am going to take a quick shower to wash up before going to bed. You will do the same after me. I am not happy camper here having to share a bathroom with my slave, but it will do since it's a temporary arrangement." He kissed me on my forehead and then went into the bathroom.
When I finished showering I went back into the room, and I saw Master was already asleep. Without disturbing him, I took the bedspread off the other bed, which is what I have permission to do whenever we stay in a hotel. I folded it and put it at the foot of Master's bed just as I do every night in his home. He gave me back pillow privileges beginning tonight, and I may sleep using two pillows. It didn't take me long to go to sleep either. For a Wednesday, it had been a memorable day, to say the least.